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rotworld · 1 year ago

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1: Pit Stop

welcome to the drift, where nothing is as it seems. you're heading north but first you need to stop for gas.

->contains gore, hand trauma, amputation, general creepy behavior.

The shift came sometime in the night. If you had been awake then, you would’ve felt it. The wind was itchy and the sky wound itself up in knots. There was the distinct odor of newness, like the whole world was a cramped, cobwebbed attic and someone had just yanked the door open. In poured the incomprehensible outsideness, and all the frightened things that lived inside cowered instinctively. Some people swear they can hear reality crack apart, the brittle and alarming krikrikrik of a frozen lake shattering in slow motion underfoot but from everywhere at once, but that’s probably just a myth. If shifts sounded like anything, you think, they wouldn’t sound like that.

In the morning, your lungs are sore. You keep having this nightmare where you can’t remember how to breathe. Something fluttered in the dark. Something dragged its cold fingers up your spine. You wake up on the floor, your throat feeling blistered and wrung out. The sun isn’t up yet. The shadows in the room are thick.

“I tried to wake you,” the woman leaning in the doorway says. “You’re the last one up.” She has short hair, you think, a hat rounding her silhouette. Her eyes are shimmery, robin’s egg blue flecked with sunrise pastels like opals. You shouldn’t be able to see them so clearly in the dark. “Eggs for breakfast,” she says. “How do you like yours?”

“Plain, thanks.” Your voice is hoarse, thick with sleep. She’s gone when you look again.

By the time you’ve showered, dressed and dragged downstairs, the sky is a lighter gray. The stairs creak under your boots, carpet transitioning abruptly to hardwood flooring. The coffee shop on the first floor isn’t open yet but the owner has flicked on the string lights dangling by the front windows and set a basket of eggs on the register counter, so fresh the shells are still tinged green. A laminated card propped against the basket displays a hand and a box hovering above the open palm, stylized in the blocky minimalism of a road sign; the symbol for couriers. A larger version of the same sign is plastered at the front of the shop, right in the corner of the door. You snag a few eggs as you wander over to the other couriers, all huddled around a table too small for the four of them. The woman with opal eyes pulls up another chair for you, wedging it in next to hers.

“Morning,” she says. You see her more clearly now, flannel sleeves rolled up to her elbows with a striped shirt beneath. Her hair is brown and jutting out from her beanie stiff like straw. A misshapen chunk of stone hangs from a cord around her neck, pitted on all sides with tiny holes. She bites into the tapered end of an egg, a burst of thick red jelly oozing between her teeth as she crunches through the shell. “You sleep like shit during shifts, too?”

“Not just during shifts,” you admit, rummaging through your backpack for pencil and paper. They make room for you on the table, nudging their notebooks and sketchpads closer to their laps. You’re in Henley Creek so that’s where you start, a cluster of landmarks sketched in the center of the paper with the town name underneath. “Where are you from? And where are you going?” you ask.

“Prismville. Feels due north of here, not close but not too far. Might be a town between. Ever been?” She smiles when you shake your head. “Make a trip sometime. Tell ‘em Kell sent you. They’re good to couriers, they’ll treat you right.” She tilts her notebook towards you and lets you see what she’s drawn, a handful of disembodied ink scribbles floating across the page. It’s an unlucky map. Prismville is the closest town and there’s a gulf of blank space between here and there. She’s marked it with a prickly shape, not quite a star. Everything else is too far to reach before the next shift. “I’m headed to the University if I can figure out where it is,” she adds.

“It might be east of us,” the man on her other side says, scratching his stubble with the end of his pen. He doodles while he talks, adding embellishments to the margins of his map. Headstones. Moths and mountain lions. A spider with too many legs. “It’s usually out east, isn’t it? There’s a few places you can count on. Wild Oaks is always way down south.” He leans over for a look at you, nostrils flaring. His shirt is so shredded and hole-ridden you aren’t sure how it’s staying on him. “I’m from Verlinda, by the way. Trying to get to Aliquando Island, if you know where that’s at right now?”

“I don’t, sorry,” you say. They’ve both put Verlinda on their maps a long way northwest from Prismville with deer crossing signs, but his deer has stranger antlers.

“And you?” Kell asks, bumping her shoulder against yours. “Where’re you from? Where’re you headed?”

You keep your head down, filling in the outline of a deer. “I don’t know,” you say. “It’s northeast of here. A long way northeast. I’m not sure what it’s called, or what’s there.” The table gets quiet. They feel bad for you. You don’t want to dwell on it. “I’ll go north, I think. Anything I should see in Prismville?”

Kell grins. “The Mountain,” she says, rubbing her thumb over her stone pendant. “Not like you could miss it.”

A crowd starts to gather on the sidewalk outside the coffee shop. They clutch cardboard boxes, paper bags with the mouths taped shut and gift-wrapped packages. One hastily scribbles an address onto an envelope against the window. Kell is the first one outside and she’s swamped as soon as she announces she’s going to the University. Nobody cares that she doesn’t know where it is yet—a courier will get it there one way or another, faster than anyone else. The man from Verlinda leaves with a thick stack of letters rubberbanded together and nothing else.

The air is cool and damp. Clouds move too quickly like leaves blown across a puddle. There’s a thorny feeling in the back of your brain, a feeling that won’t leave you alone.

“Prismville!” you call over the restless chatter. “Anybody got anything going to Prismville?” There are a handful of takers: a crate of something heavy that rattles. A few jars of cloudy liquid with some lumpy preserved thing gently floating in each. A wax-sealed letter. You heft everything into the back of your car and pull out of the parking lot, and only then does the tension fall away from your shoulders and your jaw unclench. You have a compass in the glovebox but you don’t need it. Home is northeast, your heart says. Something tugs at you from beyond the shifting haze of fog on the horizon. Old brick buildings give way to hilly suburbs and sparse farmhouses. Claustrophobic streets widen into three-lane blacktop. Soon, Henley Creek is vanishing in the rearview mirror and you are on the road again.

[NOW PLAYING ON THE RADIO: IS THERE ANYONE OUT THERE BY WELLMESS FEAT. CHRISTINE SMIT]

Legend has it that couriers like you are born out here, deep in the connective tissue that holds the Drift together. It’s not true, of course, but it must make some kind of sense to the people who don’t feel Home like a harpoon in the chest. They’re just trying to make sense of you. Most people only see the road, if they see anything at all through the fog. They aren’t paying attention to the grassy banks and gorges beside it, the redness of the soil right outside Compass Hill or the knee-high wildflowers in Verlinda. You could wander blindfolded and smell the difference between the earthy, fungal tang of the Stillwoods and the University egg gardens long before the welcome signs popped up to greet you. It’s not that the roads are any different for couriers. You’re just looking when they think there’s nothing to see.

The highway curves gently. A car slides into the passing lane and zips past you, the only other driver you see for a while. Something sprints through the fog on all fours, keeping pace with you for several miles before it breaks off and vanishes into the trees. The sickly sweet chemical stench of Henley Creek’s factories is just starting to wane when you realize you forgot to get gas in town. At the same moment, a blue sign comes looming out of the fog. PIT STOP: NEXT EXIT, it says. There’s no logo, no flair to the text, just the same terse uppercase font that announces speed limits and four words.

There could be something between here and Prismville. There could also be nothing, just the Drift stretching out lengths of highway like unraveling thread. You aren’t sure you want to risk it. You aren’t sure you want to stop either. You miss the exit trying to decide. You can push it, you think. You’ve gone further with less. The blink of a turn signal flashes in your rearview mirror and another courier speeds past. That four-legged shape comes loping up to the roadside again, not quite close enough to break through the fog, and you can still just barely smell Henley Creek. A sign comes. PIT STOP: NEXT EXIT.

You curse under your breath. Reluctantly, you take the exit. A sharp hairpin turn leads you to a gas station just off the highway, the metal canopy edged with eerie red neon that turns the fog to blood-colored mist. The words PIT STOP glow white above the door. There’s a pickup parked at the side of the building, still running, nobody inside. You pull up to a pump, take a deep breath, and head for the gas station doors. There’s no one at the register.

A bell chimes as you open the door. “One sec,” you hear, a grumble from somewhere in the shelves. There’s a mess in the gap where someone could step behind the counter, a sludgy wet spot and a halo of floor to ceiling spatters. It’s definitely blood, still fresh enough to drip. There’s a squelching sound somewhere in the store. A door slams. The gas station attendant comes sauntering out of the back with a wide smile.

It’s the same one you always see here—the only one you’ve ever seen. Big and broad-shouldered, calloused palms and short, dark hair. His smile is just a little off, a little too big when the rest of his face exudes menace. He wears a long black apron over his uniform, saturated with glistening spots of what could be oil, water or blood invisible until the light hits them just right. “Hey there, courier. Sorry about the mess,” he drawls, sidling up to the counter without even a glance down to make sure he isn’t stepping in it. He rubs his red fingers over the apron, wiping a new stain across the front. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m at pump three,” you say.

“Mhm?” He rests his arm across the counter and leans forward. He’s giving you that hungry look he always does, drumming his blunt, bloody nails in an uneven, faltering rhythm. “And how do you wanna pay?”

You glance back at your car, out at the fog. Stalling. The attendant’s gaze burns into your back. “The only way you’ll let me pay,” you grumble. You hear a muted click and clatter; dice rolling against his palm. He beckons you forward with one finger.

“C’mon, courier. I’ll let you pay all kinds of ways. I just don’t want your money,” he says. He stacks the dice on the counter between you, three in a little tower. “Besides, you know the rules. You don’t owe me anything if you win.” The blood on the ceiling is starting to congeal into something sticky and unpleasant. It drips infrequently, in big, gummy clots. “We’re playing Highwayman,” he says.

“I know,” you say.

He ignores you. “The target’s fifty-two. We alternate rolls. If you go over, you lose. If you roll two wolves, you lose. If we both go over, whoever’s closer wins.”

“I know,” you insist.

He chuckles and rolls first, counts up his numbers; a one, a four and a five. His eyes linger on your hand when you pick up the dice. You catch him licking his lips. “I’ve been hearing rumors lately,” he says casually. “Trouble down south. Up north? Wherever the Stillwoods ended up this time.” You roll, count, and wait for his turn. This is the easy part. “They’ve been seeing hermit seegris in the area. I’d tell you to watch yourself if you’re headed that way, but those things don’t tend to stay in one place for long.”

“Hermit seegris?” you echo. “Never heard of those. What are they?” Click. Clack. Clatter. Two sixes and a five. You’re ahead.

The attendant hums. His turn is quick. He barely holds the dice before he flicks them out of his hand. “Like a hermit crab. But a seegris.”

“You’re not gonna tell me what a seegris is, are you?”

He grins. You think he’s just enjoying being a jackass but his gaze is lower, by your fingers. You rolled a two, a three, and a wolf. Your heart skips a beat at the blotchy silhouette. It could be anything, honestly. A couple pine trees. A rabbit. A butterfly, if you squint. It’s the shape that’s bound to show up on any die face if you roll it in the Drift often enough. “You know,” the attendant says, “I hear you roll wolves more often if you’re nervous.” Now he’s taking his time, fondling the dice for a while before he tosses them on the counter. Your palms are sweaty. You almost drop the dice on your turn. “You ever think about retiring, courier? Is that even an option? Your type don’t live long enough to get old anyway.”

He just keeps talking. You don’t stop him. You’re hardly paying attention to a word out of his mouth, just rolling and counting and rolling and counting, each one harder, slower, more nervewracking than the last. Eventually, you toss the dice and his hand comes down hard over your wrist, trapping it against the counter. Your roll hasn’t settled for more than a fraction of a second but you know. It’s the look on his face. His eyes match his smile for the first time since you walked in, his face lighting up with glee.

A six, a one, and a wolf.

You look at him and he looks at you, his other hand dipping below the counter and returning wrapped around the heavy wooden handle of a meat cleaver. “Two wolves! Isn’t that something?” he says. “You look nervous, courier. Come to think of it, I don’t think you’ve ever lost before. I guess everybody’s luck runs out eventually.” He grins, thumb stroking your pulse. Your stomach lurches. “But hey, you got close. Forty-nine! I’m feeling generous so I’ll give you a discount. Either way, gotta pay up. Safety or certainty?”

You shake your head, stammering. “Wait, wait, I—”

“Safety or certainty. Those are the options.” His grip tightens when you try to wriggle away and he yanks you closer, sending you stumbling into the register counter and sagging into his grip. “Want me to pick for you?”

“No,” you say quickly. He hums, unconvinced. “Wait, listen, okay, how about, uh…how about…”

“You’re young, aren’t you?” he says conversationally. He makes you splay your hand open, palm flat against the table. “Awful young. Haven’t lost anything quite like this before. Don’t you worry, courier. The more you drive these roads, the more you’ll get used to it. What I’m taking is so small you won’t know to miss it. Might wake up one day and realize you were better off without it.”

“Wait, wait, no,” you beg. He’s not waiting, not even hesitating as he raises the cleaver over his head, your voice rising to a panicked pitch. “No, no, no, nononoWAITNO—!”

The blade comes down in a blur with a solid THUNK. The sounds your body makes are muted in comparison, so distant you don’t hear them over your own screaming, but there was the ripping of flesh as soft as a page turning, the crack of bone snapping and splintering. There’s oozing, throbbing pain shooting up your arm and the prickling wrongness of something not being where it should be, something that doesn’t listen when your body tells it to move. You sink to your knees without the attendant holding you, surprised through a haze of agony to find you still have a hand. There’s a gushing stump where the little finger on your left hand used to be. Shuddering connective tissue flexes and flinches in the wound.

“You want me to wrap that for you?” the attendant asks. You lurch away from the counter with your hand clutched to your chest, sucking in shaky breaths. “Courier,” he says, shaking his head like you’re the one being unreasonable. He cradles your severed finger in his palm, gazing down at it like something precious. “Go on, fill your tank. And be careful out there. The Drift’s a dangerous place, you know. Monsters everywhere.” He lifts your finger to his mouth and gives it a good, long lick, smearing your blood across his tongue.

You mutter an insult and shoulder through the doors.

(next)

#rotpeach writes #goretober #the drift #you would not believe the day i have had lmfao life itself conspired against me getting any writing done today #tomorrow will hopefully be more normal

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bunnybuns-art · 7 months ago

Note

Bendy are you a little devil thing

Who was brought to life on the silver screen

Used to make em chuckle now he makes em scream

It's Bendy in the Devil's Swing

Flash back to the place that made the cartoons sing

Where the cobwebs grow and the floorboards creak

And it's all connected to an evil scheme

It's Bendy and the Ink Machine

Dreams do come true

I was deceived by Joey Drew, and now I'm coming after you

Who's laughing now?

You thought that you could cut me out

But now the ink is pouring down

Bendy was created out of ink

Then molded into a 3D beast

You can hear him coming by his tapping feet

It's Bendy in the Devil's Swing

Snap back to the era when the swing was king

But the workshops fading and behind the scenes

There's a deep dark secret hidden underneath

It's Bendy and the Ink Machine

Hey Joey, I got your message

There's still a sketch on my old work desk

It might have a been a bit overzealous

To collect all six of those office relics

I haven't seen my peers

In over thirty years

But there's no one here

Except grinding gears

And my rising fears

The illusion of living

Was only the beginning

Ink incarnate that's sinning

Presented in Sillyvision

The illusion of living

Was only the beginning

Ink incarnate that's sinning

Presented in Sillyvision

Bendy was a villain out of sync

Now he's off the page and he's on the brink

And his old pal Boris might have lost his spleen

It's Bendy in the Devil's Swing

A cartoon cutout that'll make you shriek

Yeah your heart starts racing when you hear that beat

The creator's brain might have sprung a leak

It's Bendy and the Ink Machine

One, two, three

To 3D

You and me

Ink machine

Flashing screens

Dancing fiend

Bendy sings

Devil's Swing

Dreams do come true

I was deceived by Joey Drew, and now I'm coming after you

Who's laughing now?

You thought that you could cut me out

But now the ink is pouring down

Bendy was a lil' devil thing

Who was brought to life on the silver screen

Used to make em chuckle now he makes em scream

It's Bendy in the Devil's Swing

Flash back to the place that made the cartoons sing

Where the cobwebs grow and the floorboards creak

And it's all connected to an evil scheme

It's Bendy and the Ink Machine

#bendy

16 notes · View notes

indigosunsetao3 · 3 months ago

Text

A Reason To Try

Chapter 12 - Truce

Masterlist of Chapters

Warnings: 18+ - No minors Please read the tags on AO3 for any of your triggers

Alex Keller X Original FMC 6.2k words - AO3 Link

Alex waited in the living room, taking a seat on the couch before Madeline walked in a few minutes later, drying her hands on her shirt. The rain was still coming down hard outside, which was going to throw off his calling schedule for Price and the others. He pushed that thought to the side as he flipped open a notebook where he had been writing down all his plans. There were a few options, different scenarios, and places they could try to go. What they would do if they heard from Price, Laswell, what to do if no news came at all.

“Here,” Alex said as he held out the notebook to where she sat on the other end of the couch, as far away from him as she could get. “Few ideas I’ve come up with, among other things,” he explained as she took the notebook from him and started to read.

Madeline found pages of roughly sketched maps of the community they were staying in, scribbles of items he found, notes of what buildings housed what items, and a to-do list with lines through more than half of the things there. Further in, she found gas mileage calculations and how far he thought they could get with the different cars he had found keys for. She had watched him checking a big bag of keys against the vehicles in the parking lot the day before, throwing away extra keys and leaving the ones that worked on the kitchen counter.

Madeline glanced up as Alex rose from the couch when she flipped another page. He looked at her for a second, sheepishly, ruffling up his bedhead before padding into the kitchen. She watched him from behind the cushions as he stood with his back to her, his shirtless back, and made coffee. Well, he poured a cup of a few days-old coffee from the work trailer he had brewed and put in thermal mugs.

She had yet to accept any of his other offerings of peace, but when he left coffee with a note two days ago, she nearly inhaled it. Madeline opened her mouth to ask him for a cup before shutting it; she wasn’t supposed to be talking to him, she reminded herself. No matter how he looked in his low-slung sweats with mussed hair and dog tags hanging on his bare chest. Or how much it seemed he was trying to earn her forgiveness; it wasn’t enough, she kept telling herself. She couldn’t trust he was genuine because she had tried that route already, and he had torn her apart. Used her in her naivety. Realizing she was staring, she flicked her eyes back to the notebook and flipped another page.

Madeline.

That was why he had risen from the couch and walked off with a look of apprehension. And why he was still standing in the kitchen toying with a packet of sugar, pointedly not looking at her. He had attempted to write out an apology or an explanation. She wasn’t sure what it was as she looked over the words; many of them were scribbled out hard enough that she couldn’t figure out the words, and others were lightly crossed. She ran her fingers over the indented paper, over a splotch of ink that looked like the pen may have broken under his hands in his haste or frustration to figure out what to say.

“You can skip over all that,” Alex said after a second as he finally turned around to lean against the counter. "None of it came out right anyway, and you already said you don’t want to talk about it,” he ventured.

“Right,” Madeline barely breathed out as she skimmed over a few lines he hadn’t crossed out enough. Confessions of regret and admittance of his inability to control his rash reactions. She wanted to read more, delve into it, and try to understand. But by the way, he was staring; she flipped the page, pages, until she got to the coordinates of the Texas safe zone. He had written out directions, different routes to take, and ones to avoid.

Alex didn’t let the disappointment show as she agreed and moved on to the plans of leaving. He pushed it down and walked back over to the couch to take a seat again on the far end. He let her read everything over in silence, his eyes locked on the window where the rain was coming down in sheets. The coffee was horrendous, but he drank it anyway for lack of anything else to do.

“When?” Madeline finally asked as she came to the last page. She flipped through to find them all blank, so his last scribbled notes keeping tabs on his contact schedule had been it. How long ago had he tried to write those apologies? When did he decide to give it up for a lost cause? She wasn’t sure how she felt about it because she had been the one to push him so far away, yet the finality of it stung somewhere deep in her chest.

“Next day or two,” Alex answered as he set the coffee down half finished. He couldn’t stomach any more of it. “Depends on this weather. I have a few more things I wanted to try and finish before we left but the rain is putting a damper on that.”

“Is there anything I can do to help you out there? I know I’ve been sitting around for the most part.”

“No. I would just go through the things I’ve brought in and decide what you want to take. We won’t have a ton of room; I’m not taking the Tahoe. The gas mileage and size are impractical,” Alex explained. It felt odd how they were speaking to one another, very matter-of-fact and stilted. Even from the start, they hadn’t quite acted like strangers. They had fallen into conversation and friendship relatively easily.

“Right,” Madeline replied as she flipped back a few pages to the list of cars. He had marked a few with underlines, all midsized SUVs that she could gather. “I could pack up the car at least if you pick one. Write down anything you want to take.”

“Are you good with going? I don’t want to make that choice for you,” Alex asked as he leaned against the arm of the couch to face her better.

“I don’t think I have much choice,” Madeline answered quietly as she shut the notebook and set it on the cushion between them. “I can’t stay here alone, and if you want to move, that’s the only option.”

“You have other options,” Alex answered. “I know Texas is far from here, from Everett,” he paused. “But I could find you a place close to here that’s a bit more secure. Leave you communication options. Make sure that Price relays to your sister where you are so they can come get you.”

“And where do you factor into all of this? What is your plan?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t have much outside of trying to get to the team somehow. I’ve got contacts in Mexico that they’ll potentially rendezvous with.” He wasn’t going to tell her he was going to forge his way on his own because he was alone. His hopes anyone was still alive that he knew were slim, and while he didn’t want to leave Madeline behind here, he also wasn’t going to force her to go to Texas. He had seen the hesitation and reluctance at his mention of Texas before. Knew being that far from Everett terrified her. Though being here, she wasn’t much help to him either.

“I can’t stay,” Madeline stated again after a few beats of silence. “Everett is safe, me being here or there doesn’t change that. And I know I won’t make it by myself,” she sighed and ran a hand through her hair, eyes darting to the piles of supplies on the living room floor still. “I’ll go wherever you are going, Texas, I guess. See how things are there; maybe I’ll be useful to them.” Her voice had a bite to it, but it wasn’t as harsh as it had been during the past few conversations. It seemed now that there was a conclusion to all of this; she was ready to just get there and get it done.

Alex shut his eyes for a second at her words, doing his best to not argue back with her. She was anything but useless as she had deemed herself over and over, and how she thought he felt about her. She had saved their asses in the mountains, kept Everett alive and uninjured at the attack in the cabin, kept his sanity in check, and had done so much here in the condo to assist. She was strong, smart, and, despite everything, resilient, but he couldn’t tell her that. She wouldn’t listen, she’d only hear the hurtful things he had flung at her instead.

“It’s settled then,” Alex answered finally before pushing up from the couch. “There are a few things I can do even with the rain,” he explained, snatching up his half-drunk coffee and going back to the kitchen. Really he would rather stand outside in the pouring rain all day than sit here with her, torturing himself in the awkward silence. “If you could go through the food and pull easy-to-eat items out, pack up your clothes. I’ve started a list of what I think we need to take from here. You can just throw things in those empty totes.” He pointed to a pile of black heavy-duty totes sitting in the armchair.

“Sure,” Madeline answered quietly as she followed his progression back down the hallway. She heard the door of the kid’s room click shut as he went to get ready. She sighed and looked at the notebook before snatching it up again, flipping to a blank page, and grabbing a pen to start her own list.

She was working on an inventory of food when Alex came back out dressed for the rain. He only paused briefly to grab something to eat and the pile of car keys before he was out the door without a word. Madeline listened to him jog down the stairs before resuming her work, dragging a tote over to fill up with what she thought would be good to take. It was a hodgepodge of things, and she wrote it all down and taped the list to the lid before moving on to a second tote. She wasn’t sure how much room they’d have, but she thought food and water were probably among the more important things.

Alex still attempted to reach out to the team throughout the day despite the rain. He began rearranging cars slowly, careful not to make too much noise too frequently to be safe. The more useful vehicles were moved closest to their condo, and the ones he didn’t want were further away. He was also careful to not make the setup too obvious, scattering them around different parking spaces to make it look like naturally left behind cars. But he still had them all within view of one of the windows from their condo. Once the useless vehicles were moved, he siphoned gas out of them, filling up multiple gas cans and stashing them into varying trunks. He had learned over the years to always have more than one option and never expect anything to go to plan.

The moving and arranging took hours with how slow he had to go, but it kept him busy. He only paused when the rain was coming down so hard he couldn’t move the windshield wipers couldn’t keep up. The thunder was ground shaking and he rode out one storm in a beat-up Civic and scarfed down a snack pack of mini muffins as he waited.

Madeline had checked on Alex a few times between her work and watched him carefully move things around the parking lot. He glanced up at the condo a few times, but she always ducked back from the window. The thunderstorms seemed unending through the day, one rolling out only to be followed by another an hour later, and the rain never let up. On a particularly loud storm, she had blatantly opened a window and leaned out to find where Alex was, tempted to call him inside when she spotted him eating his late lunch in a car. She gave him a small half wave, unsure if he had seen, before going back inside.

Between packing, she worked on gathering the extra water she had caught from the rain and dumping it into the tubs. If they were going to be on the road again soon, they wouldn’t need a whole lot, but she wanted to bathe at least one more time before they left.

The work had taken most of the day and Madeline kept itching to flip the notebook pages back to look at what Alex had attempted to write to her. She talked herself out of it every time, but when she was finally exhausted and collapsed on the couch, she snatched it up and flipped. What was the worst thing that could happen? He had already hurt her enough, maybe some sort of explanation would at least make it sting a little less, or help her understand. She propped the notebook on her knees as she rummaged through a box of stale Cheerios and started to decipher.

The day ran out of light earlier than usual, thanks to the storms, so Alex headed back inside, soaked to the skin, a couple of hours ahead of schedule. When he walked back into the condo, he didn’t see Madeline; it seemed she had abandoned the living area for the bedroom. Shucking off his outer layer, he threw the clothes into the sink before walking around to assess what she had done. There were totes neatly stacked by the pantry door and they all had paper torn from his notebook taped to them. He bent down to read one as he undid his shoes to see it was a list of everything inside, and he grinned a bit. It seemed she had the same idea of splitting things out, making each tote a combination of things just to be safe.

He grabbed his dinner, a prepacked protein shake, and the other half of a bag of chips from the night before, and headed to his room. If Madeline had turned in for the night he may as well, he lost valuable time today so if the storm cleared overnight he could get an early start. As he tipped the bag of chips up to get some crumbs he paused in his steps. Madeline’s bedroom door was open. It was just a small gap, hardly enough to see much aside from a sliver of wall, but it was open. She had kept it firmly shut for the past week and he stared at it for just a second longer debating. Was it a coincidence? An accident? Maybe she wanted to talk to him and it was a silent invitation to do so. He stared for a few seconds more before going toward his room. He wasn’t going to push it. She had barely agreed to speak to him, and he wouldn’t ruin that.

Madeline sat quietly on the bed, listening to Alex as he came in, twisting her hands in her lap as she waited. She had no idea what to do, to say. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to say anything at all, to be honest. She had been able to make out what he had tried to say in his writing, piece together his scribbles, and attempt to convey his thoughts. It wasn’t enough for forgiveness, not nearly enough, but it was a start. So she decided to leave it up to him to see if he would want to talk. When he stopped outside her door she held her breath waiting, still unsure of what she wanted, but when his steps continued down the hall she loosed it with a twist of disappointment. Maybe it wasn’t the best time or the time at all.

Still, though, she kept the door open.

Thunder was still rumbling in the distance when Madeline woke up. She had to unbury herself from where she had burrowed under the pillows and feel around for the watch on the nightstand. It was still too dark to be a decent waking hour, but she hit the backlight button on the digital face and had to blink a few times to read it. Two in the morning. She sighed and pushed the watch back onto the table as thunder hummed in the background, but she heard something else. Instantly she popped her head up to listen better, heart ratcheting up a few beats in her chest. She heard it again, muffled, but it was certainly there, and she threw her legs out of bed and stood up, stumbling a bit on her still-asleep muscles.

Grabbing the small penlight flashlight, too dim to be seen from the outside but enough to light her walkway, Madeline shuffled toward her bedroom door. If she heard it, surely Alex heard it as well. He was always on alert, waiting for the next threat. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he was already up and in the living room monitoring the area, gun propped on his shoulder, ready to take down whatever it was.

She pried the door open, thankful she had decided to leave it open overnight and realized the sound was louder now. Her heart jumped into her throat as she clicked the light off and tried to listen over her own quickened breathing. How had something gotten inside? She knew Alex barricaded the door every night, and he certainly wasn’t going to sleep through it. She glanced around in the dark for what to do, where to go, afraid that maybe something had happened to Alex when the sound clearly met her ears this time.

It wasn’t one of those things.

Fumbling down the hall, Madeline went for Alex’s room. His door was also open, and she banged into it. She couldn’t see him in the dark but she could hear him. Hear the frantic shifting in the bed, the stifled groans and choked noises as he fought unknown terrors in his sleep. She tripped over something as she crossed the room and barely caught herself on the bed's footboard. Her jarring the bed didn’t wake Alex as he continued to trash and groan, and she scooted around the edge.

“Alex,” she tried as her hand touched his leg. He was twisted up in the sheets, and she tugged as he strained, the darkness not helping as she attempted to unwind him. He had woken her before in the car when he had his nightmares, but it was never this loud, more of a twitch or a jolt, a few gasps. This was a whole other level, and she flinched as he yelled loudly. The words weren’t discernable but the inflection in the tone was telling enough.

“Alex!” She called out louder as she felt up his leg to his stomach and finally found one of his arms. He pulled back hard out of her grasp, and Madeline groped for him again, resting her hip on the side of the bed. She slid her hands over his chest finding more sheets and blankets before her fingers found skin. He was damp with sweat, and his breathing was coming too quick, almost in gasps as he fought whatever terrors. “Alex,” Madeline tried soothingly as her hands found either side of his face and gripped him hard. “I need you to wake up,” she tried, shaking his head a bit, “you’re dreaming. You’re safe; I’m here with you,” she continued as he twisted a bit but perhaps calmed a fraction. “Whatever you’re seeing, it’s not real,” Madeline continued quietly, running her thumbs over his cheekbones, feeling the wetness from sweat or tears; she wasn’t sure.

He was being held down, restrained as he watched it happen, and couldn’t help. As he watched those things tear into her and rip her to pieces as he just stood by uselessly. He couldn’t do it, couldn’t let it happen again; he’d already failed once. He twisted and fought against the hands, against the ties keeping him down. They were too tight, his limbs too heavy and slow. He thrashed again and felt the hands grab his face to hold him and make him watch. He wouldn’t. He got one hand free and grabbed at them before everything vanished, and he opened his eyes in the dark.

Alex had grabbed at Madeline’s wrist hard enough to make her squeak with a bit of pain, but she didn’t let go of him. It seemed his movement, or maybe her voice, had finally dragged him out of the dream. He had stopped squirming and fighting, though his chest was heaving, and his fingers dug painfully into her pulse point as he continued to hold on. He didn’t say anything just yet, and Madeline felt him snap his head to the side a bit to assess what was going on.

“Just a dream,” Madeline said quietly in the dark, and she felt him shift his head to look at where her voice had come from.

“Madeline?” Alex asked, his voice a rasp. His throat was dry and felt like sandpaper, and he still couldn’t quite piece together what was real and what was the dream. He continued to hold her wrist as he blinked into the dark to banish the images. “Are you…are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Madeline answered simply as she continued to cup his face. “I’m a little more concerned for you,” she confessed as he finally loosened his grip some so her fingers weren’t going numb.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” He asked again, not really comprehending that she was there with him. He had seen it with his own two eyes, seen her be bit, be savagely ripped apart. Seen Farah dying alone in some back ally. Watched as they both looked to him for help that he couldn’t give. Their eyes pleading for help, flashing with anger at his inability, then terror as they succumbed to the sickness and blood loss. “You’re here?”

No, what he had seen wasn’t right. Farah was in Urzikstan; he had left her behind. She was…well, she was dead, but he hadn’t seen it. And Madeline was here talking to him, so she hadn’t been attacked and ripped apart.

Or was this the dream?

“Alex, I am okay,” Madeline said calmly as he continued to work through whatever plagued his thoughts. She could feel him still breathing rapidly, and when his other hand reached for her, she held still. Let his fingers brush along her side, broad palm running up to her shoulder blade before coming to rest on her shoulder itself. “See? Just fine.”

“Fuck,” Alex finally groaned as he pushed his head back into the pillow in frustration and perhaps embarrassment. She was here with him; he could feel the warmth of her skin under his clammy grip and her cool hands on his flushed cheeks as she continued to hold him to ground him. What he had seen hadn’t been real; this was real. She was real. “Fuck I’m sorry, Madeline,” he muttered as he let his hand fall away with a small thump, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“That is the least of my worries right now,” Madeline answered as she let go of him now that he was more coherent. He seemed as if he needed space to breathe so she moved to stand up right as he pushed onto his elbows.

He needed to get out from under the blankets. They were sticking to him like a second skin with sweat, and his hair was also plastered to his forehead. How long had he been trashing about? What had he said and done? He swung his legs out from the small twin bed and planted his feet on the floor, the cold vinyl a nice jolt to his brain to wipe away some of the fog. He leaned forward and dug the heel of his palms into his eyes as if they would press the dream out of his mind.

“Does this happen often?” Madeline asked quietly as she stood just inches away. He mentioned he didn’t mean to wake her, which said this happened more than once.

“Enough,” Alex muttered simply as he rested his forehead in his hands, pushing the hair up and away.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” She knew why, of course, because she had thoroughly shut him out and made it clear she didn’t want to talk to him.

“I’m not going to burden you with this too. This is my own shit.”

“I,” Madeline started before she reached for him. “I know we’ve got some things to talk about, but I didn’t want you to suffer. Not like this,” she breathed as she stepped closer, her hand resting on his bare shoulder where it met his neck.

“I can handle it,” Alex said with a humorless laugh, “comes with the job. These things aren’t new for me. It won’t be the last time.”

“You shouldn’t have to handle it alone.”

She stepped around one of his legs to stand before him in the dark. Alex leaned back slightly at her sudden closeness, but Madeline curled her fingers a bit, not wanting him to pull far away. Before either of them could reconsider or pull away, she slid her other arm around him and pulled him against her.

Alex quickly understood Madeline’s intent and didn’t resist her movements. He shifted his position, spreading his legs to make more room for her. As she closed the distance, he leaned his head against her chest, embracing the hug. It was the first soft gesture she had offered him in over a week, and Alex hadn’t realized how much he needed it until he felt her warmth again.

Madeline gently cradled the back of Alex’s head with one hand, her other resting soothingly along his back. In response, Alex wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing his face into her shirt with a soft sigh. She could feel how his fingers dug into her skin, gently but conveying a fear she’d pull away or reject him again. But she didn’t. She continued to hold him to her quietly, letting her hand on his head gently run through his hair, feeling the three scar lines near his temple that she had yet to hear how he had received them.

The closeness and simple strength she gave him made Alex swallow hard to keep from falling apart again. The dark always made it so much easier to unravel and that much harder to keep it together. He had been grieving Farah, the suspected death of his friends, and the loss of Madeline’s companionship, utterly alone with no one to talk about it with. It was all overwhelming, and this gesture was the final straw on his tether of false bravado.

“I’m here,” Madeline finally said as she felt Alex tense and stiffen as he tried to hold himself together. She had not been shy about crying in front of him and had broken down too many times to keep up with. He had always been there to help her through it, given her space when she needed it, but also picked her back up and kept her moving. Yet, when he needed her support most, she had walked away. Even though his words had hurt her immensely, and she knew it was the grief talking, she continued to shut him out and let her anger drive instead of logic.

She had forced him to navigate his pain alone, something he would never have done to her. She knew if she had lashed out, berated, or screamed at him, he would have come back because he understood. “I’m sorry for what happened to Farah,” she said quietly, feeling him tighten his grip on her at the mention of the name. “And I’m sorry for making you go through this alone.”

“Madeline,” Alex said quietly, afraid if he raised his voice, she would hear how badly it was wavering. “You have nothing to be sorry for. The things I said-”

“Weren’t you,” Madeline finished for him before he tried to continue to blame himself. “I read the note,” she paused, “notes.”

“I meant what I wrote,” he mumbled, “I couldn’t say it right but writing was a little easier.” He let his fingers press into the soft skin of her back as he pressed closer into her embrace. He was fighting to keep everything together, not let emotion overwhelm him at the fact she had given him a chance. That she understood what happened on the roof really was not him and how it had all gone to shit in a shockingly fast fashion.

“I know,” was all Madeline replied as she stared off into the darkness. She wasn’t ready to forget what happened between them, but now wasn't the time to talk about it. Instead, she gently continued to soothe him, feeling his breathing start to slow into a more relaxed state and his muscles untense.

“You should get back to sleep,” she finally ventured after a long moment of silence as they held onto one another. “It’s still early enough to get a few more hours before sun up.”

Alex shifted and leaned back some to look up at her in the dark, his hands sliding to grip at her hips gently. “I’m probably not going to get back to sleep,” he answered before letting his hands drop from her to his lap. “Usually don’t. I can get started on a few things,” he reasoned before Madeline flexed her fingers on his shoulders to hold him in place.

“We both need some good sleep if we’re about to hit the road again. It’s still stormy out, nothing you can do in the dark,” she reasoned.

“I’ll just stare at the ceiling if I stay here. You can go back to bed I’ll be quiet,” he answered back as he sighed. “I’m usually up for hours before you anyway.”

“Move over,” Madeline said, sounding braver than she felt.

“Mads there’s no room in this-“ Alex started as she shifted to go around him. “I’m fine, you can go back to bed.”

“It’s just like the car,” Madeline reasoned as the bed squeaked with her added weight. She wasn’t forgiving him fully, at least not yet, but maybe just tonight, they could slip into the easy companionship they had developed, filling the void of loneliness for her and loss for him. Tomorrow they could figure things out properly.

Alex didn’t fight her. He shifted back into the small twin bed until his bareback hit the wall, sending a chill down his spine. Laying down on his side, he tucked his elbow under his head and shoved the pillow in her direction as she pushed the sheets down to get under them. It really was just like the SUV and he raised his arm up as she laid down and pressed herself up to his chest, curling her own arms against her chest between them. He let her settle, get that last small adjustment before he dropped the arm around her and pulled her tight to him.

“Good?” Madeline barely whispered as she felt his heart hammering under her hands. Or was that her own?

“Good,” Alex answered back as he splayed his hand on her back to keep her pressed to him and not topple on the floor. She didn’t say anything else as she lay there, her body stiff with awkwardness. As time passed, she relaxed more into the bed, and soon, her breathing was a soft sigh, indicating she had fallen asleep.

It was a long while before Alex fell asleep, the nightmare still vivid in his mind as he held onto Madeline. But even with the images flashing in his mind, he was more relaxed, more content to know at least one thing in his world wasn’t gone. Least not yet. They still needed to discuss the next steps and plans. He wasn’t sure when exactly he fell asleep, but even with everything on his mind, having Madeline there next to him, he was able to rest undisturbed by thoughts or nightmares for the rest of the night.

The next time Madeline awoke, she found herself curled nearly on top of Alex. She blinked at the watery sunlight coming through the windows as she tried to take in her surroundings. Her cheek was pressed tight to his chest, one of her arms flung across him. His arm, in turn, was protectively wrapped around her back to hold her close, and his other hand loosely held her bicep as if he had tugged her on top of him and fallen asleep holding her. She shifted a leg to stretch a bit and found their legs were also entwined together. She peered down where the blankets adorned with cartoon characters hid their lower halves.

He was shirtless and while the room had a chill to it, he was warm like always. No matter the weather or the temperature, Alex always ran hot. His skin was like a radiator under her fingers, and it was perfect to sleep with. Sliding her hand to the center of his chest near her face, she quietly looked at his arm that was caging her. She let her eyes rove over the tattoo that she had seen plenty of times but never this close or this long to pick up the detail. He must have had it for years, parts of it faded a bit with age and use, a few spots marred by scars he received after the artwork.

Madeline ran her finger over the staff of what looked to be a grim reaper near the crease of his elbow when Alex’s breathing stuttered with alertness at the movement. She halted and turned her head up to see him blinking at the ceiling, the arm around her back tightening its grip as if afraid she’d slip away.

“How long ago did you get these?” Madeline asked as she returned her attention back to the tattoo and traced a few swirls of black-inked smoke, the pad of her finger feeling the ridge of another scar.

“Years ago,” Alex answered with a yawn as he peered down at what she was looking at. “Need some touchup, not sure when that will happen,” he added. “I had a plan to eventually run it down my back but life got in the way.”

“It has a funny way of doing that,” Madeline answered as she let her hand fall to rest on his chest again. “Get enough rest?” She asked, tilting her head up to look at him. He was pale with exhaustion, the dark circles under his eyes prominent in this light.

“I could use another three days,” Alex confessed with a small grin, “but I got plenty to be able to function.”

“I guess we better get going,” Madeline stated as she shifted to sit up. She was sore from being tucked so tightly to him, no room to move in the small bed. “Since you lost some time yesterday. Do you still want to leave tomorrow?”

Alex’s arm fell away from her as she sat up, hiding his disappointment that the moment was over so quickly. He watched her back as she stretched, her tank top riding up her waist to give him a peek of her own tattoo on her ribs. He stared for a moment longer before pushing to sit up himself, groaning as his shoulder and back popped at the moment.

“Tomorrow or the day after. I don’t want to leave in a rush if we don’t have to and risk forgetting anything,” Alex answered. “But lingering also isn’t the best idea either. It’s just a matter of time before people start venturing out for more places to raid, to find supplies. Grocery stores and the like will be depleted by now, and people need food. This is out of the way, but locals will know it exists.”

“Right,” Madeline answered as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and looked over her shoulder at him. “Can I help today?” She asked, “and not just by staying inside. I’m getting a bit stir-crazy.”

“I, ah,” Alex started, but he saw her eyes narrow. She was talking to him; he wasn’t going to ruin this tentative truce. “We can start packing the car.”

“Great,” Madeline answered as she stood up and reached above her head to stretch out, pushing up onto her tiptoes before settling flat foot again. “I’ll get changed, and we can eat then get started,” she gave him a small smile.

“Sure,” Alex replied with his own smile as he watched her walk out.

Alex arrived in the living room first and flipped open the laptop, plugged the phone in, and swiped over to his email. He was prepared to just send his usual morning communication when a noise outside caught his attention. He rose from the seat and peered out the window.

They had company much sooner than he anticipated.

#fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #call of duty #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #cod #my fic #alex keller fanfic #alex keller cod #alex cod #cod alex #alex keller x oc #a reason to try

6 notes · View notes

sammy-i-dont-want-to-be-here · 7 months ago

Note

Bendy are you a little devil thing

Who was brought to life on the silver screen

Used to make em chuckle now he makes em scream

It's Bendy in the Devil's Swing

Flash back to the place that made the cartoons sing

Where the cobwebs grow and the floorboards creak

And it's all connected to an evil scheme

It's Bendy and the Ink Machine

Dreams do come true

I was deceived by Joey Drew, and now I'm coming after you

Who's laughing now?

You thought that you could cut me out

But now the ink is pouring down

Bendy was created out of ink

Then molded into a 3D beast

You can hear him coming by his tapping feet

It's Bendy in the Devil's Swing

Snap back to the era when the swing was king

But the workshops fading and behind the scenes

There's a deep dark secret hidden underneath

It's Bendy and the Ink Machine

Hey Joey, I got your message

There's still a sketch on my old work desk

It might have a been a bit overzealous

To collect all six of those office relics

I haven't seen my peers

In over thirty years

But there's no one here

Except grinding gears

And my rising fears

The illusion of living

Was only the beginning

Ink incarnate that's sinning

Presented in Sillyvision

The illusion of living

Was only the beginning

Ink incarnate that's sinning

Presented in Sillyvision

Bendy was a villain out of sync

Now he's off the page and he's on the brink

And his old pal Boris might have lost his spleen

It's Bendy in the Devil's Swing

A cartoon cutout that'll make you shriek

Yeah your heart starts racing when you hear that beat

The creator's brain might have sprung a leak

It's Bendy and the Ink Machine

One, two, three

To 3D

You and me

Ink machine

Flashing screens

Dancing fiend

Bendy sings

Devil's Swing

Dreams do come true

I was deceived by Joey Drew, and now I'm coming after you

Who's laughing now?

You thought that you could cut me out

But now the ink is pouring down

Bendy was a lil' devil thing

Who was brought to life on the silver screen

Used to make em chuckle now he makes em scream

It's Bendy in the Devil's Swing

Flash back to the place that made the cartoons sing

Where the cobwebs grow and the floorboards creak

And it's all connected to an evil scheme

It's Bendy and the Ink Machine

((did you just wrote a friking full song in here- I don't even know how to respond to that))

#bendy #batim #batdr #bendy and the dark revival #bendy and the ink machine #ask

9 notes · View notes

cutebendy · 7 months ago

Note

Bendy are you a little devil thing

Who was brought to life on the silver screen

Used to make em chuckle now he makes em scream

It's Bendy in the Devil's Swing

Flash back to the place that made the cartoons sing

Where the cobwebs grow and the floorboards creak

And it's all connected to an evil scheme

It's Bendy and the Ink Machine

Dreams do come true

I was deceived by Joey Drew, and now I'm coming after you

Who's laughing now?

You thought that you could cut me out

But now the ink is pouring down

Bendy was created out of ink

Then molded into a 3D beast

You can hear him coming by his tapping feet

It's Bendy in the Devil's Swing

Snap back to the era when the swing was king

But the workshops fading and behind the scenes

There's a deep dark secret hidden underneath

It's Bendy and the Ink Machine

Hey Joey, I got your message

There's still a sketch on my old work desk

It might have a been a bit overzealous

To collect all six of those office relics

I haven't seen my peers

In over thirty years

But there's no one here

Except grinding gears

And my rising fears

The illusion of living

Was only the beginning

Ink incarnate that's sinning

Presented in Sillyvision

The illusion of living

Was only the beginning

Ink incarnate that's sinning

Presented in Sillyvision

Bendy was a villain out of sync

Now he's off the page and he's on the brink

And his old pal Boris might have lost his spleen

It's Bendy in the Devil's Swing

A cartoon cutout that'll make you shriek

Yeah your heart starts racing when you hear that beat

The creator's brain might have sprung a leak

It's Bendy and the Ink Machine

One, two, three

To 3D

You and me

Ink machine

Flashing screens

Dancing fiend

Bendy sings

Devil's Swing

Dreams do come true

I was deceived by Joey Drew, and now I'm coming after you

Who's laughing now?

You thought that you could cut me out

But now the ink is pouring down

Bendy was a lil' devil thing

Who was brought to life on the silver screen

Used to make em chuckle now he makes em scream

It's Bendy in the Devil's Swing

Flash back to the place that made the cartoons sing

Where the cobwebs grow and the floorboards creak

And it's all connected to an evil scheme

It's Bendy and the Ink Machine?

youtube

Here all song im lazzy to continue :D

#i like remix more #ask #cutebendy #anon ask #bendy #bendy youtube

7 notes · View notes

manueillustrations · 6 months ago

Text

FR- Si vous aimez mon art et avez envie de m’encourager, je vous invite à vous joindre à ma page Patreon :) Cette plate-forme me permet d'explorer mon style, mon univers, les histoires que je souhaites créer... J'y présente plusieurs sketchs, des finaux, des fanarts au gré de mes envies. C'est un peu comme la plateforme Ko-fi ou on peut offrir un 'café', sauf que dans mon cas, ça vous donne droit à des contre-parties.

Vous pouvez vous inscrire gratuitement, déjà ça, c'est encourageant pour moi et je vous en suis reconnaissante Mais, si vous décidez d'y inclure un montant, voici les différents paliers 1- Vous avez accès à certaines exclusivités et mes illustrations générales à l'avance. 2- Ce qu'il y a au tier 1, plus des planches de BD quand j'en poste (selon le temps et l’inspiration). 3- Ce qu'il y a au tier 2, ainsi que mes illustrations plus romantique. 4- Ce qu'il y a au tier 3, mais avec un peu plus de 'spicy' (illustrations plus mature mais bien dosées) 5- Ce qu'il y a au tier 4, ainsi que des planches de BDs plus romantique/spicy. Environ 3-5 planche par mois ou deux. 6- Ce qu'il y a au tier 5, ainsi qu'une illustration encrée digital (contactez-moi pour savoir ce que vous avez droit) Et en plus, vous avez accès à toutes mes archives :)

ICI HERE www.patreon.com/manueillustrations

EN- If you like my art and want to support me, I invite you to join my Patreon page :) This platform allows me to explore my style, my universe, the stories I want to create… I present several sketches, finals and fanarts as I see fit. It's a bit like the Ko-fi platform where you can offer a 'coffee', except that in my case, it entitles you to counter-parties.

You can sign up for free, and that's encouraging enough for me, for which I'm grateful.

But if you decide to include a fee, here are the different levels

1- You get access to certain exclusives and my general illustrations in advance. 2- What's in tier 1, plus comic strips when I post them (depending on time and inspiration). 3- What's in tier 2, plus my more romantic illustrations. 4- What's in tier 3, but with a bit more 'spicy' (more mature but well-balanced illustrations). 5- What's in tier 4, plus more romantic/spicy comics. About 3-5 panels a month or two. 6- What's in tier 5, plus a digital inked illustration (contact me to find out what you're entitled to).

Plus, you get access to all my archives :)

Translated with DeepL.com (free version)

#support #supporter #patreon artist #support artists #wakfu #acotar #fanart #original characters

4 notes · View notes

toprayarc · 3 months ago

Text

COMPLETE METAMORPHOSIS: A DRABBLE, SET IN THE VERY BEGINNINGS OF MARI'S THIRD ARC AND DEPICTING THE DIFFICULT ADJUSTMENTS TO A STABLE ENVIRONMENT. CANON CRAFTED IN AFFILIATION WITH @TOCOOK. CONTENT WARNINGS ARE AS FOLLOWS— PTSD, FLASHBACKS, ABUSE MENTIONS, AND VAGUE USFW CONTENT IN ONE SECTION.

... prologue: newly emerged butterflies cannot fly.

when you were little enough to still not see over the kitchen counter, you'd once wondered if life would always be like this.

confined. enclosed. your brother, cooking breakfast on a step-stool, and looking over his shoulder. your mother, still asleep between the crumples of an aged couch. silent. stale. trembling with the same energy you'd imagined a volcano would have— clawing at the opportunity to erupt.

in the very same day, tucked beneath dotted-red sheets, you'd blinked down at a butterfly popping itself out of a cardboard book and traced your finger over its spine.

some things, you think, are meant to evolve.

... chapter one: everything you've ever wanted.

the first week you and jesse move into your new house, you spend a night staring at the ceiling.

the moonlight pours in over both of your bodies, scattered along the arm that jesse curls around your waist. he's warm, with the same familiarity that keeps you steady, and as you tuck your face into his shoulder, closed lids pressing against his skin, you can't help but think that this is it.

this, in these quiet interims, with nothing but a wind chime in the near distance, is everything you could've dreamed of.

after the sun rises and jesse's left for work, you stand in the yard for 20 minutes.

you envision setting it all aflame.

... chapter two: to-do lists.

in cursive scrawl, you ink out the words 'to-do' at the top of a page. you force the sentence i don't know what to write out of your lips.

it tastes sour, like some under-ripe lemon seeping into an already open wound, and you bite down on your cheek, hard, as if to tourniquet the spillage of embarrassment away. if you were any more honest of a person, you might admit that this is new for you, that you'd never thought this far ahead, and that the last time you'd dreamed about any vague attempt at domesticity, it was lined in blood.

but you're not all that honest, and a little bit cowardly, so you leave it at that.

and because jesse is braver, smarter, and just that much more kind than you are, your list makes it to a clean twenty-five bullet-points.

no weapons included.

... chapter three: cause and effect.

the fragments of a plate scatter across the kitchen floor, and you think you can feel your heart stop. your body tenses, your movements freeze, and you wait for hands to come flying.

even after jesse's swept up the remnants, with no evidence left in sight, you still find yourself waiting.

the next day, when jesse brushes a strand of hair from your face so gently you think you might have imagined it, you think you may be waiting for the rest of your life.

... chapter four: callbacks.

jesse is flipping over a bear-shaped pancake, mouthing the words to a sublime song you've heard well over a thousand times, when you catch yourself smiling.

yellow filters in from the curtains, painting gradients over the shadows of his face. it splays itself clear against his cheekbones, interwoven around the iris' of his eyes, and his stare flickers to you with an ear-to-ear grin that's just as wide as yours. after a moment, you flip your pencil between your fingers, tear your gaze away, and comb over to a fresh page in your journal.

by the time your mouth is syrup-soaked and still smiling, you slide a sketch to the other side of the table, and ask him a question— years late, and as warm as ever.

still think i got those da-vinci skills?

... chapter five: expiration dates.

jesse's face is pressed against your collarbone, mouthing at your neck, and shaping the words i love you around his tongue.

the mattress molds to the back of your spine, envelops the curve of your hips, and springs you back up into the rapid rhythm that you two share.

but as an exhale stutters against your skin, compliments pouring out between his breath, you think you might cry.

part of you fears that you will.

later, while jesse buries himself an inch further under the covers, you kiss along the outline of his shoulder. you trace constellations along the terrain of his arm.

i love you too, is what you do say. but how long will any of this last, is what you don't.

... epilogue: a fully emerged butterfly.

you're unpacking the last of the boxes huddled in the corner of your bedroom when you come across a worn down, cardboard cut-out book.

the butterfly springs from its place, faded from all the years it'd been kept around, and your fingers press against the breadth of its wings. you trace the worry-lines embedded into the pages.

three hours later, when jesse arrives back home from work, you've hidden yourself to the depths of the closet. as he sits beside you, the book still pressed into your palms, you can't help but cry.

later, you ask jesse if he thinks caterpillars understand the concept of change.

when he responds, you smile so hard your cheeks hurt. and in the end, you think, maybe it doesn't really matter.

#ptsd cw #flashbacks cw #abuse mention cw #suggestive cw #drabble.#r. (jesse pinkman.) tocook.#v. (arc iii.) primary.#this kind of hits the core of what mari is really about tbh #anyway. hope yall enjoy please proceed with compassion

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lurxof--thxmaw · 1 year ago

Note

Someone give this poor woman a stim toy

// Don't worry, she's got plenty!

#「 NEWS FROM LAND 」－ asks #「 MASKLESS 」－ ooc #「 INK POURS ON THE PAGES 」－ sketches #anon #// PUTTING THIS IN THE MAIN TAG FUCK IT #little nightmares #the lady #six #the runaway kid #// LMAOOOO #// take these children AWAY from her she WILL bully thrm

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spyridonya · 1 year ago

Note

For Kadira: 🔮 for a scene about the supernatural

The longest one, and likely the one that doesn't say the most about what's going on but... Love wins. Thank you for sending this!

Small as it is, Kadira's bedroom is pristine. Perhaps it's the size that makes it relatively easy with very few things she can use, much less call her own. A bed, a chest, a desk, a chair - all relatively simple if comfortable - and a book shelf filled with magic tomes, brittle and dry history, and hymns of gods and goddesses. They're all made out of some unknown wood, lacquer black and sleek to the touch, the construction not quite sane and yet unmistakable that it's beautiful, glowing in the violet light that holds her room when not pouring through those heavy books.

Kadira knows such a room is a luxury compared to back home, all of it a twisted privilege to use, but none of it is hers. Not really.

Yet, it's perfectly clean. Everything is in order: the floor is clean and the bed is always made. The books are put away after usage in their order of subject, the only mark of her own are bookmarks and paper tucked between pages with notes. It's not so much that Mother demands her room to be clean, but rather Kadira wants her room to be clean.

A place for everything and everything in its place; Including things she shouldn't have.

Not that she ever leaves the lab to attain contraband. Not that she can. There's very, very little she could even exchange to the visitors among the lab. She hides sketches. Silly sketches of Suture and Tergrizon. Doodles birthed from poorly scribed arcane runes. Drawings mimicking the creatures found on the borders of history books and symbols of demons twisted into funny little plants and animals.

She hides all of these under the mattress and tears older sketches piece by piece to be thrown away. But that’s rare.

After all, Tergrizon is prone to snapping Kadira's pens; she ought to tell Mother about that, but the little Quasit is almost too pathetic to rat on. Besides, Areelu never seems to mind getting new pens and ink. Sometimes, she even gets colored ink for her.

So, of course she knows when something new is in her bedroom. Something strange. Even when she's exhausted from lessons like she is now.

It's a feather that sits on top of her bed.

Of course she's seen feathers before, mostly chicken feathers and from the occasional seagull in Kenabras. They're usually brown, beige, or dirty white and no longer than her han and always tattered and torn.

Not this feather. It's perhaps the length of a human foot and the vanes are flawless until it reaches the afterfeather and downy barbs. As Kadira studies it, she can see those little parts of the feather are perfect, Soft, fluffy, and delicate.The edges of the feather are a romantic red, colors bleeding into the rest of the rainbow to the rachis, which is the deepest indigo.

And as Kadira holds it, it feels safe and warm in her fingertips as memory tickles, trying to rise from the gloom of confusion.She feels loved.

But then she hears the scrape of a handle at her door and the laborious breathing that gurgles like garbage. She has seconds. Mere seconds. In a speed that rushes against the clock, Kadira stashes the feather under one of her pillows and whirls, her skirts dancing about her, her eyes wide and her furrow apparent.

The low, uncomfortable fear is a perfect disguise for her little secret of a feather that simply should not be there.

#answered ask #dujour13 #character: knight commander kadira #pwotr pals

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keshetchai · 9 months ago

Text

Fountain pen ink bottle: $4 /ea

pocket sized sketchbooks or notebooks $2 (yellow & brown strathmore drawing/sketch are bundled together for $2)

The three larger sketchbooks are all $5 /ea

various mini canvas packs $3 / ea

acrylic paint pad $8 BNNU

mixed media toned paper pad $6

gel print and roller $8

tortilla pencil roll $2

cheapie brushes bundle (seriously these are CHEAP brushes, they aren't good quality. they're meant for watercolor or acrylic, and I keep cheapies on hand for things like applying masking glue, gesso, spattering, yknow...there's all kinds of reasons why you want sort of terrible brushes. the handles can mix stuff. any time you might end up destroying the good brushes, these are the sacrificial lambs!) $3 for all of them.

brushes box $14 BNNU

brush washer, paint keys (bundle), sanding sponges, letters stencil, clip-on cups to hold medium -- $3 /ea

golden open acrylics set BN swatched and tested like once, got some oil paints on tube but otherwise great. this is the traditional colors set of 6. $30

palette paper (white) BNNU $8

soho, grumbacher, & turner watercolor bundle: $15

marie's gouaches bundle and storage box I had them in $6

Lukas gouache bundle $25

QOR watercolor (remaining paint in squeezed out tubes (1 tube missing), and the paint poured out into a funky pink pill box with a cool skeleton on the front and washi tape decoration. the watercolors left to dry in the pill box rewet nicely. $15

union square watercolor pad $6

Filofax Original A5 size organizer in Dark Aqua WITH loads of interior pages - some bought from an online etsy shop (in rainbow colors, "QUESTS" instead of "to-do lists" and "heart" boxes, plus regular white or colored lined papers as well. it's stuffed full!) No actual calendar pages but does have numbered dividers with tabs. $130

pencils box $2

that white palette $3

art supply carrier tote bag thingy $10. it does have like, graphite, pastel smudging on the insides and all of that, but honestly you're just going to add more, right?

NOTE ON GOUACHES AND WATERCOLORS:

I will not do returns for dried gouache or watercolor in the tubes. Some of them will need to be reworked! (like I can hear one of the marie's gouaches rattling inside the tube, lol)

The fix to a dried out or drying out watercolor/gouache is incredibly simple: add water. You can cut open the tube to act as a cup, or cut them open and pour them out into a plastic paint cub or reused glass/plastic cup with lid. or right into a palette. add just enough water to fully soak the dried paint. wait a few days for it to soften up. add more water as necessary. if it's still a bit thick, you can add a drop of plain glycerin to the paint and mix it in to help it retain the moisture it's soaking in. this will also make it easier to rewet as you go on.

I will say the lukas gouaches all appear squishy still in tubes, the acrylics are perfect, and the sohos/turner seem mostly fine, but there's some they may need re-constituting and the marie's may have some dry ones as well. lastly, the QOR's don't have much left actually inside the tubes, so you might want to cut the tubes open anyways to paint directly from. they're nice paints tho, and i of course am bundling with where i poured all the paint into.

also: sorry the lighting is weirdly yellowy. I laid out a white curtain that I am not currently using to try and take pictures on and it's just...this whole house has terrible lighting in every room lol. i promise you those curtains are white.

these can't be shipped media mail, so just keep that in mind!

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hellobunny044 · 1 year ago

Text

Panels. | Series

panel. in manga art, panels refers to the frame that wraps around one moment in time.

********************************************************

an original Haikyu AU pairing Udai Tenma (the o little giant

warning!!: containing some manga content.

word count: 6318

********************************************************

Panel - 4

Udai knew that being a mangaka was a tough job, but he never imagined it would be this messy. He was neck-deep in deadlines, pages, and ink blots, with barely enough time to get a decent night’s sleep, let alone a weekend off. Yet, he continued to pour his heart and soul into his manga series, determined to make it a success.

This morning, he woke up to the blaring sound of his phone, a call from his dearest editor, Akaashi Keiji.

—————————————————————

“Good morning, Udai-san.”

—————————————————————

“Morning, Akaashi-san.” Yawning, Udai immediately closed his mouth with his palm then trailed over the wall to read the clock whilst listening to his editor’s kind reminder of his deadline approaching fast at the end of this month.

—————————————————————

“I’m calling to remind you about the deadline. It’s coming at the end of this week. Please start taking it seriously, Udai-san.”

—————————————————————

“Understood, Akaashi-san. There is no slacking off this time.”

When Udai said there is no slacking off, he meant everything about it.

This morning when he woke up, Udai was asleep clutching to the paper of his work for the next volume of Zombie Knight Zomb’ish. He didn’t need Akaashi Keiji to keep reminding him of the deadline he already set his own alarm on.

He is really working hard this time.

—————————————————————

“Please be real about it this time.”

—————————————————————

Udai sighed.

“Should we switch to facetime, Akaashi-san?”

—————————————————————

“I would prefer it this way. Then, don’t forget to have a proper breakfast, Udai-san. You’ll finish the manga earlier if you eat a proper meal.”

—————————————————————

Bowing to the air, Udai replied, “Thank you so much for your hard work of being so considerate about my condition, Akaashi-san. Have a great day ahead!”

The call ended with Udai yawning once again, tossing his phone to the side where there was a pile of paper almost covering the ground where he remembered he was sleeping so comfortably last night.

He took a deep breath and looked around his room. The walls were plastered with sketches, storyboards, and reference images. His desk was cluttered with pens, papers, and empty cups of coffee. His tablets are still on. A stray sock lay on the floor, and the curtains were drawn shut, casting the room in a pale, eerie light.

Udai slowly got out of his bed, stretched his arms, and headed to the bathroom. He splashed water on his face and looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was a mess, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to tame the wild strands.

As he walked out of his apartment, he noticed that the sun had barely risen, and the streets were still relatively empty. He decided to head to the convenience store anyway. The early morning air was refreshing, and he felt a sense of calm wash over him.

As he walked, he saw a group of high schoolers, laughing and chatting as they headed to school.

Udai smiled, remembering his own high school days. Back then, he never could have imagined that he would become a mangaka, let alone a successful one. He had always loved drawing, but he had never considered it a viable career option.

As he approached the convenience store, he saw a small dog tied to a post. The dog was wagging its tail and looking up at him with big, soulful eyes. Udai crouched down and stroked its head, and the dog licked his hand.

The dog barked, and Udai chuckled.

He bought some instant breakfast and headed back to his apartment, feeling a sense of contentment. He had almost successfully completed another volume, and he was proud of his work.

Miyagi Prefecture, Nine years ago

Eight o’clock in the morning meant it’s the time for morning practice for all sports club members including volleyball.

About half an hour before morning practice began, the first year club members had arrived early, ahead of the second and third year senpais. Only then, fifteen minutes before the scheduled morning practice, did the senpais join in, filling the club room to change and get ready for the morning practice session.

As with most sports club rooms, a deafening noise greeted the opening of the door: a serious and jocular chatter of the first years, a few second years being silly by throwing some clothes at each other, some affectionate callings and amused laughter that echoed like a thunderbolt in the morning, the melodious humming that outshone the coolest diva in the world, and a few other performances.

Crowded.

Crowded, contrary to the ideal atmosphere some people want to start their day with, Udai was one of them.

Rather than distinguishing himself with the title ace attached to every cell in his body, or perhaps on an invisible neon plaque attached to his head, Udai chose to join in with a greeting that was uttered casually under his breath when he opened the door. His reasoning was simple: that he did not want to ruin the atmosphere with his presence, or rather that he did not want to disturb his own inner tranquility by blending into the noise in the club room.

The greetings that passed by him since he entered the club room to get ready, were replied in a nonchalant tone as he walked towards his locker.

“Good morning, Udai-kun!”

The only person who consistently greeted him in a friendly manner was Tsukishima Akiteru. A third-year club member with a tall, lanky build—far towering over Udai—his speed and spike performance were fairly consistent as one of Karasuno’s wing spiker, but he had never been a starting player like Udai.

There can only be six people on the court. When the game was on, and the ball was in the air, it was a rule that there had to be sacrifices to keep the players at six. For a long time, it has been an absolute rule that those who were to fill six spot om the court are the stronger, are the ones who are able to bear the weight of the responsibility of keeping the ball in play.

In this case, Tsukishima Akiteru might not have been one of those six for quite some time, but Udai was one of them, so that was enough.

Bowing his head slightly to the blonde senpai, Udai replied, “Good morning, Tsukishima-san.”

After changing into more proper clothes for the training session, Udai who was about to join the gymnasium with the others, was again prevented by Tsukishima with something she said.

“You didn’t eat curry-flavored pork buns anymore, did you?”

Udai stopped, peeking over his shoulder.

Tsukishima chuckled. His hand behind his head scratched awkwardly even though it wasn’t itchy at all. “Ah, sorry. I think I’m being slightly too impertinent here.”

At times when Udai gave unreadable expressions like this, Tsukishima, or anyone else, would always feel that Udai was a big guy.

“I was just joking, Udai-kun.” Tsukishima Akiteru immediately followed up his words. Both hands were raised sufficiently in front of his chest, his lips curled into a friendly smile.

It’s not that Udai would care so much about that either.

“Oh. I see.” Udai replied casually but politely. “I still ate curry flavored pork bun yesterday after practice, though.”

“Hee? Really?” Tsukishima gave a surprised expression.

“After all, it was delicious, wasn’t it?”

“Well... you’re right about that. But…”

Studying Tsukishima Akiteru’s expression, Udai immediately answered the obvious concern on his senpai’s face by saying, “About the the other day, I didn’t really go to the bathroom.”

Tsukishima Akiteru paused, blinking innocently at his underclassman who said everything oh-so-casually.

“I just needed an excuse to leave practice for some reason and saying something like that as an excuse was the best choice.”

Half-stammering, also shocked at the innocence and bluntness of his underclassman, Tsukishima Akiteru immediately warned, “Oi, Udai-kun. Keep your voice down. If Kawada-kun hears you, he’ll scold you for lying.”

“And?”

Tsukishima Akiteru was dumbfounded, “Huh?”

“It can't be helped, right? It happened.”

Logically, Udai had a clear point to make. Tsukishima Akiteru also knew that Kawada might inherited their coach’s strict nature, however, he was not someone who would strip away his own discretion to scold some underclassmen for lying.

Udai watched the change in Tsukishima Akiteru’s expression that had just been sighing like a man in pain, brightened up with a smile curling his lips.

“Udai-kun, you see, if I look closer about it, I think you do have a feel of a big guy sometimes.”

Udai frowned, not understanding the difficult term Tsukishima Akiteru used in his response. His head tilted as he asked, “What does that mean, Tsukishima-san?”

Tsukishima Akiteru smiled, “It’s nothing. What it means is that our ace always looks energetic and reliable even when no one is watching.”

Udai did not expect a friendly pat on his shoulder.

“You sound and look exactly like the ace!”

“Is that how you see me, Tsukishima-san?”

Tsukishima Akiteru laughed at Udai Tenma’s unnecessary question.

“What’s with that, Udai-kun? I obviously see you as the ace because that’s how everyone sees you, because you’re the ace. And apparently, our ace is always in his prime every morning.”

Udai always worked on that, to be in three times better shape than the others every day in order to last longer in the court.

“Hee? I see.”

Udai didn’t know that he would smile until he actually did. But he had no regrets when he said, “Well then, I’m glad to know that. I worked hard for that anyway.”

It was the first time Tsukishima or anyone else who might have witnessed the conversation had seen Udai Tenma smile other than in a match when he scored a point with a beautiful block out of their opponent.

“Oi, did you see that? Udai-san is smiling!”

“As I thought, the ace is scarry!”

“He makes a big impression when he smiles.”

“It’s obvious that you don’t want to see him smiling like that in front of you.”

“He’s untouchable. You know... it’s like that... he has these giant iron walls around him and Tsukishima-san is the only one willing to climb up there just to maintain a good communication with him.”

“Same goes to Kawada-san.”

“Yes, it’s true that our captain is always like that. But that’s the captain’s job, right? To always embrace all the club members equally. If you look closer, Udai-san doesn’t actually have a good relationship with anyone in the club, right? He’s quite a loner.”

Udai was indeed plagued by many misfortunes, one of which was his inability to connect with his surroundings. His habit of trusting himself had turned out to have grown into a flaw on the other side where that confidence had made him move away from something called connected.

He had no friends. Not even one. Not in the club, not in class, not in the neighborhood or anywhere else.

Unlike how some people would come in pairs as a package with various connections, or how they would come in groups, Udai had no one he could call a partner in this sport. Not with another wing spiker, not with any of the available setters, let alone a libero.

As you can see, Udai stands alone and proud, doing it all by himself. He guided, carried, and embraced himself without worrying what his surroundings said about him.

However, that was what made him stronger.

“But that’s cool... he was able to survive and stand at the top with only himself.”

Where weak people go to seek support by surrounding themselves with stronger people to build confidence, Udai faithfully accompanies himself, embracing and holding tight to all his weaknesses.

Up until now, he had always felt that he was enough on his own. Udai had not yet reached the point where he would need someone, and he was sure that he would always be like that in any case.

“Has everyone gathered?” Kawada, the team captain stood with his waist girded in front of everyone, ready to lead the morning training session.

His gaze traveled throughout the crowd to check all the faces of his members, making sure that no one was missing.

“Counting starts!”

At their captain’s mark, all members counted from the higher year to the lower.

“All present.” The vice captain said after making sure everyone had arrived and was not late.

Kawada turned to Udai, studied him for a while and called out to him, “What about you?”

Udai returned the question casually in tone but formally, “What?”

“Are you joining the run?”

Udai didn’t miss the innuendo in his captain’s serious question, but chose to let it slide away and answered calmly, “I am.”

Kawada then turned after leading the rest of the team to line up neatly and start the morning practice session by running some lap.

********************************************************

Usually after the morning training session, Udai would either go to class to attend or skip class if he was not in the mood to listen to the teacher’s boring, sleepy explanations.

As for academics, Udai had a pretty good academic report even being an athlete, but not so good as to earn a title like top student. At the very least, it was enough for a future beyond volleyball. In short, he was not too smart, but also not too intoxicated with volleyball to the point of falling behind in his studies.

However, one thing:

Drawing.

On those occasions when Udai felt that being in class was too boring, he would seclude himself somewhere where the teachers wouldn’t find him, and pass the time by watching volleyball matches or drawing.

This time, he was sure that class would be boring: Japanese literature was not his favorite subject. It was nothing new that Udai almost always got red marks in that subject. It’s not that he cared.

So, here he was, in a spot at the end of the corridor near the dump, spending his time drawing after watching the latest volleyball match he had never seen.

What he drew was something he had remembered from the match he had watched in a small doodle on the blank side of his small notebook.

Udai was almost used to the quiet atmosphere that accompanied him finishing his drawing, as usual, when something interrupted him. Not just interrupting, but also stopping what he was doing.

“Oh? So, Udai senpai is also good at drawing?”

Udai’s shoulders straightened in surprise at a voice that he was not expecting.

Realizing that he was being watched, Udai turned in the direction from which the voice came to greet whoever was there. There she was, a girl who instead of a karasuno uniform blazer, wore a matching black fitted cardigan. Brown hair that he remembered blew loosely one day, was now in a makeshift curly ponytail.

Where did she come from?

Sasaki Tsubasa, the girl who had been a presence that Udai had never expected at a time like this, was standing while looking at him with friendliness in her eyes. A polite but friendly smile was rolled up for him.

With Udai’s lack of skill about how to greet an acquaintance, he just stared at her.

Sasaki Tsubasa thought that Udai might not remember her, so she took the initiative to do something that might make him remember. Immediately, she took out her phone from her pocket and showed it to Udai.

Right. The phone was the thing that connected them.

“This.” Hope flashed in Sasaki Tsubasa’s eyes, that hopefully with what she did, Udai would remember something about her.

I know you.

But looking closely, their phones really do look exactly the same. For a moment, Udai was tempted to assume that what she was holding was his phone.

Udai remembered her.

“But I’ve installed a charm for mine.”

Sasaki Tsubasa moved her cell phone to reveal the white charm she had put on her phone to distinguish it. It wasn’t just Sasaki Tsubasa who did something about it. Udai also, on an initiative, put a number 10 sticker on his phone.

It was nothing, though. Udai just ran out of ideas for something more serious than a sticker of his jersey number.

Udai remembered it. There was no way he would forget such an embarrassing accident about their switched phone overnight.

I knew you. The question is, what was she doing there at this hour. Did she skip class too?

“Once again, thank you for the other day, Senpai.”

Oh, I’ve had enough of that thank you.

Sasaki Tsubasa smiled at Udai, “At that time, I was positive about losing my phone. But it turns out you kept it.”

“No, I didn’t. I did not keep it.” Didn’t I tell you exactly the same thing back then?

Sasaki Tsubasa only smiled at Udai’s answer.

Slightly, her eyes returned to peering at what Udai was drawing.

“What are you drawing?”

Udai knew he was being childish by immediately closing his notebook, let alone about saying things like it’s none of your business, in response to her question, but did all of it anyway.

“Oh? You came all the way here to draw,” Sasaki Tsubasa nodded. “It must be some very important drawing, I suppose!”

Studying the look in Udai’s eyes, Sasaki Tsubasa immediately corrected herself, “Ah, none of my business. My bad. I’m sorry.”

Udai frowned, but immediately sighed after seeing Sasaki Tsubasa smiling awkwardly.

“You’re a first year, aren’t you?” Udai asked as he put his notebook back into his bag.

“I am.”

“Then why are you here?” Closing his bag, Udai turned back to Sasaki Tsubasa.

“Hm?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Hm? I’m here for—”

“Are you skipping class?”

Sasaki Tsubasa’s face was innocent, the blink of her eyes showed her disagreement with what Udai was accusing her of.

“Ehh?”

“You are?”

“I,” Sasaki Tsubasa’s hand pointed behind her, “instead of cutting class, I came here to take out the trash.”

Sasaki Tsubasa closed with, “Besides, it’s break time now, Senpai.” She showed a small watch she was wearing and pointed to the clock that read ten o’clock, “here, look.”

Udai felt stupid.

What exactly was he doing?

“Instead of that, what are you doing here, Senpai?”

Udai was almost surprised by the question, never expecting that it would be back, nor ever expecting that he would be able to stand for more than five minutes to interact with anyone other than the volleyball club members.

Sasaki Tsubasa paused to study Udai’s expression for a moment, then threw out the question, “Don’t tell me… you’re the one cutting class here, Senpai! Are you?”

“N-no.”

Wait a minute— of all the things Udai couldn’t understand about this, why did he have to stammer? So what if he got caught? So what if he cut class time?

Sasaki Tsubasa who saw Udai’s reaction, changed her expression, as surprised as he was by the unexpected reaction. She did not expect to see a Senpai being intimidated enough by a joke to stammer. Besides, she also still couldn’t equate this person, the same person she met at the gate when he returned her phone, with the volleyball club member who gave her the wrong cell phone the other day.

Were they really the same person? Were those two the same Udai Tenma that was now standing before her?

“O-oh. W-well, then.”

Udai still had time to glance at Sasaki Tsubasa before he walked away, not missing how something flushed in her eyes as she flinched slightly, as if about to say something that he will never get a chance to hear.

********************************************************

A week on, today the boys volleyball club hosted some guests from Date Tech High School for a scheduled practice match.

Like any other day, the volleyball team stayed on track with morning practice and back to class until the practice match began.

“Oi, Udai!”

Just before Udai left the classroom, one of his classmates intercepted him.

“Today, the volleyball team hosted some guests from Date Tech, is that right?”

“That’s right.” He answered casually.

“Hee... so you’re playing against all of them?”

“That’s right.”

“With those big guys?”

“Yes.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“You? Against those big guys? Being this small? Are you kidding me?”

“I hope I am kidding you.” Udai didn’t flinch, still casually parrying his classmate.

“W-well, then… will the gymnasium be open to the public?”

“Yes, it will.”

“Then... I’ll go watch. We’ll go. I’ll watch how you’ll play against those big guys of Date Tech. No problem, right? Or are you scared?”

“No.”

Udai walked away after saying that. He did not believe in others, but he believed in himself that he would play as usual regardless of whoever or how many people came to watch him. After all, this time, he would just work hard as usual to maintain his position as a starting player, and his honor as an ace, the ace.

The scheduled practice match began with the familiar faces of the Date Tech High School boys' volleyball team.

The school, famous for their 'Iron Wall', has one of the highest block rates in the entire prefecture, if not the whole of Japan.

Today, their blockers vowed to stop every Karasuno’s wing spiker in the aerial battle, and Udai was certainly no exception. Being the ace means carrying the burden of being marked by blockers, the burden of having to perform as the main scoring machine of a lineup of wing spikers, and also, bearing the weight of every toss at some crucial times. In a matchup against a high-blocking team like Date Tech High School, every point weighs differently, and Udai knows it.

Udai knew that the iron wall across the net was his biggest obstacle, and he knew that he didn’t have an effective weapon to fight with them. He knew that from any perspective, he was at a disadvantage of being much smaller than his tall and bulky opponents, but his coach, Ukai Ikkei’s words saved him before he could drown himself in self-destruction.

“Volleyball is a sport where you never look down. It’s a sport where you always keep your heads up, and look forward to a way to fight.”

The practice match began with a briefing by each coach of the teams.

“Oi, ace!”

One of Karasuno’s starting players from the second year lineup called out. Udai turned without saying anything, waiting for what the other boy was going to say.

His smile grew when he saw Udai, the boy who is a 187 cm middle blocker. “As always, we have high hopes for you. Please don’t disappoint our expectations.”

“Hey, don’t make him feel burdened with his role by saying such things!” The Libero, a pale-haired boy from the third-year lineup said. He turned to Udai, “Don’t worry about it too much. Udai, you just need to play as usual. Don’t worry about the block, I’ll be right behind for a follow when you go up for a spike.”

“As expected of our handsome libero, Tokito-san!” One of the first-year starting players chimed in, a wing spiker like Udai.

“But really, Date Tech will forever be a troublesome opponent for our ace. I’m just concerned about the spikers, especially the ace. That’s why I gave him encouragement to get him a little more excited.”

“Hell, yeah. You sure it wasn’t pressure, though, Sakuma?”

“Hee? Of course not, Tokito-san. It’s a form of motivation— well... unless our ace is scared,” the middle blocker, Sakuma, turned to Udai. With a smirk, he asked, “Don’t tell me, are you scared, ace?”

Udai curled up a smile, not realizing until he saw the starting players were a little taken aback by what they were witnessing.

“Breaking through three-men blocks is the ace’s role, and something I’ve done many times. There’s no way I’m scared.”

The starting players were stunned by Udai’s statement. His last sentence brought a blizzard of coldness that sent shivers down to their spines.

“I didn’t expect anything about being scared when dealing with three-men blocks even if they are Date Tech. I’m going to play and score points for the team.”

In Udai’s eyes, confidence sparkled like a burning fire. Right now, there was nothing scarier than staring into his eyes.

The middle blocker, Sakuma, grinned, “Heeh… you’re fine, aren’t you?”

Udai smiled back at Sakuma, “Of course. You’d better say you’re fine against a 190cm wing spiker, too.”

Sakuma childishly replied while exclaiming, “Oi! Ain’t no way I’ll be losing to a first year!”

Udai chuckled, one of the rare things that never failed to surprise the club members. However, for the team members, seeing Udai Tenma this relaxed before a match was more or less a threat.

His laughter could be briefly interpreted as a warning: I’m in my prime condition to score points for the team, so everyone better be on top of their game.

For the first years, it was a blessing. Because they got to see Udai Tenma, the ace, at the top of his game in the match.

Before long, the captain rejoined and announced that they would receive the ball first.

“Karasuno!!! Fight!!!” — and the practice match began.

True to his word, Udai did his job as the ace by breaking through the famous Date Tech three-men block and winning the aerial battle by scoring a block-out from Date Tech or launching attacks between the hands of the blockers.

Today, more than usual, Udai could see across the net more clearly. His concentration did not fade even though he was laughing or chatting casually with his team mates until the match ended.

The practice match with Date Tech High School ended in a 2-0 victory for Karasuno. Udai earned two service aces with spike serves and scored many points through block outs, as well as a straight spike to close out the final set point.

After the practice match ended, the gymnasium was kind of crowded. It wasn’t that Udai didn’t realize that his classmates had actually come to watch his match, he just didn’t care that they did.

“Oi! Udai deme!”

A familiar voice called out from the second floor, Udai turned his head and saw his classmates lined up there.

“What the hell was that!? You can really jump high and take on those big guys!”

For a moment, the world stopped and focused on what Udai’s classmate was saying.

“Are you really that good at volleyball? You should have said it sooner!”

Sakuma, the middle blocker, replied on behalf of Udai, “And what of it? Did he surprise you guys?”

Udai glanced at Sakuma without saying anything.

“Hell, yeah! He’s so fucking great that I’m close to dying for being so surprised!”

That half-cursed sentence made Sakuma and the rest of the volleyball team laugh.

“Did you see that? That’s our left’s power.”

Udai didn’t feel that Sakuma should say that given that this was just a practice match. But anyway, they still won this one straight 2-0 against Date Tech High School.

“Oi, Udai!”

Udai turned back to his classmate, this time answering, “What?” But in a lower voice.

“You fought the tall guys from Date Tech and made them look like nothing, what are you, a giant?”

“Giant?” Udai frowned.

It didn't make sense. With a body this small? A giant?

“He’s too small to be called a giant!” The captain, Kawada, answered that one.

Udai turned to the captain, agreeing with his words.

“Leave it alone! Isn’t that great? Having more than enough strength to take on three tall guys from Date Tech... he looks like a giant!”

Udai turned back to his classmate.

“Then what of it, giant-power-in-a-small-body?”

“Kawada-san, that’s too long.”

“Kawada, you really suck at making up some nicknames.”

“Ano na omaera, I’ve tried my fucking best here.”

“That’s not bad.”

Their coach, Ukai Ikkei’s voice distracted Udai and the others. The middle-aged man rolled a crooked smile as he looked at Udai, “Giant power in a small body... just like you.”

Udai had nothing good to say except a small mutter of — “Thank you…” under his breath.

“I know!”

Their attention was again diverted by Udai’s classmate who called out from the second floor.

“Little Giant! Udai Tenma is a Little Giant!”

Udai gasped, startled by the strange sensation he felt inside himself after his classmate gave him an unfamiliar nickname but... seemed to be connected to something inside him.

Behind him, Ukai Ikkei, the coach, laughed, savoring each word in a pleasant tone. “Little Giant, huh? Not bad.”

The Little Giant was born on that day. One afternoon in the gymnasium of Karasuno High School. He was born from the perfect embodiment of a massive force of a giant in the relatively small body of a boy called Udai Tenma.

Before Udai could properly register everything, the people in the gymnasium that day, starting with all the club members, and anyone who listened to his classmate’s ridiculous declaration, began to recognize him as The Little Giant of Karasuno.

“The Little Giant... oi, oi, oi, that name is pretty cool, isn’t it?”

Udai ignored the commotion going on behind him, spreading his gaze to the second floor, about to return to his classmates, but what he caught instead was the familiar face of Sasaki Tsubasa who immediately straightened up when he saw her.

Her eyes sparkled when their eyes came in contact, making Udai frown, and almost tilting his head. Then again, Sasaki Tsubasa showed her phone and waved at him.

Should I wave my hand too?

It had been a week since they last saw each other and Tsubasa had accidentally caught him cutting class and drawing in the back corridor, making a total of two weeks since the switched phone incident. Udai almost questioned how he could meet her here again if he didn’t remember that the gymnasium would be open to the public for any practice matches with other schools.

Although it seemed like things were starting to connect for them since the switched phone incident, Udai had no time to think about anything when the captain’s voice echoed out ordering them to gather and send their guest off.

********************************************************

Tokyo, present day

In his little studio filled with stacks of papers, Udai was transfixed when he rediscovered the notebook he had hidden from Akaashi that night, drowning in memories of the past that flooded his head, leaving his deadline to be met in two days.

Before he knew it, he had taken himself way too far down the memory lane in his head from each sheet of the notebook that contained his scribbles and drawings on high school days. And before he knew it, he had neglected his work for quite some time.

Oh, Sasaki Tsubasa and her influence in his life was indeed huge. However, it was forced to end when his phone rang.

The deafening ring of his cell phone made Udai jump in surprise, finally realizing that he had let his guard down.

The word Akaashi Keiji on his phone screen made him immediately rush to take the call, quickly turning on the tab and starting to outline something he should have been doing.

“Oh? Akaashi-san, moshi moshi! It’s Udai here.”

———————————————————————

“Good afternoon, Udai-san. I’m calling to make sure that you’re staying on track with the new volume.”

————————————————————————

“O-oh! Of course I’m working on that. Very hard. Really hard.”

Udai laughed, trying to sound confident to trick Akaashi. But laughing was the wrong choice, because his laughter had become way too awkward to be believable. Then he’s busted.

————————————————————————

“This time, how many hours did you abandon your tab to daydream about someone else’s script that could have been better if you had written it, Udai-san?”

————————————————————————

It was indeed one of Udai’s bad habits that Akaashi was very familiar with. This time, however, although Akaashi was right about Udai neglecting his work on the tab to daydream, it was not about any script.

But still, half of it, Akaashi guessed it perfectly.

Udai shuddered in horror, unconsciously saying under his breath to Akaashi on the other end of the line. “What the hell? Is he a shaman?”

When Akaashi sighed, Udai immediately covered his mouth, accidentally nudging the tab.

————————————————————————

“I can hear you very clearly, Udai-san.”

————————————————————————

“Alright alright, my bad.” Udai said in a tone that sounded like he was wincing.

Then he stopped, frozen.

————————————————————————

“Which part of it?”

————————————————————————

When Udai realized, he seemed to have accidentally closed the window of his unsaved work. His entire work on the last part of the latest volume of his manga is gone. In shock, his voice caught in his throat. His mouth gaped: desperation welled up in his eyes.

What a beautiful day to mess things up yet he did.

He is doomed.

————————————————————————

“Udai-san? Are you still there?”

————————————————————————

Udai immediately end the call just when Akaashi was calling out, ignoring him completely. Why would he care when he just created for himself, another mess?

Oh, What a beautiful misfortune!

Udai sat formally, very quietly behind his desk.

Placing the pen on the table, his hands met his head slowly. His eyes resignedly stared at the blank screen of his tab. A second later, Udai yelled while pulling his hair as he cursed himself with all kinds of words calling out to his own stupidity.

Another of Udai Tenma’s weaknesses was that he would drag on little things like this.

About thirty minutes after that, Akaashi came to check on him at the apartment, afraid that something had happened to the artist.

Akaashi was relieved when Udai was still there to open the door, as it meant nothing dangerous happened to him. But seeing how lethargic Udai looked, completely lackluster, almost lost, with a mumbling mouth, Akaashi’s strong hunch told him that something bad’s happening.

“Udai-san? What’s wrong?” Akaashi frowned, briefly peeking inside Udai’s apartment.

Udai immediately put on a resigned face in front of Akaashi.

Once again, Akaashi asked, this time looking more concerned. “What’s going on?”

“Akaashi-san....” Udai called out to the editor languidly, his expression pitiable.

“What am I gonna do about this?”

“About what— what is going on, Udai-san?”

“What am I gonna do about this?”

Akaashi sighed, “First of all, please explain your situation—”

“What am I gonna do about this?” Udai’s voice is getting more and more pitiable, louder.

“Please understand that I won’t be able to comprehend anything, let alone know what to do to help if you don’t explain the whole situation properly—”

“What am I gonna do about this?” Udai sounded even more pleading.

Akaashi almost lost his temper, “Can you stop that and get to the point, please?”

Udai jumped in before Akaashi even got to the end of his sentence, “I lost the final draft for the latest volume of Zomb'ish!”

It took Akaashi three seconds longer to digest what he had just heard. “Everything?”

“Everything—”

“Everything!?” Akaashi exclaimed.

Udai swore that it was the loudest he had ever heard of Akaashi Keiji.

Udai quickly shook his head, “No. Not everything. Not the whole thing. Just the ending. Really, I’m actually fine.”

“How can you say you’re fine after losing the manuscript for the final part of the latest volume of your manga?”

“Iya— I mean—”

“Did someone hack your computer?”

“Hack my computer? No—”

Akaashi took out his phone, “I’ll call someone to handle that.”

“No, no. Akaashi-san,” Udai quickly hold Akaashi’s hand. “My computer is fine. My tab is fine. All of it— all of them are fine. Nothing was hacked and needs to be dealt with. I just accidentally closed the unsaved draft’s window.”

There was silence. Udai and Akaashi locked gazes.

Akaashi pulled his hand from Udai and adjusted his glasses. “So…”

Udai screwed up. He knew. And for sure, his Mr. Perfectionist Editor would not tolerate anything about it.

“I swear I didn’t mean to do anything about what’s happening. Humans make mistakes sometimes, Akaashi-san.”

“And you lost the draft of the final part of the new volume of your manga.”

“Right.” Udai nodded in agreement. Akaashi had a point.

“Your deadline comes in two days.”

“You know, Akaashi-san, In a situation like this—”

“All you have to do is get inside and start working on it all over again.” Akaashi cut him off quickly. His last words was a nightmare. “I’ll be here to make sure you don’t dwell like the world is falling apart. Let’s get to work, Udai-san.”

Akaashi walked away leaving Udai at the entrance and fit himself to some slippers on the entrance.

Udai the followed not long after, walking languidly while staring at Akaashi’s back, “This isn’t what I expected at all.”

When Akaashi turned, Udai straightened up and stopped.

“But publishing new volumes on time is what your fans expected from you, Udai-san.”

Akaashi had a very good point right there.

Udai stood up straight and formal, both hands clasped in front of his body, as he said, “Understood, sir.”

Akaashi sighed, “Let’s get to work, Udai-san.”

“Yes, sir.”

—

next chapter coming soon.

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