#At the moment where I have enough knowledge about art to see all the mistakes but it's too frustrating to even want to parctice | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yukidragon · 2 years ago

Note

I’ve seen someone taking the approach of Ian having a long term affair not just a fling, he was fooling around on the player for a while and keeping his home with them before getting caught. Although intriguing, part of me hopes that’s actually not the case. I know plenty of people do it but sexting and dating someone more exciting but taking advantage of the familiar comfort of might make Ian too far gone for a lot of players, that’s a little too fuckboi. Could tell a more intense narrative though.

Ah yes, I believe you're talking about this marvelously heart-wrenching comic drawn by Cannibalingus on twitter, right? As mentioned in the notes of the follow up comic page, canon has been changed up a bit. I think it's a really interesting AU to explore.

On that note, I'll give a quick warning that post will contain a lot of heavy topics such as cheating, chronic illness, lying, manipulation, gaslighting, destructive actions, the effects of sexual trauma, and a boatload of angst and drama among other sketchy implied things. This fandom is for Adults Only for a reason after all, and not just because of the smut.

For the most part, the fandom uses a picture Sauce drew a while back and posted on their old twitter as a basis for Ian cheating. Credit, as always, goes to them for their fabulous art. Remember, don't share anything privately posted on the SnaccPop Studios Patreon.

Technically, this picture is non-canon unless it appears on an official SDJ page like the tumblr or twitter, but development art like this tends to really capture our imaginations when it comes to lore and headcanons. I use this picture as the basis for my own headcanons and what happened when Ian cheated on Alice in Sunshine in Hell.

In the numerous previous posts where I talked about Ian's affair, particularly this lengthy one, I compared why he wound up cheating to a frog not realizing the water is getting gradually hotter until it's boiled alive. I think it happened with a series of lines being crossed slowly over time until finally a line was crossed that Ian could no longer justify it as anything innocent. This then would result in his guilt-wracked phone call that we see in this picture.

The comic proposes a different scenario, where Ian chose not to confess, but continued to cross the line. He has full knowledge that what he's doing is wrong, but he does it anyway. Maybe it just made the sex that much more exciting to him. Further, he told his affair partner so many things that he says to MC in the demo, both in the present and in the past.

Really, I find it interesting Ian can still a lot of the say the same things to MC that he said in the past even after cheating, but I digress.

In my version of the canon, the reason why Alice forgave Ian and still loves him is because he did confess right away. He apologized sincerely, and she knows him well enough to know that he is truly does feel immense guilt for what he's done.

Alice convinced herself that this really was just a mistake. Ian has a history of these sorts of mistakes in the heat of the moment. He's a sensitive person and reacts strongly. He wants so badly to be loved and cared for. It's not hard to accept that he got swept up in the attention and care in a place where he felt so lonely... and it's hard not to believe that he lost control of himself when he got horny when he's done so before when they were intimate.

It's a pattern between them, of Ian being apologetically himself and making so many mistakes... and Alice protecting him and forgiving him. She knows he's a wounded soul who has been abused, bullied, and isolated so badly when growing up. He only really had her, and when he left for that school to pursue his dream, he suddenly was without her and her support except over phone or text. She certainly felt lonely in their apartment without him, her family, or friends living nearby...

It's because of all that history together and knowing Ian so well that, unfortunately, led to Alice convincing herself that she needed to forgive him. She needed to be strong for them. He needed her more than ever when he was at his weakest. This was the man that she wanted to spend her life with, who she left her family to be with when the two of them moved far away from where their families lived in order to escape the grasping talons of his narcissist mother and her flying monkeys.

They were both hurting, and Alice believed that the only way to heal that hurt was forgiveness. The way she was going about things, and their relationship in general, was wildly unhealthy - kindness and compassion taken to toxic extremes. Mercifully others who cared about her helped her see that this wasn't healthy for either of them, and that the kindest thing she could do for both of them is to end things after things soured so bad and the trust was just... gone.

Everything changes if Ian's affair was similar to the one depicted in the comic.

Alice is a kind person, at times too kind to her own detriment, but a betrayal of that level would make her realize that she never actually knew Ian at all.

Ian didn't confess immediately, so it wasn't a mistake in the heat of the moment. This was a deliberate betrayal done many, many times over. So many lies are exposed in these series of texts. All those times he claimed that he only wanted and loved Alice... that he could only find her attractive... that he only really needed her? All lies. They're nothing but cheap, pretty words he tells to other people in order to get his dick wet.

Even if the screenshots are faked, the pictures are real. Alice knows Ian's naked body. She's intimately familiar with him. She knows it's him, and these are pictures that he never sent her. They were meant for someone else...

The content of the texts are just so painfully familiar too. So many things Ian used to tell her all the time... Were they just lines to make someone feel special so that he could sleep with them? Once upon a time, "I love you" and "I need you" made her feel wonderful, irreplaceable... but who knows how many other people Ian "loves" and "needs" besides her?

Then comes the part where Alice is referenced in the text. Maybe even she was mentioned by name so there's no doubt. Maybe there were even some chats about her, about how this other person is so much more attractive than her... This person Ian is talking to knows he's in a relationship and is just as cruel of a person to mock her just by having the affair... and fucking in their bed while she's out.

Hell, Alice might even have been friends with this person Ian cheated on her with. Sadly, a lot of times partners cheat with someone very, very close to the person they're cheating on...

Denial is the first reaction from Alice of course. This couldn't be real. This isn't Ian, not her Ian. It can't be. She checks timestamps, images... demands answers from the unknown person who sent it, who they are, how they got it, how they found out... She doesn't want this to be real...

The denial doesn't last long, not when there's too much proof that Ian was someone Alice never actually knew at all...

Pain, disgust, horror, betrayal, and all sorts of other awful emotions overwhelm Alice, and she has to go to the bathroom to throw up. The stress makes her chronic illness flare up, painful and awful... but she refuses to lie down in that bed knowing that Ian fucked someone else in it while he and that fake "friend" probably laughed about how she was too stupid to realize that he was just using her.

Did Ian ever care about Alice at all? Was she just useful? She helped and supported him so much... studying, moving, getting connections, pushing him to go for his dream... She waited for him to come back from that stupid prestigious college all that time, alone. Out there he had been surrounded by hot models and actors like his anime waifus and husbandos he drooled over in his "not porn" ecchi. How many people did he sleep with? What if he gave her an STI? What if he got someone pregnant and hid it?

Alice has to know. It hurts too much not to... but she can't let Ian stop her... lie to her until she does... So she uses one of those emergency travel locks used to make hotel stays more secure on their apartment door so the keys won't work when he gets home, giving her time to tear their apartment completely upside-down.

Every scrap of evidence on his laptop, in his room that Ian kept his stuff in but didn't sleep in is scoured through. Why the fuck did he not sleep with other people in his bed? Or maybe he did and that's why it still smelled clean because he was good at covering his tracks. Maybe it's because changing their sheets often was normal and thus easier to hide than his own sheets when he never used his bed...

Speaking of that bed, Alice gets all the dirty secrets Ian is hiding underneath his bed that he panicked about her finding. She always assumed they were porn mags, but they're far more incriminating things that make it clear without a shadow of a doubt that the screencaps are all true.

The videos of Ian having sex on an innocent unmarked USB drive hidden in a sock under his bed chases away the last of her denials.

Alice knows Ian's passwords, and those she doesn't, she can guess. He's a creature of habit - predictable despite his secret double life. She copies everything incriminating and deletes the photos of her. Most of them are innocent, but she sent some suggestive things while he had been away at school. It sickens her to see them now. Some of those shots... did she remember taking them? It's hard not to feel paranoid about pictures that were taken candidly that seem questionable now. Did she know Ian was taking them? Saving them?

Who was this man that she gave up everything for?

Sex and lies, sex and lies... It's sickening, and Alice throws up again, this time just bile since her stomach is empty. She feels used and violated in a way that makes her body shake. It hurts. It hurts so, so much... but she can't stop. Not now. Not with this ball of hatred festering inside her gut.

All the love Alice had for Ian has been irrevocably tainted into hate. There's nothing he can say to defend himself or fix things after everything she found to damn him. What of his she didn't send to himself as evidence, she destroys. The half heart pendant she used to cherish? She takes a hammer to it and smashes it on top of his laptop and his video game consoles.

The apartment is half destroyed by the time Ian gets home. He tries the lock, but it won't work for some reason. He jiggles the handle and knocks, asking Alice to let him in and worries about the strange noises he heard inside. Is she okay?

Silence is his only answer.

The sudden silence panics Ian, and he pounds on the door a little more, asking if Alice is okay. He knows even with prescription medication, she sometimes has really bad attacks of pain. Did he need to take her to the hospital? Was she lying on the floor, unable to call out for help because she's in so much pain? He starts banging his shoulder against the door harder, trying to break in.

The quiet clicking of a chain and the travel lock goes unnoticed as he keeps banging the door with his shoulder, and Ian goes tumbling into the apartment and falls to the floor when the door suddenly is flung open.

For a second, Ian is relieved to see Alice is on her feet, but then he realizes something is very, horribly wrong.

Alice has been crying. That much is obvious from the tear tracks on her face and the redness in her eyes. It's her eyes especially that seize Ian with a new kind of fear.

There's no love in her eyes as she looks at him. In her eyes he sees the same disgust he saw in his mother's eyes and in those of his classmates while growing up. It's a look that's utterly alien coming from Alice of all people, the one person who was by his side and protected him all this time.

Before Ian has the chance to ask what's wrong or even speculate, Alice flings something down on his face - an innocent little USB stick, snapped in half. At first he's confused, then comes the horrifying realization when he recognizes it.

That's when the protests happen, the apologies, the excuses... even defensiveness as Ian scrambles to his feet. It's not what it looks like! The people in those pictures and video aren't real - they're just AI - just some dumb guilty pleasure. What was Alice doing going through his stuff and looking under his bed? How could she violate his trust like this?!

After lying for so, so long, Ian can only lie more and twist things around on the desperate hope that it's not too late to salvage things.

Alice can only feel her disgust for this lying toad that she always called her prince charming.

How did Alice never see it before? Ian was such a good actor now. She helped him get so good to achieve his dream. Even in the face of irrefutable evidence, he still acts the victim. Poor, pathetic Ian being bullied again. How could Alice do that to him too?

The cold, unyielding silence and hatred shake Ian to his core. He's never seen Alice like this before, not to him. None of his excuses are breaking through the hatred in her eyes. Lying and acting won't work anymore and it sinks in that he's fucked up. It's over. She doesn't have to say it, he can see it in her eyes.

Ian breaks down, babbling out apologies and excuses, sobbing uncontrollably. This isn't an act, he begs for her forgiveness, begging her to talk to him as he starts clinging to her.

Alice slaps his hand away, hissing out a hoarse, "Don't touch me!"

Ian reels back, holding his hand. It stung, but the pain is nowhere near as bad as the hatred in her eyes.

The tension between them is thick, slimy, and acidic, as if both of them are breathing in poison.

There's so much Alice wants to say. She wants to demand how he could do this to her. Was it worth it? How many people did he cheat on her with? How long had this been going on? How much of everything was a lie? Why they hell was he even with her!?

Alice is so, so angry. She's never been this angry in her life. She should be screaming at Ian, calling him every horrible name under the sun... hurt him like she's hurting right now.

But Alice is in so, so, so much pain. Even the "just in case" pills for her worst flare ups aren't doing much except taking the edge off at this point. Only her anger is keeping her standing, but it's constricting tight around her throat, guts, and heart, choking the life from her.

The pain is too much. Alice can't even look at Ian anymore, can't be here anymore.

"Goodbye, Ian." The words are so, so hard to force out from her constricted throat.

Ian once more babbles apologies, cries and begs... but it's all white noise to Alice. She has heard this song and dance a million times, and she knows now everything that comes spewing out of that mouth of his is lies.

The friend she had for so long, the love of her life... they never really existed, did they? This is just like that other "friend" she had in high school who asked her out only to turn around and claim it was a joke, that she was far too disgusting and fat for anyone to seriously think about asking her out... only Ian took years to finally let her in on the joke he played on her.

Alice can't listen to Ian anymore. She grabs her essentials while Ian follows her around, pleading with her to just stop and listen. He can explain, really he can!

During her earlier rampage, Alice contacted the only person in the area she was close to - Shaun. He had moved to the area recently, even stayed at their apartment for a while until he got his own place.

Is Shaun coming? Her text was vague, just asking him to come get her and that she needs to leave. Now. She almost sent him the screenshots, but there's too many photos of Ian naked in them. At least Shaun said that he was on his way.

Mercifully, Shaun shows up. He's in a panic, worried that Alice got sick and needed to be rushed to the hospital. Their front door is open, and Ian's sobbing, babbling apologies reach him even before he comes inside. There's just enough for Shaun to get the gist... and he's enraged.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Ian?!"

Ian whirls around to see Shaun storming in. Shaun is so much bigger than him, stronger, and far more intimidating. If it comes to blows, he won't win.

Shaun doesn't take any of Ian's excuses or apologies, throwing back what he just heard in Ian's face. How could Ian do that to Alice? How can he ask for forgiveness after that?

It serves as enough of a distraction for Alice to finish putting her things together, at least the vital stuff. Everything else... she'll get later. She has the important things, and she needs to leave or she'll crumble and break to pieces. She cuts off the argument between the two men by tugging at Shaun's sleeve and saying near tears, "Let's just go."

Shaun doesn't need to be told twice. Ian tries to stop Alice from leaving, but Shaun isn't going to let him get in the way. Shaun escorts Alice from the apartment, promising that he'll be back for the rest of her stuff for her, and Ian better not break any of her stuff unless he wants his legs broken in return.

It's only when the two are in the elevator, when Ian is no longer in sight, that Alice can't keep it together anymore. She collapses against Shaun, weeping and wailing out so much pain...

The trip to Shaun's place is quiet except for Alice's quiet pained whimpering as she lies back in the reclined passenger seat in a near fetal position. She's not present enough to talk, just trying to escape all of the pain that she can. If not for the rage directing her on a path of destruction, she would've downed every bit of alcohol Ian stored at their apartment to try and numb the pain, but it's too late for her to take that option now.

Shaun lets Alice sleep in his bed that night. Though she's not used to sleeping alone and feels lonely, she struggles with being touched right now, feeling so used and filthy after what Ian did to her. She only sleeps when her energy is gone, and she wakes up still feeling miserable. She can barely manage to text work that she'll be out sick.

Shaun went to her favorite food place to snag breakfast back when they were at college and served it to her while she was still in bed. He knows about how stress makes her sickness worse, so he's going to do all that he can to make things easier on her.

It's after Alice manages to get some food and medicine down that she starts talking. It's just a couple words at first, then a few more, and soon it's just a deluge of everything she found out, all the lies and the shit Ian put her through both behind her back and in front of it. She didn't realize that there was so much more wrong between them until she started unloading, and she can't seem to stop. At some point she started clinging to Shaun, crying in his arms as he held her tight, but she kept going until all she could do was cry...

The days and weeks that follow are... rough.... to say the least. Ian sent so many texts that first day, and left so many voicemails... Alice didn't listen to any of them. She didn't read what he had to say. It was only when she had what she wanted to say ready in her mind that she sent him a long email that contained all her hurt from his betrayal. They had a brief back and forth, just enough for him to answer her questions like why.

All Ian has are excuses... and Alice has had enough of them. She ends things by telling him to never contact her again before blocking him on everything.

Ian isn't someone Alice loves anymore, can't love. His love for her was lies, lies, lies... Just one big joke at her expense. He used her for so much... support, to be an emotional crutch, a fuck toy that he played with roughly despite her trauma, all for the sake of "love"...

It disgusts Alice to think of how much she endured for a scumbag like that. She's been used in a way that makes her want to peel her skin off, and she's taken a lot of showers where she's scrubbed her skin raw.

Ian knows where Shaun's place is, but Shaun makes sure to let security for the building know to be on the lookout for Ian and keep him out.

Shaun, being the good friend he is, asks Alice if she wants to move in with him... but after what happened with Ian, she feels uneasy about that. Her trust has been damaged in a way that she needs time and space to repair. She does talk it through with him, and he understands. He even helps her move into a new apartment, one a good distance away from her old place and promises not to tell Ian where it is.

Alice changes jobs too. A yogurt shop right beside her apartment is fine. It doesn't pay as much as the gig at the library did, but Ian went to her place of work to talk to her, and just once was enough.

Fuck Ian. Fuck him in the way that he would hate the most and cry about. And fuck the small part of Alice that still loves him even as the rest of her hates him.

Word spreads about what Ian did, and friends choose sides, mostly Alice's considering the circumstances. Unlike in the main universe where some are divided or being neutral, few can buy that Ian really is remorseful after such rampant lies and cheating.

The King family is shocked and outraged at Ian. I mentioned their reactions to Ian cheating in a previous post, but the fallout is even more severe in this AU. After all... Alice no longer cares if Ian is hurt, and what he did to her is far worse than the normal universe.

After Alice moves, her whole family comes to visit her for housewarming and to help cheer her up. The new apartment is small, so it's a crowded party, but it helps. Mama King even brings her plenty of beautiful flowers to decorate the new place.

There's no more mention of Ian around Alice. She doesn't ask about him, and has asked others not to bring him up to her. Shaun still keeps an eye on things though, just in case. He heard from someone that Ian moved out of the old apartment and left a message that he's sorry and for Alice to have a good life. Shaun doesn't pass the message along.

Ian was also thoroughly exposed online. Alice didn't spread it, but screenshots were leaked, even on his socials. It seems unlikely that he would post his own sexts and nudes, so it seems a hacker might have done it.

Alice doesn't care to look into it even after some friends inform her of what happened. It must've been done by that unknown number that sent her the screenshots in the first place. They must've gotten all the dirt on Ian too. Guess saving all that evidence is pointless now. She deletes it all so she doesn't have to think about Ian ever again.

No one has seen Ian since. Some people think he moved back out to the area where he went to college, or went off to live with his affair partner and is hiding away in shame, as no one has seen them either, but no one has been able to contact him. Some are a bit worried about what this could mean...

Alice comes out of this incident even more wary and untrusting of people... and at the same time also lonelier than ever once her family goes back to their home and things settle in the new place. It's hard for her to get close to anyone new, and it's taking her a while to relax around her friends again.

Eventually though, a trip to the thrift store will wind up with an innocent purchase on a whim. Finally Alice will have a use for the VCR Shaun gave her when he upgraded to a better model...

Of course, even Jack is going to have a hard time helping Alice trust people again. Convincing her to be his friend and to help him is much harder too. She was used by "friends" before...

Despite this... even though she's been hurt so badly, Alice still can't bring herself to let an innocent soul stay damned in hell... She won't let what happened with Ian happen again, but she won't let him change who she is either. Not everyone is a liar. People do suffer and need help sincerely. She has been one of those people more times than she likes. It's why she still insists on living on her own despite how miserable she is. She'll be strong for herself and take care of those who deserve it.

That agreement of consent between them is even more strongly emphasized in this AU. A few less loopholes to be found, and a stronger emphasis that the agreement can be broken at any time without penalty. Alice makes it clear that if Jack ever lies to her or tricks her, he's gone. Jack, desperate, doesn't hesitate to agree. He doesn't have a choice after all.

Things are even more tense when Alice wakes up in the aftermath, far more distrusting of Jack, not wanting him to touch her at all, so she tumbles off the sofa this time. It leaves Jack feeling nervous and even more desperate to please Alice and earn her trust.

It's a slower burn in this universe. Jack is on thin ice at times at the start, but manages to pluck at Alice's heartstrings. The empathy bond between them makes it hard for her to be cold to him. She's not reaching out for him as readily as she does in Sunshine in Hell, but she's not scorning him either. She still errs on the side that if Jack is real, then it would be shitty of her to treat him like just a figment of her imagination.

Alice doesn't tell Shaun right away about her new roommate, though she is aware that he would probably believe her and would be excited for supernatural shit like this. It's only when things settle a bit and she starts getting used to Jack that she does.

Because Shaun is introduced to Jack as a new supernatural ghost(?) friend and there's nothing about Alice being in a romantic relationship with Jack (and neither Shaun nor Alice know about the whole soul agreement since Alice forgot her first meeting with Jack), it's treated as something exciting to Shaun. A friendly ghost clown pal who can write messages? Oh, he's so jealous of her luck!

Jack has to take things slow and be cautious, but he can't help but feel uneasy about Shaun's closeness with Alice, at least relative to his current closeness with her. He can tell there's nothing romantic about it... at least from her end, but Shaun is a closer friend to Alice than Jack is and Jack sees how Shaun looks at her sometimes... This is something that needs to change if he doesn't want to risk losing his sunshine...

At the same time, interacting with another person helps Jack get a more solid grip on reality. It's subtle, but he can notice. Shaun is treating Jack as a favorable presence overall, being excited at his existence. It's not so simple as to just eliminate the rival when Shaun is also useful... He'll have to play this cautiously.

Really, this AU would have a bit more tension and a thriller vibe under the surface, but, you know me, I can't help but be a sucker for healing vanilla sweetness with my OTP. Though it'll take longer and there'll be more bumps in the road, I'd like to imagine that eventually Jack manages to help Alice heal, like he does for him. Though it's possible there's going to be a bit of a love triangle along the way until they finally get together.

As for Ian... no one ever hears from him ever again. It's almost funny considering his big dreams of becoming a famous actor. Whatever happened to that guy anyway? Maybe someone decided that cheaters need to pay a heavier price than just getting their belongings smashed and their dirty laundry aired online...

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur

#Sunny Day Jack #Something's Wrong With Sunny Day Jack #SunnyDayJack #sdj #swwsdj #Headcanon Ramblings #Ask #Sauce-y Art

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danbisroom · 6 months ago

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Ep. 19 - This Is The Beginning Of Familiar Ends

Hello my beloved fellow souls,

welcome back to Danbi’s Room, your weekly dose of safe space. Go grab a cup of something warm and get yourself cosy.

I hope you had a nice week where you received, you know, some kind of revelation. Or where you managed to trust your guts a bit more. That’s really really really important.

Very often we're told to get out of our comfort zone, which is not a bad thing: it is, in fact, very good advice. It’s crucial to explore, to learn new things, to let our soul understand that mistakes are part of the process and that “not being good” at something is the exact reason why we start learning it. Not that “being good at” whatever should necessarily be the goal. I’m an overachiever myself, I crave knowledge more than anything else, sometimes even more than love. Ambition eats me alive every day and more often than not my life feels like a constant race against time to learn everything I can as soon as possible. But there are indeed a few things to break down here. First and most simple: we have all of our life to learn and discover and it’s never pointless. Learning should be pure joy, learning for learning’s sake. Socrates learnt a new tune with his flute, in his prison cell, just a few days before his execution. Why? Well, why not? We’re here to be happy not to be machines. Secondly, it still takes effort and sacrifice to learn: it can be tiring, we might feel like idiots and we might think about giving up. Actually, now and then, giving up could be the right choice to make. Sometimes something’s not for us, or it might be better to pursue it in the future. But there are definitely times where we just need to push a bit more. Motivation alone is not always enough. Be hungry, fight. Sink your claws in the flesh of your dreams, no matter what. Even Odin the Allfather sacrificed his own eye to eat the fish that granted him full knowledge. Last but not least, the former two statements don’t mean there’s a set definition of what all of this means. There’s no hierarchy in knowledge, nor in learning. What does it mean “to be good at”? We’re so used to capitalise on everything we forget that many things are just human things to do. Like eating, drinking water and sleeping. So are dancing, singing, making art and many other things. They’re beautiful, raw and human. Like breathing. Why do we make our life a synthetic product? That itself is not very human and it’s not very nice either. Our curiosity got us to do so many wonderful stuff, why do we let it decay into suffering? Why do we strangle ourselves until suffocation? We can’t breathe anymore, our vision’s blurry, thick fog is hunting our brain yet we’ve become so comfortably numb we don’t notice anymore. We forget we have our own hands pressing furiously on our own throat. Even in the rare moments of clear-headedness we don’t seem to be able to move them. We’ve sunken so abysmally deep into total discomfort that we’re not even gasping for surface, air and sun anymore. What is actually hard now is not getting out of the comfort zone, but rather to be able to go back to it. Letting ourselves be okay, go back home, be ourselves, feel good in our own skin. We don’t know that. We don’t even know where to look for it. Where’s home? Where’s the sky? It’s not even about finding answers anymore, it’s about creating them. Having no path makes you lost and astray but it also means you can go everywhere you want. You can let your instinct guide you home without useless noise. When discomfort is so familiar it might be a very good idea to begin to end it.

Listen and walk.

I’ll be right here.

It’s all good now.

Today’s song recommendation is Abysmal by Hannah Bahng, though I advise you to listen to the full EP from the beginning to the end. The abyss, my loves, has always much to say.

I hope you enjoyed this episode and that you have a beautiful week ahead of you!

I’ll see you in the next one, big hug!

With love, yours,

Danbi

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justjozzyjitters · 1 year ago

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Old Poem #113

"Abbey Cream 5-66"

This color saturate our walls,

Of this home we built together,

Where everything is spick-and-span

In a walk through of the house,

But the bedroom door is shut.

Pillows are still on the floor,

The bed isn't made,

Window shades pulled shut all that they may,

Overlapping in the middle,

Light still seeping through.

This I explain so honestly,

The shades aren't thick enough--

How better shades are needed,

But you sneer-- Light. Darkness.

We're exact opposites.

I like to sleep, walk and see,

Abbey Cream 5-63,

But in coming to, as with you,

Wake shan't come so soon,

Dark a little while longer.

Since it's my preference,

Wake so soon,

Light a little prompter,

I must be doing it-- Accidently-on-purpose.

Thoughts voiced directly from my lips,

Don't really matter,

Only 'cause they're mine

"Facts can't be feelings";

Only your perception-- that's what you said, isn't it?

Clarified till the things I really feel

I cease to mention.

Nonsense spoken.

Make art.

You've always been pure chaos,

But only on the inside--

Shadows on a stand still

Casting Abbey Cream 5-68,

A deer-in-headlights-type situation,

Nothing to say in the moment.

Just a simple nod,

Fingers crossed behind my back,

Promise to do better but

How fan things be fixed when

Communication lives single-sided?

One just barking orders,

Nothing to refute--

You can do nothing wrong,

Unlike me-- if only you could tell me

What it is I've done.

But yours is a truth lingering quiet,

Moving on it moments,

While I sit brooding later,

Writing out my script,

So much easier to think with pause

Pencil and eraser with which mistakes can be erased till

All I could have said

Logical and if not,

Is left only to my knowledge,

The way to hurt the least

I toss my words to the fire.

I could go to you,

Start the fight this time,

Force open the curtains,

Eyes straining against the light--

Gleaming like glass,

Reflecting each other

But you just cloze them again and

Shut me up.

The fight is done

We've moved on

Notes burn in the fire

Ash and Abbey Cream 5-63.

It's so much easier when I've done wrong,

Fixing me is just so much simpler,

Blame game just with me at fault,

No critique from me and I can keep the

Light a little longer

For now I get my compromise

Dark a little prompter.

About 2023, age 19.

#creative writing course #amateur writing #my poetry #creative writing minor #personal narrative #poetry #creative writing #love poem #broken hearted #break up #toxic love #toxic ex #blame game

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majorbaby · 2 years ago

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we might want some joy or victory by the end of ‘glass onion’ and that’s what we get - sort of.

major spoilers beneath cut

andi is dead. helen still lost her sister, who it sounds like she'd drifted apart from in the years leading up to her death, as andi chose to ‘see the good’ in a group of shitheads who eventually turned their back on her. And who would have continued to lie even to cover up her murder had helen not ended the main source of their wealth. Which, btw, is weirdly* framed as a redeeming moment for said shitheads, despite the fact that had miles not been ruined by helen’s actions, they wouldn’t have turned their back on him, even with the knowledge that he’d murdered andi and stood to kill even more people by letting a dangerous project move forward. nothing happens that indicates to me that they won’t just latch onto the next golden teat they can find and make all the same immoral decisions again.

*not that weird, done intentionally i think. the movie really walks a fine line trying to make the shitheads (~the disrupters~) condemnable while still somewhat likeable - i think we are to believe that that these might be good people who have fallen prey to the allure of wealth so as to not be too alienated by them. duke fits the stereotype of the guy that terminally online liberals love to hate - deeply insecure, red-pill-conspiracy-theorist-shilling, cuck-fantasy-having beefcake - and that’s why he gets the on-screen death. as an audience, we might raise our eyebrows if it was instead lionel or claire or birdie who dies.

it isn't intended to be a downer ending, because helen does get her revenge and what a cathartic moment it is to see miles' empire destroyed by her and the curtain pulled back on miles’ hip prodigy persona by blanc - something that is lightly foreshadowed very early on during the zoom call between lionel and the board. i like that the implied to be morally grey ‘eccentric genius’ character (miles) turns out to be exactly what the board suspects he might be: a dick.

helen is right all along when she says “But I knew who they were, and I told her what they were. Shitheads” (she is still right about this by the end, even though, as i said, the movie does try to soften the other characters) when even blanc gives miles too much credit, assuming that he (miles) wouldn’t be stupid enough to kill andi.

back to what i meant for this post to be about: i understand why this movie wants to be a happy ending, but it isn’t. there’s catharsis, there’s revenge, there’s a badass slow-mo sequence of helen burning down the old boy’s club rather than joining its ranks - which is the mistake that andi makes that ultimately gets her killed. there’s a fun, brief exchange between blanc and helen. there’s the final shot where we’re meant to understand that helen is the mysterious, priceless, wondrous, never duplicated (despite being an identical twin) work of art, the mona lisa - a modest third-grade teacher from alabama, grieving her sister.

it’s a movie. it’s a fun movie and the audience, myself included, has a certain expectation of this kind of story. but we actually do see the more plausible ending to this story - the bad guy wins - on two occasions:

first, when andi loses the company. duke lays this out pretty well when andi/helen asks for “the truth” and he tells her, ”you’re the loser” - which is truer than he realizes because he doesn’t know that andi is dead. she had the evidence in her hand to win back her company and it didn’t help her at all, it just gets her killed. perhaps she would’ve died sooner if she’d been able to find it before the court case.

and a second time: after helen/andi summons incredible courage to go to the extreme lengths it takes for her to find the piece of evidence that will this time not only prove that andi was cheated, but also implicate miles in andi’s and duke’s respective murders. that is, until miles burns it up before her very eyes, which, tbh, i think she should’ve been prepared for, because he’d already killed two people to try to stop that evidence from coming to light.

those are the true, bleak endings. you can have all the facts and evidence on your side, you can be objectively in the right, you can be ethically in the right, you can be right in the eyes of the law and the eyes of god - but the rich and the powerful hold all the cards and everything is stacked against you. they write the rules and then they move the goal posts when they’ve been outplayed. nothing short of burning the whole stadium down can get you the win, and even if you do win, you still lost something invaluable, that can never be replaced.

#don't get me wrong #i fully left the cinema in a great mood #but wanted to point out that glass onion (bad ending) made it into the film twice #knives out #spoilers

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sunbloomdew · 1 year ago

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do you have any tips how to doodle? i want to have some drawings around my writing but i have a hard time making it look effortless. love your art btw!

thank you for the compliment anon! as flattered as i am to be asked for drawing advice, i absolutely don't feel i have enough knowledge or skill to give it. still, since you asked i'll do my best to give you an answer! ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ

just to be clear, i am a self-taught hobbyist ⁽ᶠᵒʳ ⁿᵒʷ⁾. this isn't going to be a definitive 'how to draw' post! do not take this advice at face value if you are trying to learn how to draw professionally, because well, that wasn't the question and that's not what this post is about. it's just your rando tumblr artist giving silly advice on how to draw silly doodles :3

so here are my tips and tricks on how to doodle:

1. firstly? relax. you're doodling for fun and for yourself! it doesn't have to be perfect (as cliché as this sounds). your works are important because you created them.

i find that a lot of the time i don't even start drawing because i don't think i can pull it off the way i imagined in my head. don't fall for this, it's your inner goblins trying to deceive you. you will never get to a point where it looks like you want it to if you don't try at all!

draw even if you think it looks like shit. don't be overly critical of yourself but also don't give up. it's okay to change something if you feel it looks weird or just cause. but also step away from a drawing from time to time, so you can see it with a clear mind - maybe you will catch some mistakes or maybe you'll realize that it looks better than you thought it did!

2. doodle all. the. time.

the more you do it the more natural it will feel. silly expressions, random objects, your ocs, anything.

you said you want to have drawings to go with your writing, so i suggest trying to draw whatever moment you wrote! i'm gonna use our life as an example, since that's the fandom i draw for at the moment. when i play the game and i like a line or a certain moment i quickly draw it on a sticky note. even if the doodles look bad i still feel good looking at them, because i drew a moment i enjoyed and i managed to show the emotions i wanted in the doodle.

3. use references. like a lot of them.

from my experience, i usually have an idea on what i want to draw - what pose or expression i have in mind. first i sketch it out on my own and then i look up references. sometimes for an entire doodle and sometimes for a specific part, like an arm placement.

if you don't have a clear idea of what you want to doodle, but you know the moment in your writing you want to draw, let's say two characters dancing, look up photos of people dancing and look at art that other people drew to seek inspiration.

references are really helpful but they can also feel constraining, as if they are limiting what you can draw. to that i say if don't use only one reference! the pose can come from one picture, an expression from another, body type a different one and so on. personally i have an entire board on pinterest dedicated to photos and drawing advice i find useful. when i can't find a specific thing i usually take pictures of myself and use that.

this is a really nice deviantart post about using references! you can also find it here on pinterest, where i found it.

4. simplify your refs!

when you have a reference it still may be hard to draw with it. i used to do the thing where you start drawing with a ref by focusing on one part and drawing it in an extremely detailed way and then moving on to another. needless to say it did not look good at all - the proportions were off and it looked stiff and unnatural.

what helps a lot is simplifying your references and your drawings in general. here's what i mean by that:

imagine references not as a whole but as a bunch of shapes. you can draw over the reference directly to get a better feeling of what shapes make sense.

5. what i learned from my book about drawing is that your hand movements shouldn't come from the wrist, but rather from the arm. most of the time using only wrists is good for details. it may feel a bit awkward and clunky to implement the entire arm into drawing at first, but it helps a lot with how your lines look!

6. and last but not least, we are talking about doodles! not detailed, complicated art pieces.

it's okay if they are messy or imperfect in any way.

so tldr; doodle because you like to, draw a lot and everything, use references and simplify them, use the entire arm while drawing, and don't worry about them not looking like a museum art piece!

i think in the end what is most important is that you draw because you like to. progress will come with time.

sooo there you have it! i took some time with replying to this ask because i wanted the advice to be good,, i hope it helped you in some way anon! ৻( •̀ ᗜ •́ ৻)

#mei's asks #anonymous #anon ask #everytime someone asks me for drawing advice i just shut down *static noises*#i don't know what gave you the impression i know what i'm doing #seems like i missed my calling to become an actor 👍#just kidding but i genuinely hope you will find this advice useful to some degree #drawing advice?

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atelier-kristel · 2 years ago

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5 Crucial Leassons I Learned as a Female Artist and Entrepreneur

Being a full-time female artist and running your own business is a tough enterprise, being a woman on top of that comes with its own set of challenges. I feel incredibly privileged for the career that I have and the opportunities that I have gotten along the way. They have all been a result of hard work, determination and ambition.

Whenever I am approached for advice by a budding female artist or entrepreneur who is trying to make it out there, I have a lot to say as I end up reflecting on all the lessons that I have learned over the course of my career. This blog is going to be a retrospective one, as I look back and list down 5 invaluable lessons that I would like to pass down to all the women creators and entrepreneurs out there.

So, let’s get going…

Lesson 1 – Stop apologizing

Okay, I understand. As women, we are programmed to constantly apologize for wanting things, for being ambitious. Well, no one got anywhere by being sorry or cautious about upsetting people. You cannot get everyone to like you regardless of what you do or don’t do, so stop over-apologizing and obsessing over the opinions of people that you might never see again.

Embrace your ambitions and dreams like a coat of armour and wear it proudly, with your head held high.

Lesson 2 – Work-life balance is key

I know, I know… You have invested all your time and effort into this craft and business, the desire for it to get off the ground is immense. So, you spend every waking moment obsessing over every single detail and idea to a point where you are spending countless hours working and never really finding the time to destress and recharge.

You know, what that does?

Yes, you end up burnt out and with zero motivation for not only your art but also your family and friends. Therefore, have boundaries between your work and your personal life. It is only when you have this clear healthy divide, you are able consistently create and have the energy to face all kinds of professional challenges.

Lesson 3 – Mistakes are okay. Learn from them and move on.

We all hate making mistakes.

I know, I did.

It is the way, we are raised and taught in schools to avoid making mistakes because a mistake means that we have failed or that our shortcomings have been exposed. This is the mindset that we need to change and approach everything from a place of growth and learning.

Every mistake presents you with an opportunity to learn and grow from it. This is how we get wiser, as we get older by making mistakes and hitting the bumps on the road. When it comes to running a woman-led business, it is impossible to not make mistakes because you are creating and managing something from scratch. So, don’t be too hard on yourself and take your mistakes as invaluable lessons.

Lesson 4 – Ask for help and delegate!

Yes, asking for help can be the most vulnerable thing to do when you are a perfectionist like I am. However, the fact remains that you can’t do everything yourself.

It is literally impossible.

Even if you try to micromanage and control everything, you will end up with same outcome that I had outlined in Lesson 2: burnt out, tired and out of motivation. If you are struggling or facing a challenge in your work because of a knowledge or skill gap, then ask for help. I am sure there are plenty of people and resources out there to assist you.

Also, at a certain point in the growth of your business, consider hiring people who can be delegated with tasks that are a time suck for you. Conserve your time and energy for things that actually matter to you and your growing business.

Lesson 5 – Surround yourself with people who actively support and encourage you.

This is a lesson that I cannot stress on enough.

A flower cannot bloom, if it does not have the right environment which provides it with enough sunshine and water. It’s the same way with us.

We need a support system of people who stand by us and support us, when we are combating self-doubt and our insecurities. This support can come from spouses, siblings and friends. I would also suggest networking and finding yourself mentors who are female entrepreneurs running profitable businesses similar to yours and were in your position at one point. These mentors provide crucial guidance and advise to not only help you grow and thrive, but also take your business to the next level.

There you have it: my pearls of wisdom for you to ponder over and implement. Doing art full time and running an art business can be a challenging and alienating experience, please know that you are not alone. Take a deep breath, consider what I have discussed in this blog and let’s get going!

Shop my artwork collection HERE.

Check my digital artwork collection HERE.

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qmoniqs · 2 years ago

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10 Tips to create better Java Applications

Here are some practical tips to make your Java application more maintainable. Always remember, maintenance cost is much higher than development cost and it's easy to give a solution but it's equally difficult to give a maintainable solution i.e. something which can withstand the test of time.

Before going to explain these 10 tips which can make your Java application more maintainable and easy to support, let me tell you that I have personally made a lot of these mistakes myself. It requires a great deal of discipline, hard work, and vigilance in writing quality code.

Sometimes you have to push back even to your team lead or managers bringing the points like support, which is often overlooked.

1. Don't swallow exceptions

Please avoid swallowing the exceptions. The stack trace is the most valuable troubleshooting information. In the production system where the priority is to bring the system up and then find the root cause, these exceptions are gold, without them, you will never be able to find what happened with your application at that moment.

On the other hand, please don’t print the stack trace multiple times. Printing a stack trace is a resource-intensive process and should be controlled i.e. you print more information while running on DEBUG or INFO mode and only print essential information while running in PRODUCTION mode. This is an example of swallowing exception in Java:

try{// do something}catch(FileNotFoundException fe){ // do nothing}

This is also known as an empty try-catch block and many static code analysis tools like Fortify will catch these in the early stage of development. This also highlights the importance of static code analysis in Java development. Make sure, you integrate the static code analysis tool as part of your build process.

If you are still not convinced about static analysis, then please read my post on why static code analysis is important, which will give you more reasons to use it in your project.

3. Avoid excessive logging

This tip is closely related to the first one and at first, it may look contradictory but in reality, it's not, in fact, they both complement each other. When you run the Java application in your development environment (PC), nobody cares what logging level you have. Go ‘DEBUG’ or ‘ALL’ if you please. But when it goes to production (or other higher environments e.g. QA or UAT), limit your logging to ‘INFO’ or ‘ERROR’. Excessive logging has 3 major impacts:

1. It puts an unnecessary load on the Application. I’ve seen the throughput of the application reduced to half due to excessive logging.

2. It can fill up the file system very quickly and that can create issues for your application and other applications hosted on the same server. This is a serious problem especially if you are co-hosted with some other application. Do you know what will happen when the root directory of certain flavors of Unix systems fills up? - that’s right. No one can log in to the host.

3. Troubleshooting will be painful, like looking for a needle in a haystack (if the poor support guy can ever get the log file to open).

In short, you have to keep the balance between excessive logging and not enough logging, and to be honest that is also an art, which requires a good knowledge of both the application and domain.

This is also where experience comes into the picture, involving support guys from the UAT itself, they will give you valuable tips on logging and supporting the application. Remember, life is all about keeping the right balance. See here for more logging tips for Java developers.

4. Don't Forget to Close Database Connections

This is one of the most common reasons for production issues in the last decade, but thankfully with modern frameworks and libraries, this issue is actually slowly disappearing (as the framework takes care of opening/closing connections).

However, make sure you always ‘close’ the database connection so that it is released back to the pool. This is also one of the JDBC best practices, I have shared with you in my earlier post 10 Essential JDBC best practices for Java programmers. If you haven't read it yet, make sure you read it in 2017.

A common mistake is not closing the connection in the ‘finally’ block of a ‘try catch’. If there is a connection pool leak, your connection pool with be exhausted soon and your user will experience immediate slowness.

The same rules go for closing sockets and streams if you don't close them you will run out of resources pretty soon. Sometimes, Java developers think that they have closed the connection but in reality, they were not closed, hence you must know the right way to close streams in Java.

This is part of general resource management best practices. Not to discourage you but I have personally found that C++ developers excel over Java developers when it comes to resource management. They are more vigilant about closing the connection and releasing resources, something Java developers can learn from C++ programmers.

5. Don't underestimate the production load

If you are an experienced Java developer you would have noticed that most of the issues are exposed in the production environment rather than in UAT or QA environment, especially concurrency-related issues. Do you know why? because of production load.

You might have heard the developer talking to support personnel that ‘It works fine in my development environment. But when it went to production, it crashed’.

Yes, it is the job of the load testing team to test your application with the production like a load. But that does not mean that as a developer you write code that does not scale well. For example, it works fine for 1 user, but what happens when there are 500 users online simultaneously?

The issue is brutally exposed while writing concurrent code because the probability of race conditions is much higher in production than in any other environment. So, always keep the production load in mind and code.

You should also read my post about essential multi-threading and concurrency best practices for Java programmers if haven't read it already. That will help you to envision some of the things which you might not think otherwise.

6. Avoid loading large result sets from the Database

This is one of the common mistakes made by beginners and intermediate Java programmers who don't know about paging or pagination. You simply cannot load every record e.g. order or trade from the database in one call. In some cases, obviously, you will run out of memory and it is also a waste of network bandwidth, CPU, and memory as the user might not need all of those data.

Secondly, you just cannot keep the data in your application forever because it may become stale hence you need to load it again.

So, instead of loading all records in one go, implement some sort of ‘pagination’ and/or ‘lazy loading’ so that you don’t have to load everything in the beginning.

This is where ORM and caching framework like Hibernate helps a lot. They simply free up Java developers from worrying about lazy loading and pagination. If you want to learn more about how lazy loading works in Hibernate, I suggest reading Java Persistence with Hibernate or High-Performance Java Persistence by Vlad Mihalcea both are great books that every Java developer using Hibernate should read.

7. Avoid hard coding Configuration Parameters

You might have heard this tip several times but you would be surprised if you look at the code written by many professional software engineers and programmers. There is hardly a code where something is not hard-coded but hard-coding configuration values like URLs, directory locations, username/passwords, cache sizes, log levels, etc in the code result in hard-to-maintain Java applications.

Instead of hard-coding configuration parameters, you must externalize them in a property file. It seems simple enough but I have seen it over and over again that somehow some hard-coded value sneaks in and breaks when it goes to production. In one word, managing configuration information within the code is a nightmare. Never do that.

There is a flip side as well, where many programmers just create too many property files with the hope to generalize everything. It does make sense to keep related properties in one place e.g. if a couple of configuration parameters is shared by multiple application then externalize them in one property file like. database and middleware URLs, username, password, etc and let other application import that file, but if you do it over a limit then it becomes a maintenance nightmare.

You should also never mix environment-related configuration parameters e.g. URL, directories, username/password with application-related parameters e.g. config parameters to enable or disable some functionalities.

It's better to keep separate properties files for application properties and environment properties. This way, you would have one application property across the environment which is essential for testing and production release.

8. Don't write Platform-specific Code

Many Java programmers just don't give a shit to writing platform-specific code, thinking that Java is platform-independent. Even though Java is platform-independent if you are not careful you will end up making your Java application platform-dependent. Java programmers should not code anything that is related to the local operating system. For example, executing a Linux command (example: uname -a) from java and handling the output.

This will not work whenever your company decides to move to Windows from Unix and it will be painful to refactor hundreds of lines of code containing such code. This is again the case where static code analysis can help you a lot. Make sure you integrate tools like Sonar or Fortify in your build process to regularly scan code for such code smells.

9. Consider Clustering

This is one area where even many experienced Java programmer also fails. Since every application doesn't run in the cluster it's possible to not think about clustering at the start but if you ever decide to run your application in a cluster in the later stage of development, it would be really hard to refactor your application.

For example, if you have a scheduled job within the code, what will happen to it if you run multiple instances of the same application? Wouldn’t it run multiple times? What are the side effects of this?

It's best to think about clusters at the start of development and avoid scheduling jobs from Java code directly, think about using more useful tools like Autosys for Job scheduling and monitoring.

10. Avoid packing multiple versions of the same JAR files

Packaging utility jar files in several places, especially various versions of the same utility jar in various locations is the cause of many production issues.

You must have a clean build and versioning processing, especially for internal applications. Consider using Maven for dependency management, it makes life a lot easier than keeping versioned JAR files in the lib folder.

The infamous ‘Class Cast Exception’ or ‘No Class Def Found Exception’ is most of the time due to the version mismatch of third-party jar files. Make sure you only pack one copy of the jar file and that your build is consistent across environments like Dev, QA, UAT, etc.

It's also a good practice to keep configuration separate from binaries so that you can release the same binaries across the environment e.g. promoting the same binary from UAT to Production after testing successfully.

That's all about some practical tips on how you can make your Java application easy to support and maintain. These small things can make big difference when it comes to developing and maintaining a real-world Java application. If you are aspiring to become a solution architect or Java architect, paying attention to these details will help you put your case forward more strongly. A good Java architect will ensure that the application is both easy to maintain and support.

You can also do good if you include various stakeholders early in the development stage e.g. support team, testing team, middleware guys, Unix and infra guys, networking people, and business guys. Though don't overwhelm with a lot of details coming from every direction, just keep calm and drive.

#Java Applications #web development #app development #mobile app development #mobile app services #website development

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jbreenr · 3 years ago

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𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐥

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale × Reader

Summary: You wanted to meet Ransom's family, he wanted to make sure you'd never want it again.

Word count: 3k.

Warning: Poorly written smut (+18 only, please), public sex (prompt 11), fingering, unprotected sex (don't do that, kids. be responsible), a bit of dirty talk, the Thrombeys being the Thrombeys. And I think that's it.

A/N: So, after finding out one of my stories was stolen an translated in Wattpad, I did not know if I should post this just yet but, what the hell? Let's do it. Anyway, this is for @stargazingfangirl18 and @navybrat817 's Shameless Hoes for Chris Challenge so, happy belated birthday! Yaaay. 🥳 Hope you like this at least a little and that it's not as bad as my paranoid brain thinks it is. Also, I just love how the prompts fit perfectly together, don't you? As always, lack of vocabulary and grammatical mistakes abound. *apologizes in español*

Wheel results (just attaching evidence):

ᴹʸ ᵍⁱᶠ

Draining, tedious, exasperating. Those were some of the adjectives Ransom associated with Thrombey family reunions. He'd arrive late, have some sort of conversation with his grandfather and leave early to do whatever that took him away from that big house.

Today though, he had a reason to stay for more than half an hour.

If it was up to him, you two would have stayed at home, happy, relaxed, and most importantly, naked in his bed, having a more pleasant time than the one you were most likely about to have.

He tried to persuade you. Of course he did! But your insistence and puppy eyes made it impossible for him to say no to your request.

So, here you were, getting out of his car, cake in sweaty hands and an excited smile on your lips, an expression so different from Ransom's, who seemed to be ready to get back behind the wheel and drive straight to Canada.

He didn't knock; he simply opened the door and held it for you to enter. If the three floor house was imposing from the outside, you felt impressed by the inside. Extravagant sculptures, apparently expensive paintings and other kinds of pieces of art were scattered everywhere, telling you just how wealthy and eccentric Ransom's family were.

“That's Harlan Thrombey! ” You exclaimed as you stood in front of the portrait of your forever favorite author holding a knife and a book.

“So?” Ransom asked, unconcerned.

You turned to him open-mouthed, the cake almost slipping off your palms as you went to playfully slap him in the arm.

“How come you are related to Harlan Thrombey and you didn't tell me?” Your question was more of a shock than an accusation.

The carefree gesture he did with his shoulders only accentuated his next words. “I did not think you would be interested in knowing.”

“I wouldn’t be interested?” Incredulity, flowing out of your lips. “He’s the best thriller author of all time! He’s like today’s Edgar Allan Poe!”

To say that you didn't believe him was an understatement. He knew for a fact that you liked Harlan Thrombey's books, just taking a look at the bookshelf in your apartment was proof enough of that.

“We call him grandpa here.” Said a femenine voice. A brunette walked in your direction, her pretty features hardening as she looked at your boyfriend. “Don't we, Hugh?”

He seemed to be ready to say something but decided not to. Instead he inhaled and placed his hand on your back.

“This is Y/N, the only reason I’m not telling you what you need to hear right now.”

Her eyes rolled in irritation and then turned to you. “I’m Meg. Let's introduce you to the rest of the family, shall we?.” And she dragged you to the room where more people were gathered together, discussing something, not before sending a deadly glare at Ransom.

Given the distance between you and him, you didn't listen to the heavy sigh he let out before waking behind.

“Everyone!” Meg called, making everyone leave whatever they were doing to look at her –and you, in consequence. “Meet Y/N, Hugh's new friend.” She then proceeded to introduce every single member of the family, including the housekeeper and the nurse, except for the grandfather, who apparently had a moment of inspiration and left them momentarily to put his ideas on paper.

None of them left their seat to go and shake your hand except for Meg's energetic mom, who hugged you and expressed how much she loved your coat even though it was soooo last season.

Sitting on a couch next to Ransom, you half expected someone to ask you about how you two met or how long had you been dating or what was it that you did for a living. Nothing. As fast as their attention was on you, it fell from you to their previous discussion.

You now understood why Ransom jokingly suggested deep cleaning the house instead of attending that reunion.

What you weren't aware of, Ransom thought, was that all of them were behaving wonderfully compared to previous times.

You didn't know if you felt more disappointed or uncomfortable. Ransom had left your side to go to the studio for a second and you had barely had any interaction with his family. All of them, dipped in their own matters to even notice your presence.

Fran, the housekeeper, was kind enough to take the cake to the kitchen and offer you a glass of water, but after giving it to you, she disappeared along with Meg and the nurse.

“So,” All at once, the room went quiet as Ransom's uncle spoke. “Have you read any of dad's books, Y/N?” Only until you heard your name was that your head snapped up.

“Oh, uhm… yeah. I'm a big fan.” Taken by surprise, you simply answered.

“Really? Which one have you read?”

And to that question, you felt suddenly included in the conversation since you had knowledge of the topic.

“I'm like fifty pages from finishing 'The Needle Game' and intrigue is eating me alive.” As you heard the excitement in your voice, you tried to compose yourself and said “Though 'Nick Of Time' is my favorite.” You smiled at him, hoping that your answer was a good one.

The woman that was introduced to you as Ransom's mother nodded as she licked her lips. The light of the fireplace, reflecting on her glasses as she moved her head up and down.

“Have you read 'Ultimatum' or 'Drop In The Pocket', dear?” Her tone was curious, but the look on her face said differently.

You responded anyway. “They're not bad. I feel like the ending of 'Drop In The Pocket' was a little vague and out of line but it can always be interpreted as an open ending so…” The change in their expressions told you that you had to add something else to that answer. Maybe it was not time for literature humor yet. “But I enjoyed both.”

She hummed and took her drink, detaching from the talk that continued with courtesy questions until it morphed into a heated discussion between Ransom's father and uncle, who would repeatedly ask for your opinion to back up his own.

The discomfort you felt, dispelled to be replaced by the disturbance of being bombarded with dozens of questions at a time, each louder than the other until they changed to a completely different topic to which you were occasionally included as a neutral point of view.

“She knows what she's talking about!” Said Richard at some point when you confirmed one of his arguments. “Thank you, dear.”

Ransom came back from his obligatory argument with his grandfather to find you nowhere to be seen.

“She's using the bathroom.” Informed Jacob, who did not take his eyes off of his cellphone.

Thinking that you went there to hide, he started his way to your potential direction until an overheard observation from his mother stopped him halfway through.

“… Did you hear how she talked about dad's work? Oh, I assure you she won't make it to next week with Ransom.”

Her and Richard's backs were to him, both of them unaware that their son was listening to their share of opinions.

“And did you see her hands?” Joni joined the criticism contest. “She could use some moisturizer, I tell you.”

As usual, they ignored her attempt to fit in and kept going.

“I know it's contradictory to say this,” Richard paused, as to make his point clear. “But he could do better.”

Despite their whispering, Ransom heard every single word and was glad that you were not there to see what was about to happen…

Ransom's words stuck on his throat when he saw you making your way out of the bathroom, fixing the skirt of your dress, with such niceness and warmth directed to him as you smiled, oblivious to the fact that the people you were trying to get to like you weren't going to.

His parents were right. He could do better. He could determine to not see them ever again and it would be the best thing to happen to him… Besides you, obviously.

“What's wrong?” Your concern was evident, just as his annoyance was undeniable.

Cold hands caressed his cheeks and Ransom thought of going back to Joni and tell her to fuck off. Your touch was soft, comforting, and gave him the greatest idea he'd ever had.

“I want to show you something.” Was his answer. It was better if you were the one who decided to never step on that house for the rest of your lives. It didn't matter if it was out of embarrassment.

Taking your hand in his, he guided you up the stairs to the first landing. The creaking sound of the old structure, probably alerting everyone in the other room that you were going to the next floor.

“Are you okay?” The sweet giggle that you let out when he abruptly stopped, almost making him feel bad about what he was seconds away from doing.

“Better than ever.” And he stamped his lips to yours.

Taken aback, it took you a second to respond. Hands on each side of his face as his own explored your body. When his fingers lifted your dress to caress your ass cheeks was when you ended the kiss.

“What are you doing?” You asked in a breathless whisper. “Not that I'm complaining.”

You were cornered against the wall with Ransom towering in front of your smaller frame.

Trying to escape from whatever he had in mind was useless, you knew that much. Though, you were not sure if you really wanted to escape.

“What I've been wanting to do ever since you got a shower without me this morning.” His lips found your jaw and descended to your neck where he sucked to create a bruise. Your eyes closed to the sensation.

“Wait. No, wait.” His fingertip that had started rubbing your still clothed bud paused it's motions as his eyes focused back on your face. “We can't do it. Not here.”

Ransom's finger went back to work, bringing a soft moan that you tried to suppress. “Why not? No one's gonna come here.” His other hand moved up your thigh to lift it. “Even if they did, they wouldn't notice.”

With an expert swing of his wrist, he moved your panties aside, letting the cold air that wandered inside the house hit you before his skilled middle finger entered you while still managing to rub your clit in circles with his thumb.

Adrenaline ran through your veins, fuel activating every nerve in your body and shaking away fear from your brain, replacing it with lust and boldness.

“I'm blaming you if we get caught.” Your hips jolted forward wanting to feel more of his hand, the contradiction between your words and actions, making him smirk.

He added a second finger. Knuckles deep and his cold ring slowly warming against the inside of your thigh, he said, “I'll take responsibility, sweetheart.” Pumping his fingers in and out, he felt your slick running down the back of his hand to his wrist, wetting his overly expensive watch and the cuff of his cozy sweater .“But I can't assure you we won't get caught.”

His words, instead of working as a bucket of cold water as one would expect, increased your need to be touched by him, the yearning for him to take you right there and then.

“Damn it, Ransom.” One of your hands flew to his shoulder to hold onto him for dear life. “I'm close.”

“You're not cumming unless I'm inside you, pretty thing.” At what point did he unfasten his belt and unzipped his trousers, you had no idea. The friction of his digits was gone in a second but the feeling of his already leaking tip rubbing against your most sensitive parts was enough to make you forget about those trifles.

Your lips opened, ready to tell him to keep his voice down when he suddenly thrusted home, stretching you out so deliciously that you had to cover your mouth to muffle the moan that threatened to inform everyone of your current activities.

Ransom's breathing hitched. Being inside you was a dream come true, feeling your walls enveloping his cock so fucking good… it was like you were made for each other, and he was going to prove it, even if his family didn't really get to know.

His hips started moving. Back and forth, back and forth. Delicately at first, letting you adjust to his size but the second he felt you throbbing around him, he increased the pace. Little by little his pounds gained power and energy.

Your whimpers –stuck in your throat, leaving only soft snuffles that crashed against Ransom's cheek, soon became more rapid, erratic and as his fingers dug in the flesh of your thigh to keep you still while he accommodated to go even deeper you heard a creaking noise.

Your boyfriend's blue eyes met yours, his movements never faltering despite the alert given by the dark wooden floor under your feet.

There was a conflict in your head, and Ransom could tell. The way you tightened and the pleading look on your face told different stories, yet Ransom knew they had the same ending.

Shaking your head, your eyes asked him not to do it, but you knew Ransom well enough to be sure that not even begging could stop him.

“You love it, don't you?” His smile grew bigger as his change of position allowed him to hit your sweet spot on and on, ripping high pitched whines from you and obligating you to close your eyes. “The thought of getting caught. The image of someone seeing how good I make you feel.” The placement of his foot, making the landing creak repeatedly each time he pushed up accompanying every word. “Fuck, you're talking me so well. Such a dirty girl, uh.”

His big hand yanked the strap of your dress down, exposing your left boob. Your already hard nipple was soon attacked by Ransom's fingertips. He'd pinch and twist it slightly, just enough to make your back arch in search of his touch.

Pleasure was overflowing your senses, you could feel your heart thudding in your ears and your legs losing strength. Your hand left your mouth to grip at the back of Ransom's neck to keep you from falling.

The sight of your lower lip trapped between your teeth didn't please Ransom. In other circumstances, he would've let you stay that way, as quiet as possible so no one would walk on you. This time though, it was his intention to rip the most delicious sounds from your lips so you thought of the possibility of his family listening.

And so, he lent to kiss you, passion and desire transmitted through his breath. His tongue asked for a permission that was not really required, but as you let it in, Ransom took the opportunity to bite down your lip.

With your lips forcefully parted and Ransom's restless hand traveling back to your bundle, you had no other option than to moan with each quick circle his digits drew.

A series of laughs and undistinguished words were heard from a distance. Both Ransom and you turned to see what they were about, stopping in your tracks with him still buried deep inside your needy cunt.

“Guess dinner's ready.” Unbothered about the information he just gave, he hid his face in the crook of your neck and resumed his movements.

A shaky oh, fuck fell from your lips as you felt the familiar knot in your stomach forming. Your head flew back, hitting the wall with a soft thud.

“Careful. We don't want to be obvious, do we?” You knew you were about to explode, and by the way your walls were clenching and your trembling body tried to separate from him, Ransom knew as well. “Let go, sweetheart.” A roar erupted from him as he felt you tightening around his length. “Cum for me.”

With a last, powerful thrust of his hips, you let out a silent scream. The coil snapped, making you see a kaleidoscope of colors behind your eyelids and listen to a loud ring in your ears.

Ransom followed right after, cursing as he finished inside of you, coating you with every last drop and making sure everything would stay there.

He slid out, leaving you with a feeling of emptiness as he zipped his trousers and took a step back to let you fix your appearance.

You managed to accommodate your dress just in time for Ransom's family to walk out of the room they were in to see you. Your agitated breathing and blushed cheeks, getting everyone's attention.

“Are you okay, dear?” Ransom's dad asked.

“She's fine.” Your boyfriend answered for you. “She's feeling a little sick. I better take her home.” He took you by the hand and helped you down the stairs to the door, which you thanked. Had he not done it, you would have tripped taking the first step.

“But she hasn't met grandpa yet.” Meg noted, furrowing her brows.

“It'll be next time.” And with that, Ransom took you out of the house and in the passenger seat of his car without giving anyone the chance to say goodbye.

When you were at a considerable distance, you sighed, letting out the air you didn't know you were holding.

“Just so you know, there won't be a next time.” You informed him, against your want to meet his grandfather.

“Why not?” He asked with a chuckle, already knowing the answer.

“Cause embarrassment won't let me come back in the near future.”

Behind an eye roll and a tap on your thigh, Ransom hid the triumphant grimace his perfectly carried out plan gave him.

693 notes · View notes

cryptiql · 3 years ago

Text

riptide

pairing: dabi/m!reader

warnings: smoking, some mildly suggestive flashbacks + detailed descriptions of drowning. as always, please do not read forward if any of the listed warnings might trigger you in any way, and stay safe <3

words: 4.9k

a/n: welcome to the sequel of smoke signals. perish :)

dabi made a mistake. the knowledge sits in the bottom of his stomach like a lump of lead; his innards twisting into a knot whenever the memory of you crosses the expanse of his sleep deprived mind. the burns under his eyes might as well be bags, but they aren't large enough to bear the weight of his guilt. it isn't much better sitting on his shoulders, but the repercussions of pain are what keep him from letting it go, and that's exactly what he wants. no—it's what he deserves. he deserves the feeling like his head is going to burst; the ache in his spine from too many hours spent hunched over himself with a bottle clutched between his shaking hands; the burning intensity from overuse of his quirk. the extra inches of marred skin serve as reminders of what he did, but it's not half as satisfying when the pain doesn't last.

he wants to scratch at the wounds until they ooze that bitter garnet liquid; until he's suffocated by the metallic scent and forced to endure as the taste of blood engraves itself on his tongue when he chokes on it. he wants to suffer—the slower the better—because not even the strongest alcohol can cleanse his sins, nor the stench of his regret.

dabi made a mistake. it won't be the last time, he's able to admit, because his ego is too shriveled from the lack of your warmth, and his heart yearns for the passion of your kiss that still lingers on his lips. when the loft echoes with fragments of the city's ambience, drowning him in an incessant racket, he longs for the lighthouse. this place is infested with selfish ingrates, scuttling about in search of the next outcast to torment, and it makes him wish he still had that safe space at the shore. your siren song was a drug to put him at ease, and now he is without it, and the withdrawal has taken effect.

he knew this would come to pass. dabi overdosed on your love; your affection; your everything; all while watching the consequences unravel at a snail's pace, almost as if he were being teased by the inevitable end. he let it happen. he did this to himself, so he won't shake his hands at the sky, cursing gods he doesn't know exist; as if they would concern themselves with the faults of men like him.

he knew this would happen.

but then, so did you. you had to have known by the empty space in your bed where he used to lay; by the dates that kept getting postponed and the meaningless promises made to make up for them; by the shortage of visits, even just to say "hello" before he dropped from the face of the earth once more. if this were true, it meant that you were suffering just the same—nay, more than him, by forcing yourself into a state of compliance whenever he told you it was time for him to go. dabi could pretend like he didn't see your fingers twitching; resisting the urge to reach out for him; just as he could pretend like the rivulets of tears on your cheeks did not exist, though they begged to be swept away by him. god, he wants to hold your face again, noses brushing together and your dreamy sighs melding with his raspy laughter.

he had told himself that you wouldn't deter him from his goal, but even that seems like a pipe dream now. he feels like an underachiever, chasing a future that can't be set in stone when he already had you, which should have been enough. dabi realizes that the flames of his own passionate desire for freedom have burned you in the process, and it hurts more than he can put into words. you were always better with words, he reminisces, tracing the coffee stained parchment sitting in his pocket.

dabi has long since stopped reading the letters you sent, but he still carries them with him wherever he goes. they anchor him to both earth and sky; the reality that he's lost you, threatening to swallow him from under his feet; and the hope that he'll find you again, one day, after all this is over. "and just what do you think you're doing?"

you can see his reflection in the stove's glass sheen, his mouth drawn up into a devious smirk as he leans on the bedroom doorframe, clad in nothing but his briefs from the previous night. the purplish burns scaling his collarbone and abdomen give him a roguish look that—if you possessed no self-restraint—would normally have you lunging at him like a starved beast. you manage to smirk back at him, subtly shaking your hips while opening the stove door to pull out the doughy mound of bread inside. to your delight, you hear him grumble something not-so family-friendly before he snakes his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. you had never once thought that the feeling of staples against your skin would feel so good, but now you can hardly imagine being without it, and you immediately melt into dabi's touch.

he breathes softly in your ear, chuckling when you flinch in response, goosebumps stippling your flesh. by the way your cheeks puff out in embarrassment, he should take that as a sign to stop, but fuck, your pouting is just too cute for him to resist, especially when your worship-able body is basking in the afterglow of dusk. you keen when dabi starts peppering your shoulder blades with kisses, but nearly dropping the pan causes your senses to return, and you whisper a plea. luckily, he appears to be in a merciful mood, because he relents his onslaught of affection to rest his chin in the crook of your neck.

when he finally notices what you're making, he can't help but squeeze you tighter.

"is that a cake?"

you turn to give him a peck on the nose, which is rewarded with a halfhearted snap of his teeth just millimeters from your mouth.

"that'd be right. though, i'm astonished you know which way is up after last night." your sing-song tone of voice spurs him to squeeze your thigh, and you would have shooed him away if not for how much you liked it. dabi murmurs something unintelligible, the vibrations shooting straight down your spine, and proceeds to remove himself from you in order to better observe the baked delicacy.

"mm. what's it for?" he asks, discretely swiping a bit of the pink colored icing from the bowl to his right. sweet, but not sickeningly so.

you are none the wiser when dipping a spatula into the contents and smoothing it over the cake, a soft smile playing at your lips.

"you never told me when your birthday is, so i'm taking a wild guess. figured i'd whip this up as a surprise, but you woke up earlier than i suspected." dabi swears that his heart is about to burst from behind his ribcage, and all because you're too goddamn perfect. you may as well be a priceless work of art in museum that he's been prohibited from touching. however, the fading marks on your skin signify that he's done more than just touch, and he takes pride in the fact you can't seem to move further than two steps in any direction without faltering.

"i know angel food cake is your favorite—" dabi silences you with a kiss; bruising and passionate; and takes the spatula from your hand, blindly setting it aside on the counter. your protests are short-winded as he lifts you from your behind before promptly turning the oven off and spinning on his heel. he's memorized these halls well enough to not bump into anything during his trek back to the bedroom. you pull away, albeit with a hint of reluctance, just to glare at him.

"what about the—" dabi kisses you again, and while you don't seem too happy about being interrupted twice in a row, the shared heat between your bodies distracts you from being upset.

"you're off by about two months, doll. besides, i think i'd much rather have you as a late birthday treat."

dabi clenches his jaw at the memory, his knuckles whitening with how tenaciously he grips the tattered fabric of his jeans. the league's new base is just as rundown and close to crumbling as he feels, but his despair is masked by the rage that overpowers it. why couldn't you have been a normal couple? why couldn't dabi have grown up with a father who loved him; with a quirk that didn't gradually destroy him and without the resulting scars that made him a hideous monster in the eyes of all who saw him? why couldn't he be as beautiful on the inside as you said he was on the outside? why couldn't he just be happy, after all this time?

why? why? why?

dabi finds his answer hidden in the ashen battleground strewn with rubble and remnants of burnt remains. he finds it in the fear of his victims' expressions before the snare of death claims them in a flourish of blue inferno. it's written there in bold, ichor dripping from his fingers as they smear the message with red.

the privilege of living a normal life is, and always will be, beyond his reach. murder does not warrant mercy, and the only person willing to give it to him is miles away, still desperate for him to come back.

as fate would have it, you and dabi lived worlds apart, but you still look at the same sunset; the same array of stars forming constellations that told stories of your life shared together. they replay in his head like a record stuck on repeat, and only when the song ends does he find himself back in the clutches of his childhood trauma, rather than your embrace.

"dabi? dabi!" his trademark scowl automatically takes place when a finger prods and pulls at his cheek, the familiar voice of twice shaking him from his deep contemplation. jin has been so unfortunate as to suffer minor scorches from the ravenette's flames, on account of him being too bothersome at the wrong moments, and so he instantly backs away at the first indication of danger brewing in the air around him. with how on edge he's felt lately, he really should have gone on a walk to relieve some stress, but the looming knowledge that he can't go to the lighthouse would only ruin the trip.

dabi is fully prepared to smack jin's hand away until he sees what he's holding. he'd recognize that handwriting anywhere, and even without it, the scent of saltwater and freshly baked bread clings to the paper, altering him of yet another one of your efforts to communicate with him. dabi feigns indifference towards the object; quite the contrary to his thinning patience as twice waves it above his head excitedly.

"you've got mail! who's is from? probably a useless nobody! or maybe a secret admirer? but who would admire you?"

to his dismay, the commotion has grabbed toga's attention, and she veers over to their location with a giddy grin on her face. she all but drapes herself over dabi as he snatches the letter from jin, and it doesn't help his struggle when she clings to him like a koala. after a bout of kicking and shoving, he manages to break free of her grasp, grimacing at her lengthy, high-pitched whines of disapproval.

"and can you believe hawks was the one to deliver it? i didn't take him for a carrier bird. . ."

dabi doesn't hear the rest, nor does he intent to, because he's already making his way to the nearest exit with haggard breaths. whoever calls out for him and whatever they say are the last of his concerns right now, and they're abruptly cut off when he slams the door behind him. the summer heat wills beads of sweat to paint his forehead, but he soon finds comfort under the shade of a tree, cicadas buzzing noisily overhead. he would sooner keel over and die than thank the birdbrain hero for catering to him—and by extension, you—but now that the note is there, begging to be read, he can't help but feel some sort of gratitude.

"i need you to do something for me."

the bristles of hawks' feather hover over dabi's pulse in a threatening manner, but he feels no more in peril than he would at the cruelty of a baby chick. he knows the number two hero won't harm him, at least not without regretting it later, and this is the perfect time to use that to his advantage. hawks narrows his eyes at him, nose wrinkling in accord.

"why would i do anything for you after that stunt you pulled?" he snarls, and dabi almost has to laugh at the drastic switch in personality. the way he presents himself to the public is a true contrast compared to the persona only he and the league have had the pleasure of seeing.

"because if you don't, everyone will know you've been fraternizing with the enemy, and we wouldn't want number two falling off his high pedestal, now would we?"

this time, dabi audibly laughs when hawks' guise wavers. the other grits his teeth, slowly withdrawing the feather and allowing it to fall limp at his side. he revels in his victory, short though it be, and reaches into his pocket to procure a letter marked with your name and address. putting your location at the disposal of a hero isn't something he's proud of doing, but it's all he has left, and he doesn't have the resolve to tell you directly.

coward, his conscious mocks as he holds it out for hawks to take. the winged man stares at it with befuddlement, his movements stalling here and there when he seizes the paper between his thumb and pointer finger. dabi tuts lightly but menacingly, yanking hawks towards him by the wrist and igniting his quirk to leave a faint mark there.

"you're gonna deliver this for me, no questions asked. don't you dare open it."

despite the clear uncertainty, hawks took heed of the ominous demand and carried it out later that night. he had not expected a young man with tear-stained cheeks to greet him at the door, much less the endless babble of 'thank you's as you took the letter with shaking hands.

dabi hadn't wished for you to send one back, but the ongoing stream of them was considered fair, after he'd left without much of a trace. still, he had promised himself that he would never read them, for fear of it opening the wound inflicted by having to say goodbye.

dabi can't understand the sudden change of mind for the life of him, and yet, he finds that he doesn't care whether it opposes every rule he set to keep you safe—to keep himself safe. he tears open the envelope and slumps against the tree trunk, bark and leather grating together as he hesitantly unfolds the parchment, briefly shutting his eyes as a last act of resistance to the helpless cry from within; longing for the familiarity of your poetic words. instead of the delicate precision that was to be anticipated, dabi stared down at your messy scrawl, a carnal fear rising from within and causing his throat to clamp up. the memories begin to flash at a faster rate, like an old-timey picture film. dabi has just finished putting the kettle on to boil when hears the floorboards creak, followed by the sound of your slippers shuffling across the floor. he snickers, remembering that the only pair you have is the one he bought you; a well worn match that looks oddly like cloud bunnies. you've made sure to exemplify how much you love the gift by wearing them around the house on rainy or lazy days, all paired with a wistful smile. this morning is no different as you worm your way under dabi's hold and press your face into his chest, a satisfied groan escaping you when he cards his fingers through your hair and scratches the scalp.

the robe you wear is half-hanging from your shoulders, which makes for an enticing view from where dabi stands, but he simply kisses the crown of your head and continues waiting for the pot to simmer.

"did you hear that noise?" you slur, just barely discernable over the kettle's shrieking. dabi quirks a brow in question as you rub the leftover grogginess from your eyes, tiredly nodding at the back window.

"little past midnight, i think. coulda sworn i heard somethin' rifling around in the trash." dabi squints at this new information while eyeing your appearance. the dark circles and intermittent yawning indicate a lack of sleep, and if he weren't there to keep you steady, you might collapse onto the floor as a snoring heap. if it really disturbed him, he should have woken me up, he thinks, pulling you closer with an ever-deepening frown. you snuggle up to him as if it's second nature, sleepily giggling away when his digits stray too close to your side.

"s'probably raccoons, but if you're worried, i can stay longer just to make sure." you look up at him with nothing short of pure, unbridled adoration, cupping his face and squishing it gently, to your own entertainment. after a moment of consideration, you shake your head.

"nah, you're probably right."

the feeling hits dabi like a tidal wave, dragging him below the raging surface; far below where the light of day cannot touch. it suffocates him and brings rise to the sickening taste of bile on his tongue, but he doesn't have time to spare in throwing it all up, so he swallows it. withered patches of grass crunch under his feet as he peels himself from the tree and breaks into a dash, sparing your letter the flames fueled by his anguish as to let it drift in the breeze, the single sentence written on it already engraved in his mind.

it wasn't raccoons.

dabi doesn't care what shigaraki will have to say about this when he gets back. the only thing he cares about is that you'll still be alive to say anything to him when he reaches you, and that whoever has invaded your home is willing to die for what they've done, or what they're currently doing, and fuck—he isn't even sure if this is you calling for help or not, but he can't risk being right.

the distance between the base and the lighthouse feels lightyears apart, yet simultaneously at arms length when dabi is running at speeds he hasn't ever been able to achieve before. if he stumbles at any point during his sprint, or if he happens to bump into an unsuspecting civilian on the street, he doesn't notice. the resonant thumping of his own heartbeat is all that he can hear as he thanks the gods for the flow of traffic being so spaced out, otherwise it would be near impossible for him to reach you in time.

in time for what? he has to ask. dabi doesn't even want to think about the repercussions, but the scenarios arrive in rivulets despite the mental trapeze he goes through to push them down, and they only continue to grow into oceans; darker, colder and harboring thoughts too gruesome for even someone of his caliber to handle. he won't realize until much later that he'd forgotten to put on his disguise, but the way people ogle at him with fear and disgust does not suppress the need to protect you.

even now, he can sense the pressure building behind his eyes, though it's more painful that it used to be. dabi hasn't cried in months, and it shows by how unabating the rivers of blood trickle from his skin grafts, despite his feverish attempts to stop them. look at yourself, holding together by a thread and weeping in public like a child whose lost his mother in the crowd. it wouldn't have come to this if he had stayed.

something shifts in the scenery; a distinct line drawn between the city and its neighboring countryside; but it makes no difference to the impending peril that looms ahead. the closer he gets, the sooner he'll find you waiting for him, dead or alive. dabi staggers, his breath hitching at the thought, as well as the harsh sting of pain that erupts when his knee collides with the gravel below. he pushes himself forward in little time, a strangled yell ripping his throat raw as his vision settles on the top of the lighthouse, peeking over the hillside. you have to be there—you just have to. he isn't done with you yet, and you're sure as hell not done with him.

the earth is damp beneath his feet, and it soaks through the canvas of his shoes whilst he darts past the boulevard and onto your property, crying out to you. surely, you must hear him. surely—

dabi practically hurls himself at the front door, his blood running cold when it opens for him effortlessly and swings ajar to reveal the living room, upturned and scattered with broken bits and pieces of furniture. there's no sign of you or whoever did this. the oakwood flooring groans under his weight as he barrels down the hall, peering into every room, beneath your bed and any other place where you could be hiding. nothing. his search ends in vain at the front doorstep, where he stands hunched over and dry heaving. no, no, no. you can't be gone.

"y/n!" he shouts. his only response is the crashing of waves against the shore and the incessant cawing of seagulls. for a moment, dabi forgets how to breathe, and then the ability returns to him; his legs aching horribly as he rushes to the beach. the arrangement of rocks is sporadic at first, but they gradually form large clumps the further he carries on, urging him to squeeze between the narrower openings. it comes with some difficulty, but at last he is able to hobble onto the sandy coast and rest his sights upon the vast sea. he can recall when seeing its murky blue sea would have put him at ease, but now it only causes his senses to be clouded with distress.

"y/n!" the once calm ripples rise into rolling billows that drench the shoreline in frothy heaps of algae, wreckage and blood. it curls and disbands within the ocean to pollute its cerulean hues with ones of scarlet red, and just like that, dabi's heart sinks like the titanic. he'll never forget the sight of you, face-down in the water; your favorite shirt slashed to shreds, clinging to your body as nothing more than a tattered mess. dabi wades into the water until it reaches his ankles, completely numb to its freezing temperature as he sinks down to hoist you up. he rests you on his thighs and presses his lips onto yours with urgency, shortly pulling back so that he can thrust his palms upon your chest and push. he doesn't care to remember how many times he repeats this, but when he finally sits back on his haunches to release a stifled curse, the feeling of dread has only just begun to take control.

you've never looked so pale.

a guttural sob wrenches itself past his grinding teeth as more tears arise, dappling your cheeks like raindrops. it wracks his body and sends forth a surge of agony to course through his veins. dabi cups your face with a shaking hand, the other secured around your waist while he kisses you, his erratic pleas falling upon deaf ears.

"come back. . .come back." his bawling ceases to end, no matter the abrasive pain blossoming in his gullet.

"c'mon, doll. where's that sweet voice of yours?" his thumb strokes your bottom lip as though beckoning you to speak. when nothing follows, he makes a pathetic sniveling sound mixed with something broken; a blubber or whine, he does not know. the burden of your lifeless form causes the reality to set in; a dagger piercing his insides and twisting as to drag the most blood-curdling screams from him.

dabi loved you, and he wishes he had the strength to say it when you were still there. it was only within the presence of his own demons that he was able to utter his affections; curled into himself and waiting for a reply that would never come, carried on the wind that bit his skin. he loved you because you held him like a child when his father hadn't even the heart to acknowledge him as his own. you spoke his name—his real name—as though the blood on his hands was not there; like you had washed it away yourself through acts of tenderness that he did not deserve.

and now you're gone.

you're gone, and—

dabi's entire body jolts with a start, a familiar heat dancing across the grafts of his marred skin. a faint blue glow radiates from his fists, which are tightly fastened the weighted blanket that lays crumpled atop his legs. he lets go with a shuttering gasp, observing the black smudges that reside where his flames once were, then blinking owlishly at his surroundings. the room is shrouded in darkness, all save for the bedside table to the left of him that is dimly lit by a flickering oil lamp. that, and the spaces illuminated by the moon's brilliance, showering the floor with multicolored spots as it glistens through the stained glass window. something slots into place, but all it does is send dabi's mind into overdrive.

where is he? where are you? are you really dead? everything hurts.

his nails drag down the length of his arms, seeking some sort of comfort in the pain that blooms there. it doesn't last long, however, when the bed suddenly dips, and a soothing warmth is placed on the small of his back.

"touya?" you croak, your words lingering with the remnants of sleep. dabi—no—touya, swears that he could cry again, right then and there. his eyes flit over your torso, where several scars in varying sizes have desecrated the skin. as he idly traces the pink lines, one final memory surfaces from the depths of his subconscious. him, desperately pounding your sternum; the last threads of denial snapping in tune; and you, coughing and spewing both curses and whatever seawater that had clogged up your lungs. touya held you in that same position for hours, listening as your ragged wheezing turned into hiccupping sobs. hauling you inside had been no easy feat, and having to hear your muffled groans while he stitched you up by the crackling hearth was no better, but the evening after had been pleasant.

you could not recollect the face of the intruder, and with such little information to go off of, touya was left to wallow in self-loathing for love he had almost lost. no amount of therapy could prevent the following nightmares and panic attacks, but in time, the rekindling of your relationship was proved successful, and dabi was prepared to repay you for the moments where you consoled him.

it wasn't just a dream. it had all happened, and yet here you were, alive and well.

a pensive look crosses your features when you note how quiet touya is, and you take it as a sign to break the tension with a tried-and-true method from the past. he doesn't resist as you coo softly, pulling him under the covers and wrapping yourself around him, a garbled tune fleeing from past your lips before you press them to his shoulder. you trail the faintest of butterfly kisses along his neck, his jaw, his cheeks and so on. the anxiety coiled in touya's chest starts to untangle, leaving him as a trembling bundle of nerves in your arms as you shush him, your nimble fingers carting through his hair.

if he weren't so tired, he would have laughed at how the tables have turned; with you cradling him in the way he's so used to doing. still, not even he can deny that it feels nice to be held like this.

"s'alright sweetheart. i'm here. . ." you whisper, and the effect is instantaneous. touya stills as he inhales the scent of buttercream and fresh pine that wafts into the bedroom, his eyelids fluttering shut. all he can hope for is that your presence will drive away any nightmares that foreshadow his well-needed rest, and that when he wakes up in the morning, you'll still be at his side.

dabi made a mistake, and thousands more will come to pass, because underneath the grit and grime that makes up his callous exterior, there is a human being; struggling to survive and struggling to please, just as much as the next. but he'll never leave you again. he had promised you as such with the band of gold now encircling your ring finger, and as long as he lives, he'll never break it.

#⛓.dabi #dabi x male reader #dabi x reader #anime x male reader #mha x male reader #touya todoroki x male reader #my hero x reader #my hero x y/n #boku no hero x reader #x male reader #bnha x you #dabi fluff #dabi angst #dabi imagine

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livehorses · 2 years ago

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Sooo... what has become of me on the last weeks?

Well see... you know I was very busy focusing all my attention and strength on my entry exam. A couple of weeks ago, I checked the results of the first phase. It turns out I made it to the next phase, but then I realized the date the results were published was moved to July 30, not August 13. The days to fill up formularies, send documents and pay for the next exams were moved as well, and that meant I have lost my right to continue the process.

All because the school asked us to create an email exclusively for the exam and the day of the first phase, when I went to do the general knowledge one, at the exit they handed me over a little piece of paper with the official date of the results. I thought it wouldn't be necessary to check the blessed email until that said date, a huge mistake. They sent an email notifying the moving of the date and I just saw it a week later. I had to make a phone call to ask for an extension date and wait for a positive answer.

After that, I learned my lesson and I checked the email daily. Next day, I received an email accepting my request. But I only had a week to get prepared. So that's what I did. The school sends a couple of texts you have to read and analyze, and some videos as well. Your plastic work in the exam should be based on all these texts and videos.

Next week I presented via online the next phase. However, this one's really tricky. If you don't follow strictly all the indications on your artwork making, you don't get selected. As I said before, this school is very demanded and the vacancies are scarce. So, anyways I didn't enter.

I don't have to tell you how disappointed and down I feel right now. I had so many hopes to enter this time, and more when I had a lot of challenges and quite a great luck to contrast them. After my whole family got covid the week before the first phase, but I could go and do it, I checked late the results but got an extension date, it seemed that everything pointed out to a huge success. It feels anti climatic, you know? Such amount of energy I put on participating in this exam only to suddenly not having anything to fight for, to work on, to be on an undefined state of inactivity because the moment I realized I didn't enter it was all over.

Everyone has been trying to support me, cheer me up and give me options to do while I find something to do with my life, but I'm just tired, overwhelmed and done. It's like, I don't want to know nothing about my future right now, bit I'm also worried about what's going to become of me on the next couple of months. I feel like I don't have a purpose in life, like, I have this restless desire of greatness inside my heart, not the one of reaching fame or success, but of greatness of achieving great things with my art, to touch souls, to heal wounds, to speak my mind, solve worldwide problems, end injustice and division, but instead, my art hasn't grown enough, I haven't grown enough, and I'm not prepared... Also the urgency to help economically my family is huge, but I refuse to do any job that doesn't satisfy my art hunger at all.

I'd be lying if I say I haven't been fighting to find a reason I'm here and why it's worth to be alive. I've lost again the motivation of doing stuff, and I've just decided to dedicate myself into a one single and simple project: organize family photos. But is that enough? It's what my life is resumed right now?

I feel like Mirabel, in front of a golden door with the opportunity to become everything I've always dreamed of, but the instant I hold the doorknob, the door disappears. While my other siblings are getting where they want to be in life, two siblings getting married and two in college right now, I'm stuck behind them, doing nothing productive in my life.

I don't understand why I didn't stay in the art school, wish I could know it. I would like to know why God decided so. But my only comfort is that Mirabel didn't have the chance to get her door until way later when she and her family rebuild the Casita and she becomes Abuela's successor. Maybe my time to open my door hasn't come yet, and as Van Gogh, who started professionally painting until the age of 28, and as one of my ex-classmates who decided to become a painter at age 45 and has been successful in many art galleries lately, I still have time to become one.

Besides, I have to be realistic. It's not that I wasn't good, maybe by the high standards I wasn't good enough. And I wasn't the only one who didn't pass. Many others weren't accepted. And even more of the ones that made it to the next phase weren't accepted later. Another ex-classmate who did it to that said school, told me she has classmates that finally were accepted on the fifth attempt. That's the problem of plastic art here in my city. There's only two schools that have that career, not even private universities have it. It would be better if there were more art schools out there because it isn't fair, but they aren't.

I keep searching for answers, and things to be kept busy while I figure out what to do next. I hope to find it soon, because I can't stand another year of inactivity. Not anymore.

#livehorses status #livehorses confessions #Long post #Art school

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whaleofatjme1920 · 3 years ago

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Feeling Warmth Through Doused Fires (Masky X F!Reader)

Feeling Warmth Through Doused Fires

[Masky/Tim Wright X F!Reader]

[Warnings: murder, language, angst, mentions of death and actual death. Mostly the angst.]

[AN: Another brilliant request from Eris! This was also a Ko-Fi commission! ALSO ALSO this thing is 13K words! This is my longest fic yet! buckle in.]

When are there not stars in your eyes? It’s hard to dim them even when the sun comes up, which is such an odd thing to even admit due to the mud life has made you trudge through.

You are the product of a proxy father and a human mother. To be the Slender Man’s child is your birthright, and so far, you’ve been living up to that birthright with flying colors. As a young one, she had woven you stories of the culture and society your father was a part of and everything he had been up to.

Visions of murder, deals gone sour, and morally grey acts have been threaded into your soul. You grew up thinking that was normal, and by twelve, you had knowledge on things that no child should have ever opened their ears to.

“And then what happened?” You ask your mother, urging her to continue the story.

She giggles like a butterfly ready to take flight and holds your tiny six year old body closer to her. She smells of honey and vanilla. “That group had messed with the wrong people,” she continues, her voice falling deceptively low. “The tall man in the woods-”

“You mean the faerie?” You ask as your eyes sparkle. “The Slender Man?”

Your mother nods, her index finger reaching up to tap your nose. “Yes, exactly that,” she hums. “He sent another group of proxies to handle the mess.”

“Ooooooo they’re in troubleeeeee,” you giggle, still hooked around your mother.

She laughs. “He initiated what is called a ‘proxy hunt’. It’s something only the bad proxies are subject to,” she explains. “It’s important you don’t make mistakes like that, Reader. Do you understand?” She questions with a warm hum as she secures you in her arms, bringing your tired form to your bedroom.

“Got it,” you say in the most serious tone a six year old can muster. “No making the faerie mad.”

“That’s my girl.” Her lips pull up in a grin that rivals the Cheshire cat.

Your father is a proxy. He is tall, unstable, but loves you like the moon loves the tide and the sun loves the earth. To be a proxy is to be closed off and untouchable, but the sound of you running to greet him on the blue moon he visits you and your mother has always been enough to humanize him, if even for a moment. He loves you, his special little girl, with all the grains of sand there are on the earth.

He comes around sparsely, and as you grow older, rarely. It’s not that he doesn’t love you, it’s just that he’s busy and the Slender Man enjoys making his favorites suffer. Every time he sees you, he remarks how much bigger you’ve gotten. He’s more than upset that he can’t be there to watch you grow into a fine young lady.

“You’re late,” you say, eyes narrowed as you look up at the tall, bulky man who stands before you. You take your hand off the doorknob and stand tall as you cross your arms.

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” the man apologizes, crouching down to your eye level. “I brought you a present.”

You eye your father carefully, arms relaxing for a moment before noticing the wrapped gift in his hands. “Is…”

“It’s something you’ll like,” he answers, holding the gift out to you. “I promise.”

You narrow your eyes again but take the wrapped present from his hands, shaking it slightly. You hear something rattling around. “Can I open it?” You ask as you attempt to hide your smile.

Your father chuckles. “I don’t think your mother would appreciate it, but yes. Go ahead, open it.”

You relent in the angry front and plop down on the floor, opening the present without any grace as a ‘proper lady’ as your mother would put it. You peel back the brightly colored wrapping paper and then tear into the box. “Oh my gods,” you whisper to yourself in surprise as the stars once again light up in your eyes. It’s an entire art set of fine materials. “Where did you get these?”

Your father shrugs. “That’s for me to know and you to never find out,” he says in a teasing tone.

You push at him before placing the box of expensive art supplies to the side. You can’t help but lunge into your father’s waiting arms.

“I heard you were getting seriously into art from your mother. Doing art for friends? I’m so proud of you!” He laughs and hugs you, his lips pressing to the crown of your head. “Happy twelvth, sweetheart,” he mumbles into your hair. “I love you so, so much.”

You can’t help but cry and hug your father tighter.

For a person who was supposed to be brutal, uncaring, uncouth and simply inhuman, your father had the whole dad thing down when he was around. He never raised his voice to you, was kind and thoughtful in his responses, and you adored how he treated your mother with nothing but love and understanding.

You know that if he wasn’t shackled to a life he had no choice of entering, he would have been one hell of a father.

Your mother, a mentally fragile woman who loves a damn near unattainable man, brings you the news one overcast morning. Her eyes are red and puffy and it looks like she hasn’t been able to stop crying for hours. Her posture is broken but her heart even more so. It’s probably irreparable.

You were sitting at your desk, doing your homework. Tomorrow was Monday, starting the final week of school. It was one of the final essays before you were out for summer break, and then you’d be gearing up for your first year of high school once autumn came.

Earbuds in, you didn’t even hear your mother slink into the doorway of your room. When you finally get the inkling that someone is watching you, you take out one of your earbuds and turn your head. “Mom?” You sound genuinely confused, especially after seeing her rough appearance. “What’s wrong?” You slowly push back in your chair, ready to stand and meet her in the doorway.

“Your-your,” her breath hitches as she leans helplessly in the doorway. “It’s your father,” she manages to rasp out as she begins to slink downwards, her knees buckling.

Your eyes go wide, tears welling in them and blurring your vision as you jump out of your seat and collapse on the floor with your mother. You wrap your arms around her, burying your face into her shoulder as she cradles you in her arms.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so, so sorry,” she wails like a mantra, clutching onto you like she’s afraid to lose you too.

You don’t know how to feel in that direct moment. You loved your father, more a shadow than a real man, but his loss cuts deep and hard. He wanted to show you things “when you’re older” and tell you of the world you were born in. You wanted so badly to learn it all by his hand and his knowledge.

When your mother has finally come to a grounding point where she is no longer choking over her words, she leads you to her bedroom. She moves slowly, as if she’s trying not to remember anything about the man she loved and lost. Her steps are quiet, almost like she’s floating.

You follow her just as quietly. It’s as if you don’t want to disturb the silence that has settled over the two of you. It’s heavy and suffocating, but it’s a blanket shielding you from the reality that someone is gone and never coming back.

Your mother opens her bedroom door and shifts around in her drawers.

Unsure of where you should be and if you’re allowed into the sanctuary that is her room and her space, you wait in the doorway, much like she did when she brought you the bad news. You’re still wiping away tears with the bottoms of your hands and by extension, rubbing your skin raw. Your vision is still bleary, but when your mother finally resurfaces, you don’t even need to be told what it is she’s holding.

In her hands is a mask. It’s dark brown and has a simple face almost reminiscent of a dragon. It’s simple, but elegant. It’s simple, but horrifying. You feel drawn to it.

Your mother weakly smiles and sits down on her bed, patting the open spot for you to sit down.

You do so without question and take your spot next to her, almost on instinct leaning yourself onto her side. You smile softly as she wraps her arm around you, pulling you close.

“It was your father’s,” she says quietly, fingertips gently tracing the mask's face. She then gingerly shifts it onto your lap. “Now it is yours.”

You feel more tears cascade from your eyes as you gaze longingly down at the mask on your lap. “Are you sure?” You shakily question, wondering why she’d want to pass such a beautiful memento down to you so soon.

“It’s your birthright,” she replies, her lips pressing to the side of your head that gives you a love only a devoted mother could.

You didn’t understand what she meant at that moment.

You never saw your first year of high school.

When the summer came, you had bounced back like any child could. Children are plastic. They can bounce back from almost anything, just give them enough time, space, and care. You were no exception.

In truth, after losing your father, you hadn’t found any desire to go to college. Your heart was telling you that a life that was so cookie cutter and parallel to everyone else’s was never in the cards for you. Your blood sung for something different.

Proxies always return to him.

Your mother knew it too. She saw it in your longing gaze as she drove the two of you back home from grocery runs, how your eyes would follow the breeze in the backyard to the woods, how your hands naturally found their way to knives, and how your thoughts transcended what should be humanly possible.

But you’re not human. You never have been. Never will be.

Your mother knew that best. It was only natural that she found contact with the tall man of the woods halfway through the summer of losing your father.

“She’s different, my little girl,” she explained as she gazed up at the imposing, almost immaculate figure. “I don’t think I could ever give her what is expected or needed.” She hates to admit that she’s not good enough for you, but that is the curse of being a born, not turned proxy. Proxies always return to their master, regardless of age, creed, or background.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘What would you have me do?’ He’s only asking as a formality. He knows that you belong to him. Your father had been attempting to gear you up to join. The Slender Man is only finishing what one of his most beloved proxies started.

Your mother shifts uncomfortably, crossing her arms over her chest as a defensive maneuver. She absentmindedly tucks some strands of her hair behind her ear. “I think she needs to be with you,” she mumbles, still not wanting to admit she’s not good enough because she’s human. “I think she needs to be fully immersed in… Whatever it is my husband says you do.”

The Slender Man chuckles deeply. He knows your mother knows what his beloved proxy does, but he lets her feign her ignorance. ‘That’s rich coming from a woman who loves her child more than the land loves the sea,’ he taunts coldly. In truth, it is nothing against her as an individual, but it is everything against her as a human being.

Your mother scoffs and holds her ground. “Will you take her in or not?”

He raises his hand to convey a truce. ‘My apologies.’ He doesn’t mean it. ‘I will. She is my child, afterall-’

“She is NOT your child,” your mother snarls, fully aware she is in the presence of a very temperamental being who could smite her just for thinking wrong.

The Slender Man, in all his mercy, once again holds his hand up as a sign of truce. ‘I understand the loss is still heavy on your heart,’ he begins, voice heavy and almost exhausted to be dealing with human emotional flare ups. ‘I will take her as soon as you are ready to let her go.’

Your mother’s shoulders drop slightly as she comes to the realization that yes, that was a decision she was making. She feels tears well in her eyes, but refuses to blink them away. “Thank you.” She nods to the tall man, then turns on her heels and heads back home, where you lay asleep waiting for her.

The Slender Man watches her leave with curiosity in his gaze. He already knows where he’s going to be placing you. You are not the youngest to fall under his influence, but you are the first in a while. He tends to pluck young adults, not children. And if he did choose children, consider it target practice.

Nothing more.

When your mother tells you that you are leaving her side, you are once again thrown into a plethora of emotions, a maelstrom .A part of you can’t believe she’d just willingly give up on you like that, but another says this is the direction you’re meant to go.

“This isn’t a decision I make lightly, Reader!” She exclaims in budding frustration, her fingers raking through her hair like a tick. “Really, I have no say in the matter!”

“Yes you do!” You cry back. “You’re my mother! How could you just abandon me?” You fight back. You ball your hands in fists. You’re not backing down from her.

Your mother sighs deeply and shakes her head. “I am not prepared for this,” she mumbles. “I do not have the right knowledge to allow you to grow into the person you could be,” she finishes, plopping back onto the wall in the kitchen. She’s exhausted on every facet. Her heart hurts with just how much she loves you.

“What could you not be prepared for?” You seethe. “What on this hunk of rock are you not prepared for?”

Your mother honestly doesn’t know how to answer that. Your father had always been oddly tight lipped about certain aspects of the proxy lifestyle, perhaps out of safety reasons for the two of you. She doesn’t know what you’re going to be thrown into. “I know that it’s rough-”

“Just like that?” You retort, a fire in your eyes that reminds her much too much of her departed husband. “You don’t want me? Is that it?” You finally relent, a crack interrupting your once strong tone.

Your mother falters and comes to your side, holding you in her arms once more. “Of course not,” she murmurs. “Of course not.”

“Then why?” You prod softly with a small sting.

“You are a proxy by blood, that’s all,” she offers as advice, swaying you.

You feel your heart begin to slow from its racing pace. You don’t want to accept that as an answer, but you do just to bring her peace.

You leave your mother’s side near the end of July. Just twelve years old and on the precipice of something no ordinary human could ever even begin to understand.

Your final dinner with her was uncomfortable, but bittersweet at the same time. You and your mother had shared stories, laughs, tears, everything and anything. You know that after this, you probably won’t ever be able to see her again.

Your mother brings you to the woods herself. She holds your hand, a knot in her stomach over seeing you holding your father’s mask followed by a backpack strapped to your still small body as you are about to venture into the unknown. She never thought she’d be losing you so soon.

The Slender Man is never tardy. He pops into your view once you are a safe distance into the forest with splendor - it’s probably to impress you to some degree. He really hasn’t worked with a child in a very long time.

You feel your head go dizzy with static. Your breath hitches and your heart stops. It’s almost intoxicating that you are in the presence of the man who will now have control of your entire life. You look up at him and the stars return to your eyes. Still, as a child-like crutch, you grip onto your mother’s side and hide yourself with her form, terrified of the imposing man that stands tall in front of you.

“It’s okay,” your mother says softly, gently urging you to the man you will now consider your god. “He’s here to help you.”

The Slender Man hums deeply. His voice invades your head like a virus, infecting every thought and feeling until it overtakes you and makes itself home. Curiously, he bends down. He is lit up by the light of the full moon.

You peek out from your mother’s form and gradually find the stones to leave her side - still hesitantly. You take in a deep breath, reminding yourself to be brave, and approach the now bent down figure who sits at eye-level with you. “It’s… It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sir,” you say quietly, a childlike innocence making the Slender Man mentally smile. You look at him with fear and curiosity in your eyes.

He chuckles deeply - the sound sends chills down your spine - before holding out a flower to you. It’s small, much like you, and pretty. The petals are free of any damage the bugs might have caused, and the color is absolutely spellbinding. It’s your father’s favorite color, red, though it’s not a rose. ‘For you, my dear.’

You allow a sheepish smile to spread onto your lips before you take the flower from his waiting hand, and sniff it. It’s so sweet and familiar. You recognize the scent as something your father carried on his person. The thought makes you tear up.

His large, clawed hand comes up to your face before his thumb gently wipes the tears away. ‘It’s time to go. Say goodbye, dear.’ He nods for you to bid a farewell to your mother, who is trying her hardest to not break in front of you.

You don’t hesitate in turning around and running into her open arms, face crashing into her chest as you take in her familiar scent for a final time.

“I love you,” she whispers, peppering your face and crown with kisses. “Never ever forget that.” She holds you tighter, and you hold back just as tight.

When it’s time to go, you leave her warmth to a cold that burns bright.

It wraps around your hand, and takes you to a diner.

“Where are we?” You ask as you take a gander at your surroundings. You see that you’re still largely obscured in darkness, but the artificial lights of a lit up IHOP grant you that soft, almost annoying light that disturbs the night.

He lets go of your hand. ‘Head inside and you will meet your group.’

You look up at the Slender Man curiosity. “My group?” You quizzically ask, still looking up at the tall man.

He nods and then puts his hand on your back, gently nudging you to cross the parking lot, almost as if he’s nonverbally telling you that they are waiting for you. “Like a family. A new family.”

You feel a little nervous, but nod your head and decide to be strong - or whatever you think your father might have done in a similar situation. “Thank you for your time,” you say, remembering your mother and father both stressing how important it was to show reverence to those in higher positions than you.

The Slender Man’s wolfish smile floods your mind’s eye, gently, and warmly before he nods once more for you to go. Like a proud father, he watches you take tentative first steps into an entirely new future. Only when you open the doors of the establishment does he mentally tell his proxies that wait inside of the newest member’s arrival, and then zip out of existence as you know it.

Tim waits at the diner with a small frown on his face. He’s not entirely pleased with the news his boss has given him and it shows. He's drinking far too often from his coffee cup for his group’s liking.

“Ease up,” Brian huffs as he pushes Tim’s coffee cup back to the table and away from his lips. “You’re gonna be bouncing off the walls.”

Tim rolls his eyes and picks up his coffee cup much to his right hand’s chagrin. “I’m handling it how I want to,” he mumbles into the lip of the coffee cup.

“Come on, it’s not the end of the world-”

“It’s a child,” Tim cuts him off. “The youngest person we had prior to us was Toby, and he’s-”

“I’m w-what?” Toby hums as he comes back to the table, sliding comfortably back into his seat.

“He’s bitching about the kid we’re getting,” Brian answers as he absentmindedly stirs his drink with his straw.

“Is he n-now?” Toby chuckles. “I’m s-surprised you’re n-not more w-w-w-worried, to b-be completely h-h-honest,” he breathes out in a teasing tone, lightly elbowing Brian who smiles for a moment in response.

“I fought my demons on this issue and won,” Brian smirks. “Masky here clearly hasn’t.”

Tim rolls his chocolate colored eyes once more and leans back into his seat, looking at the fourth and empty chair that will eventually be filled by you. “I honestly don’t think you two are worried enough,” he grumbles under his breath before he crosses his arms over his chest.

Snickers ring out from his two companions. Clearly, they find amusement in his worry. Tim almost hates to admit how worried he is.

You’re not just a runt, you’re a child. A literal child. Something about having you in this life feels morally and ethically wrong, and he knows that. A part of him is scared you’ll just… Fold.

Brian has had his reservations about the situation, but overall, he has made peace with it - for now. He’s not too thrilled over the Slender Man putting a child in his group, but at the same time, he’s nowhere near as frazzled as Tim is.

Toby finds the entire situation amusing. He was the youngest of the group. In some ways, Toby has never quite grown up. That’s not a bad thing though, it just means it’s easier for him to relate to you. And honestly, you aren’t his entire responsibility, so he’s able to be the fun guardian.

That’s what the Slender Man called the three of them, your actual guardians. No questions asked, you were now theirs as much as you are his.

You push through the doors and look around the IHOP, looking for anyone who might have any inkling of what you should be doing. Your eyes dart around and the palace is relatively empty. There’s a few groups interspersed and lost in their own worlds, and you have no idea which one you should be heading towards.

Your thoughts are answered when you hear steps approaching followed by the heavy smell of cigarettes that hang in the air thickly. You look up to see a man in a black t-shirt, with dark and tired eyes. He gives you a faint smile as you look up at him.

“Are you hungry?” He asks suddenly, almost throwing you entirely off guard.

You blink a few times. “Uh, I wouldn’t mind anything else,” you answer a tad awkwardly. You don’t why, but you get the overwhelming feeling to not disrespect him. It’s almost stronger than the feeling to respect your mother and father.

“Come with me then,” he says.

You watch as he begins to walk towards a table and squeak in response before picking up the pace and following him.

Tim weaves you through the sea of tables and sets your sights on a table that has two men sitting across from each other, talking. You look at the two with slight curiosity before the man leading you puts his hands on the back of a brown haired boy’s chair.

There’s a minute pause between the two before the boy silently gets up and joins the blond haired man’s side.

You take a seat next to the man who led you in, a little quiet due to being shy and in the presence of imposing figures (though nowhere near as imposing as the Slender Man) and focus on the table. Remembering to be polite, you keep your eyes trained on the table and open your mouth to greet them. “Hello.”

The blond haired man’s lips curl upwards into a smile. “So she does speak,” he says more as a joke to the other two men rather than directly to you.

The man who led you in kicks his right hand’s shin under the table. “Be nice,” he hisses quietly. “Sorry,” he apologizes, eyes darting to look at you. “Why don’t we uh, go around the table and say our name and a fun thing about ourselves?” He suggests tiredly.

“What are we, five?” The blond haired man chuckles. He winces when Tim kicks his shin again. “Alright, fine,” he mutters under his breath before finally turning to you. “Hi, my name is Hoodie. I really like photography,” he states, an amused twinkle coming to his hazel eyes.

You perk up slightly.

“M-Me next?” Toby asks before deciding to go up himself. “Hi, I-I’m Toby. I c-can’t feel pain.”

You raise your eyebrows and look over at the pale, vaguely grey skinned boy. “You can’t feel pain?” You inquire, voice raising slightly to convey your budding curiosity.

“Mhm,” he hums, a smile slowly coming onto his lips. “You c-c-can slap m-me, I won’t f-f-feel it.”

You glance at the other two men who both nod out of unison, sly grins curling the corners of their mouth upwards. Almost shyly, you lean over the table and open your hand. You look at Toby for confirmation and close your eyes, hitting him across the face as hard as a twelve year old can muster. When you open your eyes after your hand made impact, you see that he’s unmoved.

There’s nothing in Toby’s eyes that tells you he’s masking the pain either. He’s genuinely unbothered. “S-See what I m-mean, Princess?” He chuckles as you sit back in your seat, dumbfounded.

“Yeah, yeah, Toby is special,” the man who brought you in chuckles tiredly before waving Toby off. “Anyways, my name is Masky and I’m your group leader,” he tells you in passing.

Brian rolls his eyes and lightly kicks Tim’s shin from under the table. “That’s not a fun fact.”

“D-Ditto,” Toby agrees as he crosses his arms over his chest. “T-Tell her a r-r-real fun fact.”

Tim pauses for a moment before he finally sees the stars in your eyes. He finds it hard to not indulge you. “Hoodie and I used to go to the same college together,” he finally states, earning an approving smile from both Brian and Toby.

You want to press the topic when the waitress finally makes her grand appearance.

“Hi, hon! Apologies for not getting here any sooner. Did you want something?” She asks with a warm smile on her dark lips. “I can get you some juice to start off with if you don’t know what you’d like yet?” She continues in a semi-speculative tone.

You think it over for a second before looking up at her. “I would like some apple juice and a small thing of chocolate chip pancakes if that’s okay with you?” You’re both asking her and the men at your table.

“Sure thing,” she hums. “Anything for you boys?”

“We’re fine, just stuff for the little lady,” Tim replies. “Though uh, I would like another pot of coffee,” he trails off.

The waitress takes the empty pot of coffee and then walks back to the kitchen to get what you asked for.

“Alright, what about you?” Brian asks as he rests his elbows on the table, hands under his chin as he turns his attention back to you. “Name and fun fact.”

“I’m Reader,” you begin, not noticing how their expressions shift slightly. “And a fun fact about me?” You take a moment to consider what you’re going to tell them before divulging into one of your hobbies, drawing. You mention the alcohol markers your father gave to you on your last birthday, your twelvth.

The three men listen to you attentively all the while holding a conversation in their heads.

‘Holy shit, you never mentioned that this was the Wraith’s kid-’ Toby’s voice hurriedly exclaims through the mental connection he shares with his teammates.

‘She can’t be right,’ Brian tacks on. ‘This can’t be his kid, the man didn’t have any kids,’ Brian jumbles out. On the inside, he is screaming, but outwardly, he shows he’s happy to be listening to you.

Tim mentally scoffs. ‘Now you know why I’m so horrified,’ he grumbles in a very lightly annoyed tone. He knew the Wraith, your father. He was a good man by proxy standards, and flawed by human ones.

When Tim first received the news from the Slender Man that he was taking in the Wraith’s child, he almost passed out. The responsibility of taking care of not only a child, but a legend’s child? He saw the light and it was NOT as beautiful as people make it out to be. You are his responsibility first and foremost, whether he wants this or not. He watches you with furrowed brows, only to find that during the

The night begins to dwindle on, and it’s clear that you’re getting sleepier. Besides, the table knows that you’ve probably never stayed up until midnight and it’s nearing that odd hour. The IHOP is almost completely empty, but every now and then stragglers come in to have a cup of coffee and hashbrowns. It’s a slow night.

“You’re looking tired,” Brian says softly as he watches your eyes lid.

You fling them open and shake your head. “I’m not tired at all,” you pout. You cross your arms over your chest, but the position proves to be too comfortable and you’re already nodding off again.

“Yeah, we’re calling it a night,” Tim says as he begins to get out of his seat. “Hood, cover the money. I’ll bring her to the car. Toby’s driving.”

“May the gods have mercy on our souls,” Brian wheezes under his breath as he reaches into his pocket to find his wallet and pay.

Toby lightly slaps his teammate’s shoulder before pushing in his seat and stretching slightly.

You watch with weary, tired eyes and slowly begin to drift off in your seat, barely even noticing how Tim carefully scoops you into his arms.

He’s able to pick you up like you weigh nothing, and really, you don’t. At least, not to him. He holds you as gently as he can and begins moving to exit the IHOP as softly as possible, not wanting to wake you. He doesn’t doubt that you’ve had a rough time leading up to this paired with the fact your father is dead too.

Toby opens the IHOP’s door for Tim who is still carrying you and then clicks open the car as well. “W-Why don’t you h-hang out with h-her in the backseat? We h-have quite the d-d-drive until we make it t-t-to Alabama,” he suggests as he opens the back doors of the car behind the driver’s side. He then moves to allow Tim to do his work before slipping into the driver’s seat.

Tim hums thoughtfully before nodding. He gingerly sits you into the car before carefully prying your backpack off before dropping it softly to the floor of the car. After that, he puts your seatbelt on and closes the door gently, once again, to not startle you awake.

He then walks around the back of the car and gets into the passenger side’s back seat and puts his own seatbelt on, exhausted and wanting to take a nap himself. He absentmindedly watches the doors of the IHOP to see Brian waving good night to the staff in the building before he heads over to the car where Toby brings it to life.

“She asleep?” Brian asks as he takes his spot in the passenger seat.

“Yeah,” Tim replies quietly. “Quiet from here on out and head talk,” he finishes just as softly before Toby begins to drive out of the parking lot.

You stir a bit as the car moves, mostly staying in a sitting up position until Toby finally enters the expressway heading down south to the temp house that the Slender Man wishes for them to essentially ‘raise’ you in. Your body falls as he turns onto the long stretch off road and you remain sleeping, head now resting on Tim’s lap.

Instead of moving you, he chuckles quietly to himself and then reaches in the back, groping around for his jacket until he finally finds it. Once in his hand, he drapes it over your small form. He watches you for a moment or more before relaxing back in the seat himself, quietly succumbing to sleep alongside you.

Toby and Brian watch him from the rear view mirror, ghosts of smiles on their faces.

You wake up late the next day. A groggy glance at the car’s clock shows that it’s almost past 2 in the afternoon. Goodness, you’ve never really slept in like that before! You shoot up, clearly startled.

“Nice to see you’re up,” Tim says in a slightly teasing tone as he stops gazing from out the window. “Really tired, huh?”

You nod slightly and allow your body the time to wake up. “I guess so?” You reply in a slightly embarrassed tone, still rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Where are we going?”

“Alabama,” Brian answers as he glances at you from the rearview mirror. “Gonna be living there for a little while.”

“Why’s that?”

“The Operator wants us to be closer to him while you grow,” Tim says before he turns his attention back out the window.

When you give him a confused look, Tim relents, drops his shoulders and takes in a deep breath. “Alright, listen up, this is gonna be a lot.”

You look at him with stars in your eyes.

Tim begins to weave to you a story of the culture and society you are now expected to integrate into. He tells you of the Slender Man, or as you are now expected to call him the Operator's origins. He tells you of a similar being named Zalgo, and it is with him that the Operator tirelessly fights against. It’s an eternal battle that he, and everyone else in the car, doubts will be won or lost in your lifetime.

Tim tells you of proxies, those who serve directly under the Operator and what their purpose is. They are the ones who are held dearest and nearest to his heart and have the privilege of being on the top in this society. Proxies are cold, calculated, and tend to not have free will because they are so blinded by the Operator’s light. Still, there are some instances in which proxies retain their humanity - and that is what makes them simultaneously and strongest and weakest lengths in the hierarchy.

Then there’s the independents. Those that are, as the name implies, independent. While they can come and go as they please, but are still considered the Operator’s children because of how often they work with him. They also benefit from the Operator’s presence and protection, so they too are part of the hierarchy, they have not devoted themselves entirely to him and are considered lesser than proxies. In the Operator’s vision, they are more expendable than his direct children, but more than outliers.

Outliers are the beings that have little to no business with the Operator and do not directly benefit from his influence and protection. They are the blacksheep and scapegoats of the culture you are just learning to swim in. A good chunk of outliers are removed from the society all together on account of them not having exact higher thought, feelings and mentality. They are monsters, cryptids, the things who cause harm but do not think. There are some outliers that are exceptions to the common stereotype of what an outlier is, but they retain that status due to being stripped of an independent title. They aren’t even allowed most times in proxy spaces, but independents tend to welcome them with open arms.

Afterall, both independents and outliers know what it is like to be on the losing side of a classist divide.

Tim also tells you what he knew about your father. Known as the Wraith, he moved like a ghost and struck fear in his victims to the point of spellbinding paranoia that could land them under hospitalization. He made them lose their minds, slowly, painfully, until they were but a shell of what they used to be - a mockery of whatever came before. Your father was a damn good proxy, revered and respected. To hear of his loss was mourned across all three classes, as he was surprisingly fair and just in his treatment of those of lower social standing than him, even going so far as to attempt friendlier outlier contact between the other two, more cognitive groups.

Time and time again on the trip to Alabama, you are reminded that your father was a good man by proxy standards, and flawed in the eyes of humans.

And you can’t help but agree even though what you’ve seen from your father thus far has been minimal at most. You love him in the way any child would love their shadow.

“I only ever really saw him for special occasions,” you begin to explain, eyes focused on the passing trees, hand out the window as you guide it like an airplane as Tim drives the car. They’ve been shifting drivers every other hour now. “He was so kind and warm,” you continue, voice soft and fragile, fluttering like a butterfly’s wings. “I wish I could have known more of him.”

You get the sense that your teammates agree.

“Y’know,” Tim begins. “He would be pleased to see you’re taking up this mantle of his.” He throws you a supportive glance from the rearview mirror. “I remember him being worried he’d thrown you into a life where you’d come out the other end hating him. But, from what I’ve heard, you accepted your blood with relative grace.”

You feel a heat rise to your face as you focus on how the air glides over your hand, lifting it like a bird. “Yeah…” You trail off with a semi-awkward chuckle.

Tim throws you a knowing glance, smiling softly before turning back to the road.

You arrive in Alabama sometime during the night. The car, which was being driven by Toby once again, pulls into a house somewhere off the beaten path and mumbles about the foliage before he turns on his brights. The place looks relatively spooky, but in a very picturesque way. He continues driving on the uneven terrain before finally reaching the front porch of the house.

There, two men are sitting and talking. The one in the white hoodie looks up from his conversation with the blue masked man and waves, stepping down the first two steps to meet your group halfway.

Toby breathes out with a chuckle and turns the car off. “W-Were you g-guys waiting here a-all day for u-us?” He asks as he exits the car, twirling the car keys in his fingers before tossing them over to Tim, who catches them like second nature.

“Anything to see our favorite cannibal and hurricane of a being,” Brian lightly ribs, making the man in the white hoodie grin and the blue masked man chuckle.

Quietly, you get out the car and round it so you’re near Tim, mostly eyeing the two men with adrenaline coursing in your veins. The appearance of the man who is paler than the moon frightens you just a bit.

“Who’s this little sunflower?” He asks as he turns his attention from almost play fighting with Brian and Toby to waltz over to you. He’s just as imposing as everyone else and leans down slightly to match eye level with you.

“She’s W-Wraith’s k-kid,” Toby hums as he crosses his arms over his chest, head turned slightly to gauge how you’re feeling.

You look up at the clad in white man and attempt to smile. “Hi, I’m Reader, who are you?” You ask softly, still not entirely comfortable in his presence.

A grin begins to light up on his face. “Jeff. Jeff the Killer.” He crouches down and holds out his hand to you.

You grip onto Tim’s forearm, hiding behind him like you did with your mother when he nods that it’s okay for you to say hello.

“He won’t bite, not while I’m here,” he says in a reassuring tone. “You can say hi,” he gently encourages.

You shyly hold your hand out to the man you now know as Jeff and shake it, amazed that he feels like a still smouldering fire. “Killer?”

Jeff suppresses a giggle and nods. “That’s right. Your father was a good one too,” he compliments before letting your hand go. He then turns his head over his shoulder. “EJ, stop being a wet blanket and come say hello to the sunflower.”

The man on the porch scoffs before slowly getting up from the stairs. He stretches slightly as he walks over. His mask startles you as he comes up to you. He does not crouch down to meet you like Jeff did. “I’m EJ.” There’s no warmth in his tone, but he holds his hand out regardless.

Jeff rolls his blue eyes and elbows Eyeless Jack’s ribs. “It’s a kid you dickhead, not a patient,” he hisses before elbowing him again. “Try that again.”

Your group laughs slightly in response, but Eyeless Jack obliges his friend.

“Hi, I’m EJ.”

“What does that stand for?” You ask as you take his hand into yours, shaking it. Your other hand remains firmly planted to Tim’s forearm. He’s just really comforting for you in such an uneasy situation.

You notice Eyeless Jack give Tim a slight look, almost asking if he could do so before getting a very reluctant nod.

“Eyeless Jack.”

“You have all the grace of a drunken sloth” Tim sighs.

“What? You said I could be real.”

“No lead up? You just?”

“Masky, you know I respect you more than most proxies, but you’re literally going to train her for this stuff. There’s no use in beating around the bush. Look,” the grey skinned man pauses for a moment and begins to slip his mask off.

You watch in deep curiosity as you look upwards, wondering what he looks like. When you get your answer, your curiosity grows. Though, it shows up as a shocked fear despite that not being what you feel.

“You okay, Reader?” Tim asks softly as he looks down at you.

“You b-b-broke the kid,” Toby says with an eyebrow raised, leaning in the doorway of the temp house before Brian shakes his head with a stupid grin, heading into the house to set things up and properly accommodate everyone’s move in.

“Yeah, because he’s so ugly-”Jeff is barely able to say before you cut him off.

“You are so cool!” You suddenly exclaim, small hands reaching upwards to Eyeless Jack’s face and to signal him to come down so you can see him better.

Eyeless Jack’s stoic face blooms into a smile as he crouches down almost instantly, a heat rising to his cheeks over the compliment.

You immediately leave Tim’s side to look over the grey skinned man’s face, fingers gently brushing over his cheeks. “What is this?” You ask excitedly, clearly referring to the inky black tears that waterfall from his eyes.

“Some goop that comes from my eyes when my body decides I need to eat the food most of you don’t,” he explains, holding back his amused laughter at how gently you touch him with all the wonder a child can. Normally, Eyeless Jack would not let anyone touch him, nor would he let a stranger get remotely this close to him, but he’s admittedly charmed with you.

“Jeeze, Masky, you never told us Wraith’s kid wasn’t a psychopath,” Jeff teases slightly as he rests his forearm on Tim’s shoulder.

“To be fair, I didn’t know either - we really haven’t spent too much time with her,” he chuckles warmly as he watches you brush your fingers through Jack’s hair, amazed that the texture is so soft despite it looking scratchy and a little dry. “Okay, Reader, that’s enough petting EJ,” Tim says as he rests his hand on your shoulder. “I think our uh, meat eating friend needs to get some food in his stomach judging by how many tears he’s producing right now.”

“Do I have to?” You ask as you step back from Eyeless Jack, allowing the tall man to stand up and recompose himself.

“Yup,” Tim replies, popping the ‘p’. “Besides, it’s late and I’m not messing your sleep schedule up anymore,” he finishes as he nods for you to head into the house.

“Will we see these two again?”

“Of course you will,” Tim says as he begins leading you into the house, waving goodbye to the two men who are about to head out into the woods. “You have all the time in the world,” he hums, pleased you made a good impression on some of his society's most prominent figures at the moment.

You turn over briefly and smile widely. “Bye! I hope to see you soon!” You bid before finally being ushered into the house by Tim.

Both Eyeless Jack and Jeff wave back, smiles on their faces.

“See you soon, sunflower,” Jeff murmurs to himself.

A pregnant pause comes between the two best friends.

“You see what she’s doing to him?” Jeff absentmindedly chuckles as he and Eyeless Jack begin to travel into the darkness of the woods.

“What a softie,” Eyeless Jack agrees.

“Takes one to know one,” Jeff retorts.

The two laugh.

Tim spends most of his time teaching you and that’s only because the Operator keeps sending out his teammates over him. It’s probably just how the tall man wanted it. You soak up information like a sponge. Everyone can see it.

He teaches you everything he can. For instance, the proxy hierarchical role is strict and considered one of the most respected of rules. Group leaders are leaders because the Operator says they are, but it can also be taken by force. That normally doesn’t happen though. Group leaders hold the responsibility of ensuring their proxies are taken care of, and if they are new, properly integrated into the society. That’s what he’s currently doing with you.

Next up comes the right hand. Not every group has a right hand because some group leaders are paranoid or jerks and cannot learn to trust, but it is highly recommended group leaders have a right hand. This group’s right hand is Brian, or as you know him, Hoodie. Right hands provide guidance when group leaders are conflicted, and can step in on behalf of their leader depending on the situation. They are to be just as respected and revered and can be the stand in should a group leader be missing. This role is not given, it is asked.

Then come what Tim lovingly refers to as ‘the middle children’. Those are the proxies that aren’t group leaders, right hands, or runts. They are the ones who just exist as part of the group unit. They have no significant power but are allowed to participate in the hazing process. ‘Middle children’ tend to pop up when runts outgrow their runt status or a new runt takes their place. It is possible to have multiple ‘middle children’.

Runts are the lowest in the unit. They are the newest in their group, but not always the newest or least inexperienced. If you are traded amongst groups, you become a runt, but in such cases as this, the hazing process is nowhere near as brutal as it would be for those who are inexperienced and coming into the proxy life for the first time. Because runts are usually in an initiatory stage and still learning, they must be bent and broken until the group leader says there is no further need. Runts are often the lapdogs of the group and tend to do everything the rest of the group does not want to do. They are considered the most expendable.

The hazing process is something that you are exempt from. Tim told you it was because you are a child, and he is not a child abuser. Still, after learning of the hazing process, you admit that you feel sick to your stomach. The hazing process is brutal in every sense and can sap the life out of the proxies it affects. Everything goes when a runt is in the process, from mental, emotional and physical torture. Depending on the group leader, the process will last anywhere from a few weeks, months, to even years.

You are thankful you are exempt.

Tim teaches you more and more as the months go on, and still, with stars in your eyes, you soak up information like a sponge. Technique is something he’s always testing on you, and it plays like a fun game.

“I’m going to wait upstairs and read,” he says one morning. “Maybe get some other work done. Wait down here for however long you need, and tap my shoulder without me hearing you. Stay silent as possible. If I hear you, you lose.” He then gets up from the kitchen table and heads upstairs, coffee cup in hand before he heads into the study.

You watch Tim leave and furrow your brows, your heart racing. So far, he’s drilled stamina into you, basic self defense, and other things young proxies might need but this is the task that makes your heart palpitate. You hear him open the study door and half way close it before he settles in and begins reading.

You don’t want to rush into this. So, you take your time, just silently moving from the kitchen to the bottom of the stairs, that task in itself taking until the afternoon. You don’t want to mess this up.

You hold your breath as you make it to the bottom of the stairs. Even though it’s carpeted, you don't want any part of you betraying your stealth. You wait at the bottom of the stairs, inching up step by step until you finally reach the top.

The sun has set by the time you wait outside the wall in front of the study door.

You hold your breath as you quietly step into the doorway - and you see it - Tim has flinched. Hopped up on adrenaline, you take your time and slink your way behind him before finally tapping him on the shoulder.

He doesn’t jolt, but he turns around and smiles widely. “Good job!” He compliments, standing up and stretching his limbs. He’s been sitting an entire day, after all. “I’m really proud of you.” He pats the top of your head and you see it in his eyes- he’s actually super proud of you.

But he flinched when you waited in the doorway.

He knew.

Still, you accept this victory with grace, wondering what else he might teach you.

Tim teaches you so much as you grow older under his care. Though one of the most monumental lessons was after you took a life for the first time at fourteen. He had wanted to wait until you were sixteen, but the Operator demanded it.

You’ve learned so much knife skills from him, weaponry in general, but nothing he could have taught you would have prepared you for what it means to take a life.

The two of you had just gotten through interrogating a man who really did not deserve to live. He had been blubbering for the past few hours, and Tim was exhausted from trying to weasel information out from him.

“Ghost,” he addresses, his masked face looking at you with budding amusement. “Finish this for me.”

“What?” You say. You know what he means, you just don’t want to actually admit it.

“Finish him for me,” he shrugs. “It’s about time.”

“I don’t know how?”

“Sure you do,” he hums. “You have your knife and I know your skills are more than good,” he says as he rests his hand on his hips. “You could also shoot him. We’re in an area where no one would even care about a gun going off. Or, you could brutalize him,” he trails off as he lists off the ways you could end a life like items on a grocery list. “I don’t know if you have enough power for actually brutalizing him though,” he jokes slightly, lightly slapping the man’s face to keep him up. “Y’hear that, bud? You got lucky. If it were up to me, I’d break off your limbs one by one and tear open your chest letting you see your beating heart.”

The man’s eyes go wide as he squirms helplessly.

He’s not getting out of this one alive.

You awkwardly look at Tim. “What… What do you suggest?” You ask quietly.

Tim’s eyes dart to your gun. “For your first time? Clean and fast.”

Obliging your group leader’s words, you take out your gun and flick off safety. The hardest part is looking them in the eye. You raise it and point it at the man’s forehead, eyes narrowed from behind your mask.

The man is pleading with you, tears streaming down his face.

“Always pull the trigger..?” You begin, attempting to buy some time.

“On empty lungs,” Tim finishes.

You pull.

It’s almost a little sinful to admit how easy murder has become after that moment. For the next two years, you and your group began going out on more missions as a unit. Your power had grown immensely, and the Operator’s point was beginning to show through.

The younger the proxy, the more efficient they become as they grow. He knows children are plastic, and you are his living proof that success must start young. Still, he watches you grow carefully, and Tim keeps his boss in the loop with every little milestone you hit.

First it was ten confirmed kills, then twenty five, and before you knew it, fifty. Fifty confirmed kills before you were sixteen.

Tim himself has grown rather fond of you in ways that no one else has - though, you are easy to get along with. Besides your group regularly spending time with you and falling deeper and deeper in love with you as their little one, Tim has become what you always envisioned the shadow of your father to be.

He’s the first to greet you in the morning and the last to wish you good night. He spends most of his waking hours with you, and it’s a good memory every single time. He trusts you immensely, and in turn, you trust him. Admittedly, he’s always had a soft spot for you and that much is apparent and always has been.

Tim has always been there for you when it all feels like too much.

“It’s nothing,” you mumble as you curl deeper onto your bed, sheets over your head.

“What happened?” He asks in a serious tone, clearly not wanting to play games.

“I said that I’m fine-”

“Bullshit,” he says as he marches into your room, ready to tear off your blankets. He knows teenagers are prone to giving the adults in their life hell, but you’ve never done this until, well, now.

You’re clawing to keep your blankets on but your strength pales in comparison to Tim’s. You screech as he finally tears the blankets from you, expecting full anger but instead, a look of horror.

“What the-what happened to you?” He asks in shock as he looks at the large red claw marks on your midsection and legs. It looks like you fought off a bear. “How long have you been like this- this is dangerous, you could get infected!” His tone is only loud because he’s scared. He wastes no time in scooping you up into his arms and rushing to the bathroom to tend to your injuries.

You hiss in pain but keep your lips tight, not wanting to admit what happened.

You let Tim work on you and disinfect your wounds as his emotions finally come down to a normal place. You realize it’s because he cares about you, but you’re still worried that he’s going to flare up again.

“Are you ever going to tell me what caused this? Or am I to believe some poltergeist waltzed in here and cut you up?”

You avert your gaze from the only solid father figure you’ve ever had. “I… I snuck out late at night and got attacked by the notdeer,” you mumble.

“What?” He sounds genuinely confused, as if he didn’t hear you correctly.

“I snuck out late at night and got attacked by the notdeer,” you speed out again, face burning with embarrassment.

You see a plethora of emotions pass over Tim’s face as he applies another bandaid to one of the more minor cuts on your leg before he settles on relief. “Holy shit,” he breathes out as he drops the products he had been working with. “I’m so glad you’re safe,” he breathes out as he takes you into his arms, squeezing you as tight as he can without causing any pain to your body that is still healing.

You feel tears well in your eyes as you hug him back.

Your skill grows so immensely, that your group and the Operator trust you with going on one of the most high stakes missions he’s ever sent modern proxies on. He hasn’t sent you a group on something like this since… Goodness, the 1700s? It’s been a while.

The Operator asked you to hunt down Zalgo’s favored son and kill him. It sounds easy in words, but in practice, near impossible.

“He’s sending us on a death match,” mumbles Brian. “I-What do you guys think? Are we ready?”

You and the other two shrug, not knowing what to say. You just know that you will be following Tim’s lead, as he is your group leader and the man who matters most in your life.

“I’m a-a-apprehensive,” Toby hums. “But, I t-t-think with our collective t-talents, we m-might have a shot.”

Tim looks at you, wanting to know your input when you hesitantly nod. “Guess we’re going.”

Finding Zalgo’s son was easy, but pinning him down was anything but. Everything had gone so smoothly up until it was time to face off with him, the man of the hour.

Toby and Brian were preoccupied with fending off Zalgo’s proxies who were placed in the house to keep his favored, most beloved son safe, and you and Tim had managed to slip in.

It was just the two of you with Zalgo’s son, and he was beating the two of you close to death.

“I’ll ask again,” his smooth, velvety voice growled. “Who do you consider the most expendable in your group?”

When neither you nor Tim answer, the child of Zalgo screams in frustration and rage before barrelling towards you, grabbing your weakened body and throwing you into the large stained glass windows.

Due to the sheer force of how hard he had thrown you, you tumbled out onto the grassy lawn, air stolen from your lungs. You laid on the ground gasping like a fish out of water before slowly attempting to crawl back in and help Tim.

Your fingers hoisted you up through the broken windows, allowing you to see what was going on inside. And it horrified you.

Zalgo’s son was holding Tim up by his neck, choking the life out of him.

“Who is the most expendable?” He demands again.

“I’m… not..!”

“TELL ME-”

“Fuck you-” he barely manages to wheeze out.

You’re panicking, wondering what you can do to help him when the son leans in exceptionally close.

“Say it.” He tosses Tim’s body to the ground, watching as he weakly attempts to get back up.

“R...Reader,” he admits. “She’s the most… She’s the most expendable,” he coughs out, blood and other things being released from his damaged system. “You already threw her out-”

“So you wouldn’t mind if I ended her now?” The son taunts, eyes shifting to the stained glass windows where he hurled you out.

Tim shakes his head. “That’s not what I’m saying-” he cuts himself off by coughing more. “I’m just saying she’s not prepared, she’s still weak-”

You feel your heart stop. You listen into his thoughts, he’s emotionally vulnerable, and see that he’s telling the truth. There isn’t any second thought that’s telling you he’s fibbing to buy time.

“You don’t trust her?” He inquires, bending low, ready to choke the life out of Tim again.

“I don’t,” he weakly says. “In fact, she’s due to be transferred from us soon-” he’s cut off by the son laughing and lifting him up again by his throat.

The son looks over his shoulder to see tears streaming down your cheeks. “And you call me a monster,” he cruelly laughs.

It’s cut short by Toby and Brian breaking down the door, shooting the son with his father’s favorite gun.

Tim is once again dropped to the floor, and Brian rushes to help him.

Toby leaves their side and sprints to the window to help you. He sees you're crying. “W-What’s wrong? W-Where does it h-h-hurt?” He asks, worry lacing his expression as he helps you back over.

You shake your head and refuse to say anything.

The car ride back to your temp house is awkward at best and downright uncomfortable at worst. You are sitting in the passenger seat because you refuse to sit next to Tim who had admitted something you weren’t really supposed to find out.

And the other two men, both Toby and Brian know it too.

‘Is it true?’ You ask the right hand, looking emptily out the window. The lights that pass overhead are counted as mental busy work.

‘Reader,’ Brian’s voice sighs. ‘I… I’m really sorry,’ he says. ‘I fought him on this, but… But being a proxy isn’t easy-’

‘So you’re abandoning me?’ You ask, tears threatening to fall from your eyes again. ‘You’re gonna leave me in the hands of some strangers because I’m not good enough?’

Brian sighs deeply and glances at you briefly as he continues to drive. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I don’t accept it.’ You shift in your seat and curl up, not wanting to even look at your group. They’ve basically broken your trust, but hearing it from Tim? The man you viewed as most important in your life? The man would talk to you over cups of coffee on the rooftop before the sun came up? The same man who had once said you were the child he was never allowed to have?

He called you weak. Expendable. He has said you are not worthy of his trust.

The first time your anger boiled over was a few days after downing Zalgo’s son. It was just the two of you in the living room, your other two teammates out on other errands. Every day felt like a ticking time bomb of when you will be released to another group.

“We need to talk,” Tim says.

“About?”

“What… What I said back then.” He still has marks on his neck from the son attempting to choke him to death.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He sighs deeply. You have every right to be mad at him. “It’s not that simple,” he starts. “I never meant for it to come out like that,” he says with a frown, eyes not entirely meeting you. He attempts to explain further, but you don’t want to hear it.

You get up, waving him off. “Shut up.”

“Reader-”

“Shut. Up.” You storm upstairs.

The fights do not get any lighter. They say time heals all wounds, but in your case, it exacerbates them. It becomes a nearly every day affair now.

Words are shot like bullets into the house that used to be built by the loving relationship you had with Tim. But, ever since he uttered those words and dug his heels in deeper over the fact you were actively challenging him, you drifted further and further from him.

Toby and Brian try to stay out of those conversations. They both care about you, but at the same time, they understand that being a proxy really isn’t easy. You get jumbled around, shaken up, and sometimes, traded. While no one is replacing you, the fact Tim agreed to let you go was what hurt the most.

According to Toby, he never even fought for you.

You leave them at the same diner you met them at. Sixteen years old and ready to be in the hands of another group. You sit in the passenger seat of the car, eyes empty, and heart torn.

“Do you want us to come in with you?” Brian asks with a small smile.

You shake your head. “No.”

He sighs and drops his shoulders. “I…” He pauses, and when words fail him, he leans over in the driver’s seat and wraps his arms around you. You hug back, realizing your beef isn’t with the right hand and allow tears to well in your eyes. He presses a kiss to the side of your head. “It’s going to be quiet without you,” he mumbles. He looks at you with all the adoration an older sibling might as he lets you go.

Toby, has gotten out of the car at this point and walked around the front, opens your door and leans down.

“No, let me,” you say softly as you unbuckle, grabbing your backpack and whatever else you may need before stepping out. Once you’re standing, you find yourself tangled in Toby’s arms.

“I h-hate goodbyes,” he admits as he sways the two of you.

You hug him back and smile softly. “I’ll be seeing you, yeah?” You mumble as he squeezes you tighter.

He nods. “Y-You better!” He laughs, not allowing his thinly veiled choked up tears to enter his voice as he lets you go. Toby checks you over once more, nothing but love in his eyes as he reluctantly takes your place in the passenger seat. You can tell he’s bitter over finally having it back.

Tim is in the back seat, passenger side. He looks at you through the window of the car, eyes red and puffy. He wants to say so much to you and nothing at all.

You share in the sentiment, nod slightly and fight cursing him out again, then head into the same place you met them in. Ready to be a part of a new group. One that hopefully, will not doubt your abilities as a growing proxy.

When you head in and walk out of their lives, Tim’s mask falls, and tears begin to roll down his cheeks. He feels like he can’t breathe, like he’s suffocating and can’t even think clearly.

“Fucking drive,” he coldly hisses as he takes in deep, labored breaths.

Brian, not wanting to fight his leader and understanding the man hasn’t been this emotionally broken since Jay’s death, obliges him.

Tim watches you greet your new team, and his heart breaks all over again.

You’re now twenty years old. My how the time flies. You are more than an established proxy now, and your new group treats you as such.

There’s four of them, your new family.

A group leader named Wallace, who is fair but kind. A right hand named Theo, who is a nightmare in proxy form. A ‘middle child’ named Ruth, who vaguely reminds you of your mother. And finally, an independent by the name of Nyein.

They’ve been good to you over the years you’ve known them, and you can tell they genuinely love you in their own way. You feel like you can tell them almost anything and everything, but everyone has skeletons in their closet and you are no exception.

It’s Wallace’s job as your group leader to understand his proxies and be able to understand them at all costs. He doesn’t mean to pry while it’s still fresh.

“So, how are you doing this fine evening?” The deep voiced proxy asks as he joins you on the balcony of the hotel the five of you are currently staying in.

“I could always be better,” you answer. When you sigh, he gives a knowing hum. “What?” He shrugs. “Pardon my reach,” he begins. “But, Timothy…”

“Too early,” you cut him off.

“Right, my bad,” he apologizes. “We can always come back to this later.”

You huff.

Ruth inquires about it next. She’s gentle in her approach, and you almost spill it all to her, but the pain of what happened ices you back over.

“I understand that you and your previous group went up against Zalgo’s son?”

“Yeah.”

She gently moves some of your hair behind your ear. “How did that go?” She sees your expression fall, and she frowns. “So that’s what happened,” she hums, not even needing you to say what happened directly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you say. “Not like you contributed,” you mumble. “He didn’t want me.”

Her hand rests on your back, silently telling you that you can always find comfort in her.

Theo asks in the most brash manner he can. He doesn’t really care about feelings or making people uncomfortable, but he does respect you.

“So, Masky traded you like pokemon cards huh?”

You throw a decidedly hard punch at him.

“Take that as a yes.”

“Are you fucking with me?” You groan in an exasperated tone.

“If it fires you up so your punches stop feeling like taps, sure,” he grins. “Come on, let it out. What did that bastard do to you?”

You answer him with harder punches.

Theo doesn’t respect Tim, but it’s not like he ever respected him to begin with.

Nyein honesty doesn’t ask. They don’t want to make you uncomfortable and they refuse to push your boundaries. They know something hurtful happened, and they understand that pain is carefully guarded for a reason. The only time they ask anything in regards to what hurt you from before was when you were preparing to meet up with your old group for what was ‘lovingly’ dubbed a collaboration.

‘You’re sure you’re okay?’ They ask, cocking their head to the side.

“I’ll be fine-”

‘I know you’re lying,’ they sign with a frown. ‘I can smell that on you, y’know?’

You chuckle and push lightly at them. “If anything isn’t to my liking, you can always eat Masky.”

Their face lights up.

The news that you and your previous team were going to be working together was hell on the ears. In fact, you heard it, and found yourself panicking over the fact you might need to see Tim again. According to Wallace, yes. Tim was still alive and well.

“He looks older though and more depressing,” the blond haired man chuckled. “Fuckin’ hate Timothy.”

Theo rolls his eyes but turns to you anyway. “He’s right on the old and depressing thing.”

You take that thought in and sigh.

Time to face him again.

You and your group decide to meet Tim’s on the edge of the town you all will be invading. Something about mass recruitment and taking out multiple targets. You all know it’s busy work and the Slender Man likes to make you suffer, but it gives you some time to talk until the sun sets.

Ruth and Nyein immediately overtake some time waiting by swarming around Toby and sharing giggles. Wallace and Theo (who may or may not have been talking to Tim prior to this) have run off with Brian to also just talk.

They’re not always at each other’s throats.

That leaves you with Tim.

You’re currently sitting in a grassy field, plucking flowers from the earth and taking in the sweet scent as the sun slowly makes its way to bed. You’ve spent a good portion of time alone, and when Tim finally makes his appearance, you do not stir. You do not acknowledge him.

It’s uncomfortably silent when he takes a seat near you, but not close to you.

“How have you been?” He asks quietly, almost as if he’s scared you’ll take flight again.

It’s been four years, you can reply without anger overtaking your system.

“Decent, like any proxy,” you answer, eyes still honed in on the flowers and how the remaining golden shafts of light filter through the leaves and change the color to something delicate and pure. “And you?” You’re just asking as a formality, not because you actually care.

“The same as you, I suppose,” he answers back, his voice still soft.

Another silence passes until you finally get the urge to look over at the man you once viewed as a parental figure.

Your eyes almost water when seeing him. He’s older now, much older. Still has that kind of youth that comes with being the Operator’s play thing, but he’s sad. His eyes are dark, devoid of light, and soft as if he’s barely holding it together. He still smells like cigarettes.

Tim is the first to speak, a sorrowful smile on his face as he takes in a deep breath and looks at you with an adoration that never truly left. “You look older,” he notes, taking note of how you grew into your looks. You don’t look like that scrawny little preteen anymore. He knows that you’re a young lady now, and he only wishes he was there to see it. “I like it.”

You bristle on instinct. “I don’t need your approval-”

“I know,” he sighs as he turns his gaze up to the clouds that pass overhead. The skies are the faintest of pink and purple. He thinks it’s pretty.

“You look… Older too,” you finally say, feeling awkward and at home all at once.

Tim chuckles quietly under his breath. “Yeah,” he hums. “I’m in my thirties.”

For some reason, it makes you giggle.

He lights up at the sound of your laugh.

When it dies down, the two of you remain in silence, just letting the world pass by as the sun sinks lower and lower. It’s peaceful, nowhere near as hostile as you were originally expecting it to be, and you find that you enjoy the overall experience.

Still, there is a nagging thought in the back of your head. One that reminds you of everything that has happened, and it still stings. It is the wound that will never heal.

As if he was reading your thoughts, Tim breathes out again and continues looking up at the slowly darkening sky. “I really am sorry for what happened,” he apologizes once more. “I was sorry back then, and I’m still sorry now.”

You frown and knit your brows together in confusion. “You… You just let me go, like I didn’t matter.”

“I know.”

“Tim-”

“I can’t undo that,” he says. “But… But I can try that now-”

“Please no-”

“I have better credit in the Operator’s eyes, maybe we could-”

“No-”

“I could ask for you back-”

“That’s enough.”

Your eyes are dark and you can feel something unpleasant bubbling in your chest and throat. When you had first been placed in Wallace’s group, some part of you had some naive childish dream that Tim would come back, take you in his arms and prove that he wanted you and was truly the right sort of man to have as a role model in your life. That dream never came true, so you stopped having it. You let it die and get returned to the earth. You let it drift away.

But at the same time, you wonder what would be different now - if you could even accept being taken back into his group. Would that even be healthy? It took Wallace and the others months just to get you to stop waking up in tears, nearly on the verge of losing your guts through your mouth and to stop you from panicking when one of them said they had to go out. It took them months to get you to even remotely let down your guard on your abandonment issues.

They’d been so patient with you. They watched you grow.

But here was Tim. Sitting next to you in the world’s most beautiful flower field extending an olive branch, wondering if he could ever atone for his sins by asking for you back and making you a part of his group again.

And that makes you wonder, is he doing this because he misses you, or because he feels bad?

The sun sinks below the horizon, and the moon begins to rise in the sky.

An uncomfortable silence falls between the two of you.

You have a job to do, and some things?

Well, they’re better left unsaid.

#masky x reader #masky #marble hornets #tim wright #mh #creepypasta #creepypasta masky #angst #eyeless jack #jeff the killer #hoodie #brian thomas #slender man #the operator #creepypasta x reader #marble hornets x reader

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pemfrost · 3 years ago

Note

For bingo! How about parksborn with a secret relationship? Maybe with Harry scared his dad will find out, up to you 🤗

❤😊

Bingo fic 2/?

"Or, we could just… you know," Peter drew a small circle in the air with his index finger, "tell your dad about us."

For the first time in the 10 minutes they'd been on the subject, Harry stopped pacing through their living room apartment. Normally, Peter would take any win he could get- and calming Harry down would definitely be a win. However, the fact they were even having the conversation -again- was enough to overshadow any sense of victory. And, judging from the clenched fist at his side, Harry was not calm and only paused his nervous walking to stare incredulously at Peter.

"Tell him? Just- Peter!" He threw his arms in the air and resumed his pacing. "Do you know how hard I've worked to keep this from him?"

Peter maintained a neutral face and stepped into Harry's path. "We can't keep it from him forever."

Harry didn't protest when Peter pulled him close, but remained stiff despite the attempt at intimacy. "We've done great so far."

"Well, yea. It's easy to keep a new relationship secret at first, but it's not new anymore, Harry. How long can we keep up a lie?" His fingers dug into the back of Harry's sweater, clinging onto what he could of his boyfriend.

They'd been together nearly a year, officially anyway. At first it was easy to maintain Harry's desire for secrecy, to keep the media -even their friends- from finding out. Even though they had always been close, eventually people in their lives began to catch on. M.J, of course, was the first to confront them. But, when they moved into a new apartment together the previous month, the rest of their friends did the proverbial math.

"As long as it takes." Harry's breath was warm on Peter's neck. "With him officially out of prison, he's going to be around more. And- I can't deal with his disapproval. You know how he feels about us being friends- how do you think he would react to us dating?"

Peter sighed into Harry's hair and didn't respond.

___

The following weekend, Harry agreed to meet his father for dinner. For once, Peter didn't press the mater when Harry asked him to stay home, and for that he was thankful. Meeting with his father was always stressful, he didn't need an additional layer of worry.

Norman was not a subtle man. If he wanted something he asked for it. Or, as, was known to happen on occasion, he demanded it. Directly saying no to Norman Osborne was not something many people possessed the courage to do, and few were ever in a position to say no a second time..

For most of his childhood, even Harry was not immune to his father's intensity. He craved his approval and love. It was only when Harry befriended Peter that he realized what family could actually mean.

Now, Harry was in charge of the family business, and ran things differently. He expected their dinner conversation to revolve around his management practices, and the money he spent on community projects.

He hadn't expected his father to steer the conversation straight into the one subject matter Harry wanted to avoid.

"That- that is not necessary." Harry cleared his throat, partially regretting all the times he wished his dad would be more involved in his life. When he was younger, he just wanted him to show up to school events, his graduation, hell, even just listen to him talk about his day.

Perhaps his dad was trying to make up for lost time, but getting involved in his love life was crossing a line. He'd taken great care to keep his love life out of the press, and was being even more careful to keep it from his father.

"It's just a suggestion." Norman held up his hands over his empty plate. "I only meant… Harry, perhaps it wouldn't hurt to meet someone? Working so much… being alone…? It's not healthy, I would know."

"You weren't alone!" His fist slammed on the table as he stood.

"I know," Norman's voice was soft. "I know. I only mean…" he trailed off, then cleared his throat and tried again. "I know I didn't have to be alone. You were there, and I- I wasn't there for you. I don't want to see you make the same mistakes and purposefully be alone."

Harry studied a shadow on the wall, mulling over his father's words. He thought of Peter, and wondered what he was doing at that moment. "I'm not alone."

"Friends are different, Harry. What I'm talking about is-"

Harry gripped the edge of the table as he stood, leaning forward with the beginnings of a snarl. He wanted to yell, tell Norman that friendship was plenty satisfying to some people. Tell him he was happily dating someone. Tell him he didn't get to suddenly decide to be a father figure and offer life advice after years of neglect.

Yelling would definitely have felt good. Great, even. It wouldn't help repair the rift between them, and Norman was.. trying, in his own misguided way.

Harry released the breath he was holding and relaxed back into his seat. "I don't want to fight tonight."

Norman nodded and reached for the bottle of wine. "Agreed. I am sorry, I didn't know this would be such a delicate subject. Perhaps we can talk about something else?"

Harry accepted the offered wine, "Gladly."

"So, how are your friends?" Norman asked. "How is Peter? I've heard you're roommates now?"

---

"And then-" Harry dropped himself to the couch without any grace, "-he just had to ruin it all again!"

Peter slid next to him, scooting down to rest his head against Harry's chest. He wished he could have been there as a buffer between Harry and his father, but he had to settle for comforting him afterwards. "What did he do?"

"We were fine. Talked about my friends, and that book Ava recommended to me. And that art gallery we went to last month."

"Sounds nice."

"Yea, until he circled back around to the fact we live together." Harry couldn't keep the venom from his voice. They discussed it before Harry went over; it wasn't worth hiding their living… situation. It was common knowledge.

"Does he suspect-"

"He said having a roommate will hurt my chances of finding a partner. And that there are better ways to support my 'less fortunate' friends."

Peter didn't say anything. He couldn't, even if he wanted to; his throat constricted painfully as Harry's words reverberated in his head. He angled his face down so Harry couldn't see the unshed tears in his eyes.

"I told him to mind his own business and stop messing with my personal life then stormed out."

They remained on the couch for a while; Peter lost track of exactly how long they sat in silence. Eventually, they went to bed. Peter hummed and nodded the few times Harry said something as they changed for bed, but none of the words registered.

Sleep didn't find him for several hours, and when Peter woke up he was alone. It wasn't abnormal for Harry to leave before Peter woke up, he often had early morning meetings and snuck out as quietly as he could.

Peter groaned and ran a hand over his face. He still felt numb from the previous night and replayed the conversation over and over as he dragged himself out of bed and to the kitchen. The thought of eating made his stomach churn so he settled for instant coffee.

His laptop was on the table where he left it. He drummed his fingers on the table a moment before opening the laptop and leaning over as if to hide the screen from the empty apartment.

He loved Harry, of that he was sure. Yet-

Yet- he needed to have a very difficult conversation with Harry when he returned from work.

Peter sighed as he pulled up the website he'd fallen asleep thinking about. At the very least it would be cathartic to know what his options were should it come to it.

After some time there was a knock on the front door. Which wasn't rare, they had an elderly neighbor who often asked for favors- or brought over homemade treats.

"Good morning, Nancy I-" Peter sputtered as he opened the door, "Mr. Osborne! I- uh- good morning."

"Ah, Mr. Parker." He raised an eyebrow when Peter just stared.

"Um, Harry is at work." Peter wasn't sure what to do, but he erred on the side of caution and stepped aside. "Did you want to come in?"

Norman swept passed without hesitation. "Actually, I was hoping to speak with you."

Peter bit his cheek to keep from grimacing. Nothing good ever really came from them having a conversation in the past, and with his relationship with Harry on the line he doubted this conversation would break the pattern.

Norman made himself at home, either unaware or ignoring Peter's uncertainty. Peter wasn't concerned as he walked through the living room, Harry had been strict about not having any photographs of them outside of their bedroom. There was nothing to point to them being more than roommates.

"I had dinner with Harry last night and he-" Norman paused as he circled the table. In Peter's rush to the door he'd left his laptop open. "Apartment shopping?"

"Uh…"

Norman turned to look Peter over, his eyes hard and unreadable. "I see." He paused again before nodding once. "I spoke out of turn last night. I didn't intend for Harry to actually…"

"Oh. He told me a bit of your… concerns. This was my idea," Peter unfroze and crossed the room, closing the laptop in a vain hope to end the conversation.

"You've always been there for him." Norman glided over to their couch but didn't sit. He hesitated a moment before continuing, "You truly care about him."

Peter was skeptical of his motives. "He's my best friend."

"... Truly."

"You said you came to talk to me?" Peter stepped towards him, keeping the couch between them.

"That was all," Norman said as he slipped his phone from his pocket. He typed for a few seconds before nodding in Peter's direction. "I'll see you around, Peter."

Peter let him out and stumbled onto the couch, reeling from the odd conversation with Norman Osborne. Before he could contemplate it further, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

"Not a great time, Harry." He sat it next to him and let it ring out.

It rang again. And then a third time. Then, Harry sent a text. 'Call me asap'

Peter groaned, he still had so much to think about before he talked to Harry. Still, he called Harry back, concerned by Harry's sudden calls.

"Peter!" Harry sounded out of breath. "Shit, I was worried- I thought- Peter, I love you."

"Is everything okay? Where are you?" Peter didn't like the crack in Harry's voice.

"I just got in my car, I'm on my way home."

"Why? Did something happen?"

"Did- are you ok? What-"

"I'm sorry. Peter, I'm sorry. I didn't think- I can't- don't leave."

"Babe, calm down. What's going on?"

"My dad- he text me, said he stopped by to talk to you--" His breath hitched. "He said I should ask you out before you put a deposit down on a new apartment. Why are you- did you-"

"Harry. Hey- that's- I was going to talk to you tonight. But I-"

"So it is true? It's not something he made up to get his way?"

"I wanted to see what there was. I don't want to- I love you Harry."

"If you didn't want to move out then why look for a new apartment?"

Peter tightened his grip on his phone. "Because I- I was afraid of what- of how- I wanted to know my options. I can't keep living a lie. Pretending you're not the love of my life whenever we're-"

"Don't leave. I'm almost home."

"I'm not going anywhere. Hey, Harry?"

"Yeah?" Harry sniffled.

"I love you."

"Love you."

"And, hey, Harry?"

"Y-yeah?"

"Did your dad really tell you to ask me out?"

"..."

"Harry?"

"Oh my God. He did."

___

Thanks for reading! This one went way long too. I wanted some Norman trying to reconcile but still fucking it up but ultimately helping.

#pem writes #parksborn #harry osborn #peter parker

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annie-mit-ie · 3 years ago

Text

Glimpses: Part 12 (Kathryn Hahn x Fem!Reader)

Part 1 // previous chapter <<< >>> next chapter

Summary: Will you be able to go with Kathryn?

Word Count: 2k

A/N: This is a little shorter, I know, but I hope all of you still enjoy it. Look at this little tag list we have going on now!! - I might actually get a little emotional that so many of you are still reading this little story. With all that being said, here we gooooo. xx

Tag List: @danvers97 @zafirosreverie @srtamercurio @wanatag @pulledbythestars17 @plantowl

Don't forget to check out the new official Playlist! :)

_____________________________________________________________________________

“You can’t take her.” Jennifer is walking up and down in Kathryn’s office. She arrived here right after you had left, ready to plan to thrip to New York, as well as the upcoming project. Kathryn shifts her focus from her hand to her manager and huffs.

“NO. Kathryn, no. You know it yourself. First of all, she is a distraction. Yes, you like her, I KNOW, but this is not you. This is not how you do your job.” Jennifer looks at her boss with pleading eyes.

Running her fingers through her long mane, Kathryn bites the insides of her cheek. “you’re right, I know you are, but at the same time…”

“NO BUTS, Kathryn.” Jennifer interrupts her, prompting Kathryn to shoot her a short glare.

“…but at the same time I haven’t been this happy in years.” Thinking back at the time you spent with her, a small smile creeps onto her face.

Jennifer gets it. She understands Kathryn’s point, but as her manager it’s her job to secure the actress’ job, which is why she needs to make sure there are as few distractions from work as possible included in the trip.

Placing a hand on her arm, Jennifer looks at Kathryn with warm eyes. “Sweetie, I know you don’t like it. I don’t like it either, because I know how good the time with her is for your heart. But we can’t have this. Not now. Not during your shining moment. Yeah?”

Slowly but surely, Kathryn starts to nod as she can feel the sadness rise in her chest.

Meanwhile, you and Alex are having the same conversation back in your room. She tries to talk sense into you and talks animatedly to her phone, as you try to find a way to accompany Kathryn.

“Honey, you simply can’t. There is no way. It’s during the exam phase. You can’t be abroad for that.” She shakes her head.

Considering your options, you try to talk against her. “I could ask for online exams.”

“… there is a multiple hour time difference - you can’t be serious, Y/N.”

“I could postpone exams?” You raise an eyebrow.

Alex shakes her head harder now. “NO GIRL. No. Kathryn wouldn’t want you screwing up your education for this. You have leftover classes, exams to write and then you’ll have to write term papers you have to prepare for,” you take a visible breath. “Yes love, I am aware you could write those on set but we all know you wouldn’t. It’s better for you to stay.”

You want to argue. You really do. But there are a few things holding you back. First of all, you know Alex makes a valid point. Second of all, you don’t even know where you are standing with Kathryn. What are you to her? What is happening with her? The lines are so blurry that it’s hard for you to see, so you think it might be better not to assume and make a fuss about all of it.

Lastly, you don’t even know if she wants to have you by her side in the first place, because, again, it’s not like she is your girlfriend or anything. Not that you wouldn’t want her to be.

So, just like Kathryn does with Jennifer, you agree to what Alex says and make your decision to stay, even though it hurts your heart just as much as it hurts hers.

Given the fact, that she has to leave for New York right the next morning, it’s not possible for you to see her again. You think back at the soft kiss she planted on your lips as you left her house under yesterday’s hot afternoon sun. You feel so good with her and you can’t stop to think back at how beautiful her eyes look up close - even more beautiful than on all her pictures that Alex and you have been sending back and forth whenever Kathryn did a new promo shoot.

It’s late afternoon as you’re lying on your bed and stare at the ceiling, a random Marvel movie running in the background. Alex has been trying to hype you up all day, but, given the fact that Kathryn is gone for an unforeseen time, you still feel sad.

You turn off the movie because you can’t seem to concentrate and connect your phone to the speakers to play some music. You remember that you can sit on your windowsill that’s facing the backyard and and decide to sit down and watch the birds in the tree outside your window as you open Spotify and it starts playing the last song you stopped on. “She” by dodie fills the room and you don’t think you related to a song like that ever before.

It really describes the feelings of uncertainty that you have right now. It doesn’t help that you never really took the chance to talk to her about all of not. Not properly, at least. This mistake leaves you with this endless feeling of emptiness that seems like it’s eating you up from the inside as you don’t even know if she feels the same in any way.

Your phone chimes and you nearly fall off the windowsill as you shoot up to reach for it. It’s the group chat you thought had died a while ago that you joined right after Kathryn appeared on Wandavision.

Apparently, news of Kathryn’s casting already sank through and everyone is screaming about it. Unwilling to share any knowledge, and also way too careful with it, you want to put your phone away as it chimes again and your eyes widen.

You immediately click the message.

“New York is wild! Haven’t had time to get to you yet. Seems like everyone and their mom wants to speak to me today. Just left my second meeting and now I have to leave for a work dinner in a few. How’s the day going back home? xxx K.”

A bright smile creeps onto your face as you realize she uses the “everyone and their mom” phrase that you use so much whenever you describe difficult situations to her. You decide not to reply immediately - you don’t want her to assume you are sitting on your phone just waiting for her.

Instead you opt to create some art and grab your supplies. There is an empty canvas behind your bed and you feel like there are enough feelings trapped in you to create something cool on it.

Your mom works long on Mondays, so you haven't realized just how much time has passed as you perform the last of the night and call it a day. Your picture is colorful. Very much so. The acrylic paint hasn’t even dried yet, but there are already tons of ideas floating around in your head about what to do with the artwork from here on out. Maybe you should get some fine liners and work out the edges, maybe do some highlighting as well, you don't know yet.

Just as you want to put the brush aside your phone lights up on your bed. You can't pick it up just now because the slowly drying paint sticks to your fingers and you anxiously reach for the closest paper towel to white it off as best as you can. Not expecting anything, you finally reach for your phone and pick up the call before reading the name - an automatic reaction to late night calls from Alex.

You are greeted by a very familiar, yet unexpected, face. Kathryn smiles into the camera and adjusts the lights around her. She is clearly in her pjs, with no make up on, her hair open and messy, falling off her shoulder. You can see she is wearing a loose gray shirt and your whole body starts tingling as you realize it's the shirt she gave you to sleep in last weekend. Immediately, your brain runs wild and you try to figure out if she packed this exact shirt on purpose or just grabbed the one that was available easiest as she was probably in a rush.

Luckily, Kathryn interrupts your train of thought. “Hey! Hiya hon! I just wanted to check in. Make sure you’re alright because you haven’t replied to my message.”

For the first time you look at the clock. It’s 8.30pm and you haven’t had dinner yet.

“Shit.”, you mutter and your hand flies to cover your mouth immediately.

Kathryn, who hasn’t heard your muttering, looks confused. “Sweetheart, is everything alright?”

You smile thankfully. “Yes! Yes it is. I guess I was just wrapped up in my art and you pulled me out of it and I always need a minute to adjust. I’m fine. It’s late though and I haven’t eaten yet. Thank you for reminding me.”

“Good. Do you want me to order you pizza or something. Because I totally would.” She reaches for a notepad.

“Alright Mom…” she looks at you for a moment and you can’t tell if she is shocked or amused or anything really because she stopped reacting completely and just stares at you. Right when you are about to start panicking about the situation she bursts into laughter.

“I mean I’M SORRY. How dare I offer pizza.” She continues laughing. You love this. This is easy and light and you realize once again just how much you enjoy her company. Gosh, you miss her already.

You remember her message as you make your way downstairs. “How was dinner, Kathryn? And the rest of your day? Tell me about it!”

For the next 10 minutes, as you prepare your own dinner, she tells you about her day and the plans for the next few weeks. The two of you laugh and make jokes and for a moment it seems like both of you have forgotten that you won’t see each other for a while. After she finishes talking, you fall into a comfortable silence and just look and smile at each other for a moment.

“I like you, you know?” She is the one to interrupt the silence. “Spending time with you makes me really happy and I’m sad you can’t come to Europe with me. I need you to know. I wish I could’ve taken you with me.”

Your heart melts and your hands start to shake as you realize Kathryn might indeed feel the same way. You put the knife, that’s in your hand from making dinner, aside. You’re unable to answer right away and fight for the right words, so she continues on with her short monologue.

“I just wanted to call tonight to check in and see how you are doing since I had to kick you out so abruptly last night and maybe we can do this from time to time, check in on each other? I would love that.”

Check in on each other? Why is she so vague all the time? For a moment you thought she’d confess her feelings for you but here you are again, uncertain of what she really thinks about you. You smile, though, and try to keep it calm because you don’t want her to get annoyed with you already.

You realize it’s getting close to 9pm, which means it should be about midnight at her place. Taking responsibility, you send her off to sleep and have a short dinner followed by some reading yourself.

Before Kathryn hangs up, she promises you to call again before leaving for Europe completely. She also wants to know if you want a souvenir from NYC (why is she so cute?) and tells you to call her anytime you need something or someone. With that, she shoots you the brightest smile and leaves you to it.

The ecstatic feeling you felt when you talked to her fades quickly as you come down from the call. Suddenly, your home feels all quiet and lonely and the silence is killing you. You walk back up to your room to sit on your bed and stare out of your window to enjoy the night sky. The tree right next to your room is slowly moving in the wind as its branches scratch the glasses surface.

You decide to call it a day as the week ahead is full of work and school and the weekend was eventful, so you change into comfy clothes and get ready for bed immediately. You fall onto your bed a few minutes later just as your phone lights up again.

"Good night, Sweetheart. It was great seeing your face. xxx K."

#kathryn hahn #kathryn hahn x reader #Kathryn Hahn x You #Kathryn Hahn fan fiction #Kathryn Hahn Fanfiction #groupie #groupie au

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k-s-morgan · 4 years ago

Text

What He Grows to Be: Snippet 5

Thank you to everyone who expressed their preference over what they’d prefer to see in the snippet! Tom watching Harry’s memories about the Chamber of Secrets got the most votes, so here is the draft version of it. Though since it’s almost 4K long, maybe calling it a snippet isn’t appropriate :D

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Talking through a diary was an interesting idea. Tom wasn’t sure what kind of magic this was, but now that he’d seen it, he could figure it out. He and Harry would be able to have immediate conversations instead of relying on letters or Patronuses.

Then again, considering what this diary had led to, perhaps this wasn’t a good idea. The last thing Tom wanted was to add himself into Harry’s collection of negative associations in one more way.

He didn’t see how Harry had managed to get into the Chamber of Secrets. One moment, he was staring at the bloody inscription on the wall; the next one, he was standing in an entirely new vast space. Tom still had no idea where it was located or how to access it.

His heart sank in disappointment, but when the full implications hit him, it stopped entirely.

Harry had excluded this memory on purpose. He didn’t trust Tom with the knowledge of where the Chamber was. He showed him the core events but not the details because his trust and his faith were already gone by that point.

And the ritual made it even worse.

An uncomfortable itchy heat began to radiate from Tom’s chest. The sensation was entirely unfamiliar, so he pressed his palm against it, confused and hoping to squash it down.

He couldn’t name it, but it felt a little like shame. He’d never experienced it to this extent before, and it was never mixed with this kind of almost desperate hurt.

He’d been trying. For years, he’d been trying to be someone Harry would approve of. The craving, the longing for his acceptance stayed his hand so many times that now Tom couldn’t count them all — he even allowed that scum Morfin to blackmail him, no matter how maddeningly outrageous the whole situation was, simply because he refused to risk Harry finding out.

He’d made mistakes, but they were minimal in comparison to what he would have done if he hadn’t been trying. And yet Harry still didn’t trust him.

The shame began to curl away, giving way to dejection. Loneliness suddenly felt sharp and uncompromising, and Tom wrapped his hands around himself, watching how Harry’s head snapped up.

“She won’t wake,” a voice said. It was soft but cold, so it took a moment for Tom to recognise it. His eyes quickly moved towards one of the pillars, and something in him shuddered from what he saw.

It was like watching his reflection in someone else’s dream. Something was wrong with the boy he was looking at, and it wasn’t just about the fact that his physical contours were blurred, as if he was being held together by magic alone.

No, he was simply different. He didn’t have the splendour Tom prided himself on. He was thinner and hollow-cheeked; his clothes, while neat, came from some cheap store Tom would have never stepped into. He was but a shadow with empty vicious eyes and greed that swarmed around him in a cloud — greed Tom wasn’t sure he could relate to.

He longed for things. He longed for Harry. But even from here, he could read the shallowness and the arrogance written all over his twin’s face, and he didn’t like it one bit.

This wasn’t him. This was Tom Riddle. Someone he could have been.

“Are you a ghost?” Harry asked. He was staring at Riddle with such earnestness, like he trusted him entirely and couldn’t see what a hollow shell he was. This was the first time Tom would disappoint him — the first in a long line of failures and betrayals.

“No,” Tom murmured to himself, shaking his head briefly. He couldn’t keep blurring himself and Riddle — that way madness lied. Despite some superficial similarities, they were completely different people. He might have let Harry down, too, but their story was different. This abomination was dead and could never touch it.

“A memory,” Riddle replied. His voice was quiet, but its sinister and bitter undertones were as loud as shouting. “Preserved in a diary for fifty years.”

Tom’s brows furrowed. What? A memory? That must have been some ritual. Why would he condemn himself to this kind of existence? To give Voldemort more power? Maybe Voldemort had managed to subdue his will and make him into a brainless soldier somehow. This was more plausible than any version of him feeling such loyalty to some monster that he would follow him blindly and sacrifice his life force for him.

How did one become a memory in the first place? Even Tom with his knowledge about all possible forms of dark arts couldn’t figure it out.

Riddle burst into an animated, mostly one-sided conversation, and several minutes later, Tom had to admit that listening to his own voice was surprisingly challenging. Riddle’s arrogance was distorting his words; his excitement over successfully breaking an 11-year-old girl was embarrassing — Tom had felt less enthusiastic when he killed Charlus, and that happened back when he was a child himself. His first impression had been accurate: Riddle was worlds away from him. He was stupid, and Tom would have never believed it if he wasn’t witnessing it with his own eyes.

“I have been waiting for you to appear since we arrived here,” Riddle said pleasantly. His eyes were fixed on Harry in an intense, hungry way — and well, they did have something in common, after all. “I knew you’d come. I have many questions for you, Harry Potter.”

“Like what?” Harry spat angrily. He didn’t look intimidated in the slightest — his anger and righteousness made him appear taller, and his blazing eyes were furious enough to stop anyone in their tracks.

“How is it that you, a skinny boy with no extraordinary magical talent, managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time?” Riddle wondered. The pleasant notes were disappearing again under the piles of bitterness and odd envy. “How did you escape with nothing but a scar while Lord Voldemort’s powers were destroyed?”

By the end of it, a red gleam entered his eyes. It looked unnatural enough for Tom to make an instinctive step towards Harry.

This was unnerving. Magic was one thing, but what would turn his eyes — Riddle’s eyes — red? Humans couldn’t do that, it went against all laws of nature. Unless… Unless Riddle wasn’t human.

If so, what was he?

“Why do you care how I escaped?” Harry asked slowly. His own gaze was narrowed in a dawning realisation that Tom couldn’t decipher. Did Harry have a theory? How could he — he was only twelve. “Voldemort was after your time.”

Riddle smirked at him, looking almost giddy, and Tom had to amend his opinion. This impostor wasn’t simply stupid, he was crazy. He grew excited over irrelevant things and reacted inappropriately to every logical question Harry asked.

“Voldemort,” he uttered, “is my past, present, and future, Harry Potter.”

Pulling a wand out of his pocket, he slashed the air with it, writing three rapid words.

Tom Marvolo Riddle

Tom studied them, his stare lingering on “Marvolo.” Something about it stood out. Something was strangely familiar.

Before he could follow the clues, Riddle waved the wand again, rearranging the letters. The syllables shifted and clung to each other briefly before assuming their designated places.

I Am Lord Voldemort

His mind went utterly blank. Time stopped. The existence of the world lost its meaning. Tom stared at these words, re-reading them again, and again, and again.

I Am Lord Voldemort.

Tom Riddle. Voldemort.

He was Voldemort.

He was Voldemort. All this time, he was watching himself, and he didn’t even realise this.

The bottom dropped out of his stomach. Tom recoiled from the damning words so violently that he lost his balance and collapsed onto the wet floor. His body didn’t feel the impact — it couldn’t, he didn’t even have it here, but it still burned, it still groaned and shuddered, as if the weight of his mind and his feelings was too much for it to bear.

“It can’t be,” he tried to speak. No words reached his ears, so he did it again. “It’s not possible. I’m not him.”

Still nothing.

Acid burned at the back of his throat. His stomach contorted in pained shock, and then the terrible screaming something filled his ears, crawling in them until it was the only sound they could perceive. It was violent and shredding — it echoed in his very bones.

He was Voldemort. All along, he was Voldemort. He’d killed Harry’s parents. He tried to kill Harry. He made so many Horcruxes that he had gone insane, losing his mind along with his powers, losing the respect of his followers, leaving only fear in its place.

He wasn’t the right hand of Harry’s nemesis. He was his nemesis. Harry had spent his entire first life hating and fearing him — he had single-handedly ruined Harry’s existence so thoroughly that Harry was forced to escape into the past. To accept guardianship over someone who tortured and destroyed him.

An icy fist closed around his lungs, clawing and squeezing the remains of air out of them. Tom gasped, his body jerking in odd abrupt movements that he had no control over. The next second, the contours of the Chamber of Secrets faded, melting back into Harry’s bedroom. The phantoms of the past were gone — they stayed trapped in the Pensieve, but their terrible echoes remained with Tom. They latched onto his mind with hungry vengeance, throwing an image after an image of the pictures he had seen when he was first watching Harry’s memories.

It didn’t matter then. Those pictures were just that — the images of a monster he didn’t know and had no direct relationship with. But recalling them now and putting his own face onto them…

His mind rebelled. Tom pressed his hands to his ears, trying to silence the screaming, but it kept getting louder. It hurled accusations and mockeries, painted every crime he committed, every time he hurt Harry and raised his wand against him.

There was no silencing something like this. The only thing Tom could do was outcry it, so he screamed, too.

He found that he couldn’t stop.

***

That night, he added just one sentence to his letter.

Why would you love me?

***

The sleep didn’t come. The desire to tear into his skin and shred it until physical pain remained the only sensation was strong, but every time Tom raised his wand or his hands, he stopped.

He wanted to hurt himself. He didn’t want to hurt Harry.

It was easier before. In Harry’s absence, for a long time, he’d been putting his own hurt above everything, even above Harry himself; he’d marred his skin without care, wanting, needing acknowledgement.

But he couldn’t do it now. The thought of leaving even a small scratch on Harry made him sick.

That cursed ritual.

Tom managed to stay physically intact throughout the night, yet he spent it curled into a tight ball, shaking under the pressure of ache and grief and emotions he couldn’t identify. There were so many of them — they were crowding his chest, interfering with his heart, making him feel like he was about to explode with them.

When the morning came and nothing changed, Tom made himself get up. He cooked breakfast, then stared at it silently, knowing that he could never eat it without vomiting it back.

He needed… something. Something comforting. Harry wouldn’t return; Harry’s blanket and things no longer produced the same soothing effect, so it had to be something new.

If he could capture Harry’s Patronus into some vial… if he could consume the letters Harry had written him…

The letters. He still had the letters. They were the last thing he’d gotten from Harry — they had his personality, his handwriting; they had a whole part of him because Tom could easily trace the story of their creation. From the pressure Harry had applied to a quill in different instances, it was evident where he hesitated, where he took a break, where he got anxious or passionate. It was the closest thing to him Tom had in his possession now.

Without thinking further, he returned to the bedroom and grabbed the last letter. His eyes immediately zeroed in on three specific half-lines.

…I’m going to keep explaining until you do.

…I’ve promised you’ll always be my priority.

…I might consider returning.

A promise of future communication.

The use of future tense.

Future possibility.

This was evidence. Whatever Tom was, Harry didn’t give up on him. Harry still loved him. He might still return.

Tom closed his eyes, nuzzling into the letter, and finally, for the first time in hours, the ache lessened. The sick feeling grew dimmer, too, and he felt solid and grounded again. When he pulled back, his gaze dropped to another passage.

Watch those memories. Don’t contact me until you do.

Tom pressed his lips to these lines, trying to breathe them in, feeling how their rough surface scratched his mouth.

Permission to contact Harry. He still had it. He was simply supposed to meet Harry’s condition.

That meant that he had to return to the Pensieve. The sooner he was done, the closer to Harry he could feel again.

Carefully, Tom folded the letter and put it in his pocket. If things got bad again, he could always touch it and remind himself of the future.

The memories weren’t a punishment. They were a chance to improve things.

Tom couldn’t really be certain, but he preferred to cling to this notion.

This made things easier at least to a small degree.

***

He chose to return to the start of the memory. Silently, he watched his shadow speak with Harry, lingered on how it hissed the words of self-admiration and hung onto its useless pride.

“I fashioned myself a new name,” Riddle boasted breathlessly, “a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak, when I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world!”

“You are not,” Harry said quietly. Despite his age, his resolution was steely, and if Tom had to choose whom he admired more at this moment... it wouldn’t even be a competition.

“Not what?” Riddle snapped. Insecurity and rage were twisting his ghostly face — it was a pitiful display. If the words of a 12-year-old boy had the power to affect him, then he had not only failed at greatness, he was also a failure of a sorcerer.

“Sorry to disappoint you and all that, but the greatest wizard in the world is Albus Dumbledore,” Harry said hotly. “Everyone says so!”

The reasoning was… like that of a child. Even though his stomach was clenched into a tight knot, Tom smiled a little, suddenly overcome with a rush of gentleness and fondness for this particular version of Harry.

He was trusting. He was pure in a way that even his Harry wasn’t — he didn’t see death and destruction yet; he was not betrayed by Dumbledore.

He was not betrayed by Tom.

The smile disappeared, leaving Tom hollow.

When Dumbledore’s phoenix burst into the Chamber, carrying the Sorting Hat, Riddle laughed, and Tom laughed with him — only his laughter was hysterical because all pieces in his head suddenly clicked into one clear picture.

Dumbledore. Of course. Of course it was Dumbledore’s plan all along, how did he not see this from the start?

Harry hadn’t sneaked into the Chamber secretly — Dumbledore allowed him to. Dumbledore was likely watching him even now, invisible, waiting for the outcome.

Harry was a Horcrux, and Horcruxes could be destroyed with basilisk’s venom.

This was a test. Dumbledore wanted to see if he could get rid of the Horcrux inside Harry without necessarily killing him. The Hat was here to give Harry the Sword — with his mindless bravery, it was not a surprise that he could pull it out. The phoenix was here to decrease the chances of Harry dying and to heal him after he was stabbed.

Clever. And enraging. Because for Dumbledore, Harry was a game piece. For Tom, he was the world.

He would have let Voldemort live for a thousand of years. He would have allowed him to destroy this universe until nothing was left if it meant he could keep Harry safe. Dumbledore would never prioritise one over a billion, and for that, Tom hated him.

“Kill him,” Riddle hissed. The words sent a jolt of automatic panic through him, and Tom moved between Harry and the basilisk before he could think rationally about it.

The snake was magnificent, there was no denying it. Even the first time, when he’d been distracted to the point of ignorance, he stopped to watch it because it was breath-taking in every way.

There was only one drawback. It wanted to kill Harry, and it meant that Tom would see it destroyed.

Harry broke into a run with his eyes shut. He managed to half-cross the room when he tripped and crashed down, his chin colliding with the cold stone. The sound of it launched Tom into immediate action again before he could stop his stupid feet.

Feeling this protective for such an extended period of time was exhausting. His heart kept hammering relentlessly and his hands were itching with magic, needing to pour it somewhere to protect Harry and to make sure he never got hurt again. How could anyone live in such a state?

The basilisk roared from pain when Dumbledore’s phoenix attacked it. Its tail whipped across the floor, approaching Harry with deadly speed, and Tom’s heart stopped. It stumbled forwards again only when Harry ducked, crouching, dirty and bloodied but with determination still burning brightly on his face. He was beautiful and desperate, and Tom would have cradled him in his arms if he could touch him.

A gust of wind sent the Hat right in Harry’s face. He grabbed it, put it onto his head, and threw himself to the side when the basilisk’s tail snapped forward again, almost crushing him into nothingness.

This was all strategic. It wasn’t a coincidence that the phoenix appeared immediately after Harry pledged his loyalty to Dumbledore. This was training — training in blind devotion, in recklessness, in self-sacrifice. And Harry had no idea.

At least this Harry didn’t. The adult version knew everything yet he still seemed to hold deep respect for Dumbledore.

Perhaps some training was too ingrained to ever fade from one’s core. This explained… almost everything about Harry. If Tom got another chance to make things right, he would dedicate himself entirely to removing these suicidal ideas from his head once and for all.

Harry pulled out the Sword from the Hat. He spent only a second on contemplating it — the next one, he was already standing and pointing it at the basilisk.

Nothing about this picture was palatable. The sword was too heavy for a child his size: Harry was struggling with it, and the basilisk kept thrashing, hitting everything in sight. How he survived was a matter of miracle. If he had died… If he’d died, this would be it. Tom would never be the person he was now. He would be limited to a memory in his own diary, to a ruin incapable of human thought. He would never get his second chance, and the life as he knew it would never exist.

Terror that rolled through him could only be rivalled by the sheer horror of witnessing the basilisk’s fang separate itself from its mouth and plunge into Harry’s arm. Static electricity burned somewhere above his elbow in a phantom sensation of pain Harry had to be experiencing. It wasn’t real, but Tom’s breathing still quickened, and his fingers wrapped around his arm convulsively.

He couldn’t tell if the fang fell out because Harry had aimed his Sword there or if it was Dumbledore again. Either way, Harry was dying, and even though Tom knew he’d survive, watching this was no less excruciating.

“Fawkes,” Harry murmured hoarsely. His eyes were fluttering shut in an image that came straight from Tom’s worst nightmares. “You were fantastic, Fawkes.”

Giving praise to an impervious bird when life was bleeding out of him. Harry was insane. He was the Harry — his Harry. It was no wonder that an overwhelming longing for him had been and was going to be Tom’s undoing in every life he lived.

“You’re dead, Harry Potter,” Riddle crowed, and Tom turned to face him with a snarl.

He hated this version of himself. Hated him. It was just a shard of him, dull and shallow, and if this underwhelming thing was ever his future, he would have preferred death.

Riddle wasn’t a powerful wizard. Even now, when faced with a dying wandless boy, he was too wary of making his own move. He let the basilisk be his weapon; he was watching Harry die and not intervening because he was intimidated.

Though perhaps it made sense. Maybe even Riddle could see Harry’s brilliance despite his narrow-mindedness — maybe, beneath the hatred and the fear, he was fascinated. Tom knew he would be.

Harry might not have much power, and he certainly didn’t at the age of twelve, but he still managed something no other wizard had tried. He’d defeated a giant basilisk with a sword; his agility was almost otherworldly as he twisted, crouched, and ducked from the heavy blows.

This was worthy of admiration. Even Riddle couldn’t be that blind so as to miss it.

When the phoenix healed Harry, Riddle didn’t cry out in alarm or anger like Tom might have expected him to. Instead, his face shifted between different conflicting expressions, and his eyes regained the hungry glint Tom found intimately familiar.

“It makes no difference,” Riddle spoke confidently, with only the tiniest twitch of uncertainty underneath. “In fact, I prefer it this way. Just you and me, Harry Potter... you and me.”

The surprising jealousy raised its ugly head, making Tom tense. He didn’t know in what way his shadow meant these words — he didn’t like to think about it either. It didn’t matter any way because there would never be such thing as Riddle and Harry, not until Harry came back to the past and gave the real Tom a chance at rebirth.

Without answering, Harry stabbed the diary with the fang, his eyes glistening with fevered hatred. Even Riddle’s piercing scream didn’t shake Tom the way this look had. He barely heard a sound through the sudden roaring in his ears, the sudden realisation that this was Harry’s first and last meeting with an actual Tom Riddle. Voldemort was a monstrosity with a face Tom refused to claim, but physically, Riddle was him.

How did Harry feel, watching him grow up? Had he ever looked at him and seen Riddle from the Chamber of Secrets? How could the feeling of love prevail over the feeling of hatred the 12-year-old Harry was currently wearing?

Tom turned away, unable to keep looking. His throat was dry, and as his knees started to shake, threatening to buckle right under him, he thrust his hand into his pocket, gripping the letter there.

In some other world, this moment had been Riddle’s end. But it wouldn’t be his.

He could do better. He would do better.

He’d finish watching these memories, he’d complete his letter to Harry, and then he’d start working. Harry would never look at him like he had at Riddle. In years, the memories of the Chamber of Secrets would fade; Riddle would become a shadow of a shadow, and Tom’s image would outshine him. It would take precedence in Harry’s mind.

This determination washed away the worms of doubts and self-hatred. When the new wave of memories swept him along, Tom felt prepared to face them.

#my fics #tomarry

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