#Love sickness

[loving-like-a-dog]

I miss his blood.

I want to cut him open, eat all of his insides, drink his blood and break his ribs to eat his heart.

I miss him so much I want to bite his neck and rip out a piece of his flesh.

Everytime I kiss his neck and slightly bite it I get to rough because I bite 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 ｂｉｔｅ ａｎｄ ｂｉｔｅ ａｎｄ ｂｉｔｅ ａｎｄ ｂｉｔｅ ａｎｄ ｂｉｔｅ ａｎｄ ｂｉｔｅ ａｎｄ ｂｉｔｅ ａｎｄ ｂｉｔｅ ａｎｄ ｂｉｔｅ ａｎｄ ｂｉｔｅ puɐ ǝʇıq puɐ ǝʇıq puɐ ǝʇıq puɐ ǝʇıq puɐ ǝʇıq puɐ ǝʇıq puɐ ǝʇıq puɐ ǝʇıq puɐ ǝʇıq puɐ ǝʇıq puɐ ǝʇıq puɐ ǝʇıq puɐ ǝʇıq and b̴̨͇̘͉̣̜̗̞̂̏̑̉͠í̷̞͙̩̠͔̌̒̑͊̉̾͜t̷̨̫̻̗͒̆̒̋͊̆̈́̈́͐ͅë̸̯̱̲̮̻ ̷͔̱͔̖͍̭̟̮͔̃̌a̵̹̞͚̭̬͛́͐̈́̓̋͌̚̚n̸͓̼̦̅d̸̯̼̈́́̃͋́͒̉̄ ̴̣̱́̊̿͐̈́̐̊͘̚͝ḃ̸̳̼̯̂̍i̵̭̗̪̼͖̳̥͈͈͒̔t̸̢̠͓̣̺̳̐͗͌̋͐̒̂͝e̵̤͍̖͗̅̔̃́̑̈͠ͅ ̴̟͊a̷̧̧͙̦̝͈͍͔̣̐͛̍͆ṋ̸̢̹͔̼̯̯̓͒̓̎́d̴̨̨̛̫̲̙͈̗͎̞͐̎̎̇ ̴̠̬͎̈͘b̸̨̮́̈́͑͒i̷̞̦̦̿̏͘t̷̘̺͍̣͍͉͉͐̓̐̓́̈́e̶̯͈͉͓̠̪̹͎̯̓̿͂̑͘ͅ ̵̜̪̥̟̘̈̽͌͌͋ȁ̵͉n̸̟̮̮̝͚̙͇̤̅̔͋̽̄̅̔̅͜͠ͅd̸̹̼́̔͋͛͌͘͠ ̴̧̻̘̱̲̫̟̥̞̏͒̋͗̇̌̿͊̉ͅḃ̴̛̮̭ͅi̴̖̰̹͆̋͐͜t̸̳̹͓̰̫̭̫̭̽͘ͅē̶̛̘̲̈́ ̵̧̛̹̥̱̦̦͔̹͒͋̒̿̕͜a̸͔͕̳̣̞̝̼͎̰̔̀͐n̶͕͆͐̎͋̒̈́̌͠d̶̀͊̔̓̌̓͘��̢̢̨̢̖̗͇̩̰ ̶̳̜̯̫̰̗͂͐̍̀b̶̛̟̫̎̉͗͌̈́͂͘i̶͎͔̺̰̩̔̌̇̕͜͠t̷̛̙̫͑̒̀̓͠͠͝ẹ̴̻̏̋̅̅̔̅̿͂̏͊ ̸͚̳̝̓ą̷̛̟͇̘̤̝̙̤̯͎̄̓̊̃̓̉͊͘n̵̽̉̄͘̕͝ͅd̵̛̮̐̒ ̶̰̙̯͇̫͐̍͝b̸̼̤̳̂̆͂͝͠͝i̵̠̮̗̬͓̜͖̋ţ̵͖̦͈̬̯̳͖̄̀̽̒̋̀̈̚ė̶̠̳̪̔͑͋̌̓̈͒̂̕ ̴̯͆͝â̶͙͎̓̈̆͝n̵͍͙͉̯̱̙̖͙̟̣͂͋̉̀̌̒͝d̸͎̥̟̪̰̖̻̹̀̂̀ ̴̳̩͓̺̞̟̞̯̀͊̏̓̿͛̚͠b̴̫̞͎̝͖̘͆̇̈́̃̎̃̚͝í̶̧̝̺̄t̷̘͍̖̪̙̓̑̃̒̚̚͠͝͝͠ͅe̵̜̥͖̥̼͂̑̄̋̉̍͜ ̷̹̍͌̍̀͝a̸̠̳̺̾̐̉̽̅͊͠͠n̶̗̬͚̱̘̜̾̎̉d̴̢͈̦̭̮̃ ̸̡̦̫̮̈́̔b̴̡̛̤̻̘̗́̾͊̀͐̌͒̓̌ī̸̞͈̖̳̫͙̼̘̜̒͝ͅţ̶̥̘͎͖͌e̶̹͍͈̝̤̞̓̈́̉̓̎̂̏̅̚͝ ̶̤͚̀̆͌̏̂̚͜͝a̷̛̫͙̟̹̹̗̾̓̀ͅn̸̡̺̱̝̺̱̹͋̋̉̂͝d̶̢̲̺͕͂̏ ̸̠̥̲͝b̷͚̹̯̃͐ĭ̴̢̧̻̖̪̟̰̑̓t̶̫̹̰̯͖̥̓̂͜͜ȅ̴̡̻̹̩̝̮͕̦̟͖́̈́ ̶̤̮̝̫̥͎͓̼̒̽̏̍̅̀̅̓̽̚ä̸̡̡͉͎̯̪́̔̓͛̔̾͐͊̕͜͝n̴̝̦̥͇̲̄d̴̨̖̙͚̉̿̈ ̶̜͕̐̌̊͐̋͗̐̓͝b̵̡̯̙̳̜̳̲̃̆͋͊͌i̸̛̛̫͖͎͎̓̆̐̔̌̕t̷̳͙͍̹̺̘̀̚ͅę̷̝͚̍͊̒̈́͐̅̊͜ ̴̖̩̣̺̝̰͋̅̾̏̌͛͂̊͜a̶̲̩͉͑n̶̢̠̰̰̙͙̆̓̊͠ͅd̸̛̻̏̌̚ͅ ̶̤́͐̇̄̌b̷̛͕̫̹̻͛̌̿͋͂́̿̍͝i̷̱̻͚͎̦̒̇́͛̿̏̋̽̚t̶̼̣͇̒̿e̸̬̾̍͋̈ ̵̧̠͕͙̭̬̗̼̂̐̏̃a̶̢̝̗͍̗̦̣͕͇̯̎̑ṋ̶̡̧̭͍̟̉̏̽̽̿̓̃̅̚d̴͈̗̤̜̾͒̏̈́̈́̂́̃͒ ̷͕̽̂̽b̵̯͇̳̬͓͍̼̱̃̋̄̊͌ì̴̢̖̱̞͙̤̯̣́ͅṫ̷̜̟̮̟͕͐̓̅̈́͘͝ḛ̶̰̠̥͙͎̬̖̇̀̈́͜ ̷̭̮̗̹̰̓́́͐̚͠ą̶͈͖̖̻̬̽̚ͅņ̸̳̤̯̻̦̹̇̈́͑̄͊̀͊̍͗͝d̷̜̖̔̈̉̑̌̀̓̃̕͠ͅ ̷̳͙̲̰͊́͑̚͝b̵̢͖̫̜̜̳͕͙̂̾́̄̽̏͋́̚ī̷̢̧̧͙̹͜t̵̨͇̟͒̓̀ͅͅę̷̥͚͍͓͉̑̈́ ̶̰͔̜͋a̷̢̲̙̬̰̽͆̑̿̈́̊̓͜͠n̷̺̭͍̫̘͓̼̣̓̅̇̐̆̂̐͜d̶̛̮̘͕̤̩̯̊̇̚ ̷̨͇̜̻̳͆̽̑̌̚̚͝b̴͈͇̬͓̬̳̳̘̺̙͌í̶̡̡̢̝̱̜̻̰̾̀̚͝t̸̬̥͔̣̦͕̽͐̎͆̇͠ͅe̸̢̿ ̵̨̠͈̱̔̒͌ḁ̷͕͓̲̣͚͉͕̠̠͆̈́̕n̴̡̯͖̯̮͈̰̞͆̈́͗ď̸̫̥̣͚̮͚̗̝̀̈́͝ ̴̗̦̗̦̫̱̙͗͑b̴̢̰̟̦̻̼̥̋i̶̢̢̼̎̿̓͂̽͒t̵͈̼͔̹̥͗̎̉̔͝ē̶̢̲̮̪̂̒̋̑͒̀̾̈́͜ ̷̢͉̿́̆͋̈́â̷͔͗̀͋̔̒n̷̹̗̹͓̙̯̱̗̞̄d̵͕̱̞̒̀̅��̬̺ ̸̢͇̦̜͕̩͖͔̠̭͌͝b̶̧͖̤̄i̴̟͎̾̋͆̑͊̅͛͒͠t̶̛̘̝͚̹̟̪̹͔̻̔ȩ̶̡͉̰̋͒͂̾͂͐̈̿͛ ̴̛̼͚̦̪̾̎̂͆̌͌͐͘̕ą̴̩͙͉̖̪̑̒̅͆͘͝n̷̛̛͉̝̾̿̎͊͋̌̿͝d̵̰̑̐͒͋́̃͗̃̒͠ ̷̳̱̗͓̜̟̞̲͇̎̂̈́̈́̅b̵̳̭̘̹͉̝̈́̈́́̿̚̚͠i̸̜̝̭̯̻͚̠̋́̈́̎̕t̵̳̲̔̎̓̋͆͒ḙ̶͖̱͈̣̬̉̇̊̃̌͒̓̇͝ ̴̨̛̮̫̟̫͎͔̿̿͛͋̐̎̎a̷̛͓͓̜̬̠̖̱̍̽̉͑n̶̨͚͓̳̻̲̪̜̲̎͛̕d̶͔͔̬͈̰̜̤̱̾͑̈́͗̍̒͝͝ ̶̡̧̣͎̞̺̗̥̞̇̑b̷̢͓̲̫͇͓͌i̶̡̛̬̮̦̎͆̀̍͘ẗ̴͓̲̙̼͕͔̯̗́͛̊̔̂͑̚͝͝͠ë̶̖͕͖̼́͑̈́̒̃ ̶̠͈͛̇̽̑̋̕ã̶̘̞̰͍̱͙́͂̾̉̏͊͝n̴̡̻̮̰̙̼͇̈́́̇̇͑̐̉ͅd̶̢̡̛̝̠͎̥̲͓͐̊́̋̈́̈̚ ̴͉̉͜b̶͕̣̭̦̟͔͕̄̑̉̓̒ȋ̸̡͖̣̩̖̀͛̊ẗ̴̨̟̫̰̻̼́̀͌́̀̽e̷̙̍̐̀̕̕ ̵̦̄̊̇͊͋̓ą̴̺̭̿̓̐̿͌͛̓̋͘ṇ̵̛̺̂̽͂͘͝d̴̢̼͓̱̘̾̆͐͋̄̓͋̇͐̏ ̷̡̢̛͕̳̤̹̬̗̗̃͛̋̀͗̀̎̿b̶͓͙̠͎͒͒̉̚i̶̛̟̗̳̣̋͊̇͆̓t̴̠̖͖̱̪̩̘̬͊̋͌̒͌͝e̶͍͇͓̜̊̔̈́̕ ̶͕̃̈͂̌̃̍͌̄̃͘ȧ̷̝̾͑̈́́̊͊̕n̶͈̬̗̼̆͂̂̑͋͘̕͜͝d̷͚̱̦̈́̓ ̸̺̭̦͙͇̂̽͗̊̐͌́̋͌b̸̮̖̯͍̟͇̉̊̌͘̕͜ǐ̴̹͗͂̇͗ẗ̷͓͍͈̣̗̺́͊̋̈́̒̅̓͜͜ȩ̶̨̻́̚͝ ̶̧̬͈̱̇͝

Until he tells me it hurts too much and it's so hard for me to stop. I want to taste him and rip him apart.

I don't want to hurt him, I want to make him feel loved and protected but I also want to kill him and cuddle with his gutted corpse until I die in his arms from starvation because I wouldn't ever get up.

Eternal cuddles.

[gabbyp09]

[andromedalaments]

see, love is inherently human and yet. i fear nobody has ever experienced what i feel for you; a great cosmic map blossoming on my skin, and at its core, it is

you you you.

[desireve]

drunk sickness ¡

finnick o’dair x fem!reader

summary : as much as you hated the capitol and their precious darling, that night, alcohol wasn’t enough.

authors note : omg my first one-shot, it's a kind of - enemies to lovers to crisis, hope you like it! i may write more about these two.

If Finnick knew what the taste of lovesickness was like, he would have already chosen whiskey. The chaos of loving someone made his heart senseless. 

That night, at the Capitol's party, in the dimmest corner, they looked at each other, surrounded by smoke that filled their lungs. Finnick's presence was surrounded by eager women, but they failed to capture his attention. His focus, fixed on that woman.

Meanwhile, y/n drowned her sorrows in red wine and smoke, feeling burning eyes that hinted at a plea for union. Locked in a haze, y/n sensed the influence of alcohol as she saw sea-green eyes piercing her. She rose, seeking refuge in a corner away from prying creatures, knowing that only those warm, lustful eyes mattered.

she walked down, the satin dress swaying with her legs, finally face to face. "Take me away from here," she demanded, and Finnick complied, leaving the eccentric women all alone. They went behind that big white mansion, less eyes, soft music and moonlight shining that tan skin and the satined body. 

“we shouldn’t..” he whispered looking the cigarette smoke dragging out of her lips. Finnick felt his head spin, need crippling his skin and making reason evaporate. “I’m sick and tired of this, o’dair.” she spat, her whisper full of frustration. “please..” he approached, putting his arms on her shoulders.

"Don’t you see?" she cuts him off, her whisper was soft, a delicate undertone. "This act of me avoiding you, you avoiding me and yet we always end up together." Finnick was speechless, a heavy sigh escaping him, shoulders slouching in defeat. She had a point; his pretending was becoming increasingly pathetic. She was the death of him, a scarlet fever he couldn't escape.

He approached her, uncomfortably close, his hands sliding onto her wrists. Despair swirled in his sea eyes, letting them talk replacing any futile word he could have uttered. She sighed once more, the silence inducing dizziness, her head spinning. fuck red wine.

"Kiss me."

The tense silence was short-lived. Those words hung in the air, making them both uneasy under the moonlight. His eyes stuck on her lips, he finally broke that tension.

Their breaths synced, heavy and eager, their lips hungry, to taste to bite to bleed.

"Just- quick.." he whispered, his soft lips brushing against hers. A soft gasp escaped her as his tongue traced the outline of her mouth, causing his breath to quicken. Desperate to get closer, she pulled him in and they clung to each other. But as quickly as the moment came, it was gone, leaving them both breathless. With a sigh, he finally pulled away, his head spinning as he fought to catch his breath while her lips burned with the heat of their first kiss.

Under the watchful eyes of the Capitol, their drunken haze making this feel all right.

screaming, crying and throwing up.

[priscilla-amg]

Uninspired.

[insane-control-room]

fallen down (1/3)

Joey is invited to an art convention by Nathan. He goes, and is delighted by the turn of events. So much so, that he finds his dreams clashing again.

chapter 1: ink demonth - rival chapter 2: ink demonth - heartbeat chapter 3: ink demonth - hide

For @halfusek; inspired by his You Left Me in a Heartbeat :) Rated: G+ Warnings: unhealthy relationships, alcoholism, not actually cute AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58747897/chapters/149709028 Length: 2800

It was entirely one sided. That much was apparent - Joey's relationship with both of them; it was completely and utterly on his end. Most of Joey's relationships seemed to cascade into that awful sector; one where a person's emotions loom vast and disconcerting over the other cogs in the machine of human interaction. There is something to be said there as well - the smaller such a wheel is, the greater the effect other gears have upon the inevitable turn.

Therefore, to say that the relationship between Linda and Joey was a rivalry was nothing short of a humorous joke - for far more reasons than either of them were aware of. There was an aspect of acidity, a bitterness held in the back of the throat; perhaps contributed to by the fact that Henry's own relationship with Mr. Drew had been friendly, strained, agitated, and then shattered like a vertebrae in a spinal column- destroyed and irreparable.

After that incident, the vanishing of the Steins was holistic - there was no trace, no forwarding address, no phoneline: a faultless (yet not blameless) disappearance. No, Joey was not to blame for their sudden departure from New York, even if he was the reason.

There are moments that eclipse sanity, haunting instances and circumstance will chase a person out of a town - worse than a bad job, a bad boss, or a tangled, messy (and messed up) relationship. If you land someone in a wheelchair, especially someone close to you, but not close enough to warrant remaining near- then putting yourself in a wheelchair of your own and driving off into the California sunset is a particularly appealing decision.

That was precisely what Henry had done. Perhaps Linda had protested, leaving behind friends, family, the comfort of familiarity and routine, though that was hardly on the animator's mind. For Henry, it is rather difficult to determine what exactly his jumbled thoughts were, aside from the plaintive urge to hide himself away and not be found.

Henry's departure from the studio caused an upheaval, certainly, though it was nothing that Joey Drew could not persevere through. Sure, his two legs were nothing to stand on (thank you, Henry), but that would not prevent him from pursuing his own success; from forging happiness anew, from finding someone else to take up the space in his life that Henry had left icily bare.

So to say that Joey had a rivalry with Linda for 'taking Henry away' would be a rather crude and insensitive disservice to both Linda and Joey. Henry had removed himself, simple as that.

Joey filled his life and focus with living drawings. No, he did not make them literally come to life, that would be silly. He did, however, expand the art department, and took more work into his office, hiring an accountant to take care of the business tasks that had taken over his life and passions. Mr. Cohen had ranted and raved about the abhorrent state of the business, bemoaned how difficult it would be to turn things around, but to Joey's bated breath and relieved surprise, he managed. There were stutters and stops, but with the cobbled and slapdashed situation that had been there before, Mr. Cohen had worked miracles.

There had been instances where he would fancy that the accountant would glance over him a moment too long here and there, though it was likely his imagination (and what a strong one he had). He had thought, at times, that there was potential between them, though his hands would tighten on the arms of his wheelchair if he considered the idea for too long; a foreign anxiety building in his chest at the notion of being close to Mr. Cohen.

So he continued working, alone. Business was difficult, though at least he now had some breathing room to actually create himself, and he had enough to put food on the table - that was more than some people could say. He hardly cared about the time he had left, pouring his soul into his work. There were times it paid off. Nathan Arch was one of those... angel investors. There was some resentment simmering under the surface for Joey, considering that he wanted to be successful on his own- however, he accepted that success was not so clearly in view for him, nor for his visions.

While the situation was not Nathan's fault, per say, his influence hovered over the events that had yet to transpire within Joey's life.

It was... kind of Arch to get Joey the ticket to the Artist's Convention. Joey did not particularly feel inclined to attend, but Grant had given him some words of advice and encouragement (rather reminding him of himself prior to the 'accident') that had boosted his morale and enthusiasm to go.

Now, Joey was on a train to California with a few sample animations that he was particularly proud of. It had taken unreasonably long to get there, which caused a mite of worry for the studio but he felt assured that the business was safe under Grant's watchful, stringent eye.

The first thing Joey did upon arriving at Nathan's extravagant house was (after giving some drawn gifts to him, his wife, and son) pull himself face down on the bed. He dreamed of endless stairs spiraling down - or was it up? It was hard to tell from the way he was falling. It was silent, black and white, and he woke up on the floor with a cold sweat running chills down his spine. Nothing that a nice shower could not fix - and thankfully, the room that Nathan had given him had an attached bathroom, with a shower chair already in place as well. How... kind. It was kind and considerate. Even if it was a painful reminder of his disability.

Coming out of the shower, Joey felt rejuvenated and relaxed. He picked up the briefcase of showcasing, and then he and Nathan went to the convention. There were some people that Joey recognized, many who recognized Joey. He gave out cards and information, saw interesting methods of filming and painting, processes that would decrease labor loads and increase productivity. He took careful notes- knowing that Grant would certainly like to learn more about those. There were moments where he thought, for an instant, that he saw someone very familiar, only to blink twice and realize that it was not Henry.

He was tired - he had a long journey and less than ideal sleep. Nathan agreed with him to leave early- as there would be another two days of the convention, in any case, so they would not be missing much. They ate a warm meal and made small talk: talking about what they had seen that day; Nathan's son and what he was up to; of the studio and how much help Grant was (Joey felt an odd warmth in his hands that was not coming from his mug of coffee) in getting the studio back on its feet. Nathan let Joey know that he would be busy the next day, but that he could have someone help Joey to and from the convention - which Joey declined, saying that he could manage himself. Immediately after their dinner, Joey went and laid down, and before a wolf could count three sheep, he was fast asleep.

This time, it was not his dreams that woke him, but rather, quiet conversation. It was rather strained, but Joey could hear the distinct notes of a distressed woman, and the more calm- yet somehow uncomfortable- words of Nathan. At first, he assumed that it was Nathan and his wife having an argument of some sort, but then he realized that the woman's voice was not hers, but rather, a more familiar one. Part of him thought he was dreaming as he got into his wheelchair, now glad that he had not changed out of his clothes. Nathan was a good man- what was she doing here? It bewildered him even as he silently approached the room where the two were talking.

"We planned carefully, Linda," Nathan was assuring her. Joey settled himself by the doorway to listen, confused and feeling his heart beating a little too fast for his liking - so he focused on the conversation. "He's going to be distracted at the convention tomorrow, and we'll be able to get you over here for a bit."

"I don't think that it's going to work," Linda rubbed her temples. Joey was surprised to see streaks of grey running through her hair. "I've been thinking about it, Nathan. He's going to get frustrated and bored there, and he's going to come home, and I'll have to put on a smile and tell him everything is okay. It's not okay, and it hasn't been for years. Not since we left New York. No- before that. He's been falling apart longer than I've ever wanted to admit, and I can't deal with him anymore."

"We're working on it, Linda," Nathan tried again. "You will get out, I promise. I'll be picking you up at noon, and Tessa will be here to get you all sorted out."

"How are you going to pick me up if he's going to be there?" Linda asked miserably. Joey felt something shift in his chest. His heart, maybe, about to give out or something. "He might not even go. All he does is mope. And drink. It's sad, really. Maybe that's why I've stayed so long. I thought we'd be happy."

The silence hung in the air, cloying and depressing. Joey unclenched his jaw- unsure of when he had knotted it at all. He took a deep breath, letting his hands out of the claws he was digging into his armrests. Then, he exhaled, and took a gamble.

"Hello, Linda," he said with as much surprise as he felt initially, a broad smile growing on his face. The two in the room turned to look at him with shock as well. "Incredible seeing you here! Funny how things line up, don't you think?"

"What is he- I mean-" it took Linda a moment to compose herself. She mustered a weak looking smile that appeared rather nauseated. "Hello, Joey. It's... it's been a long time. I'm guessing that you're here for the art convention, right?"

"Right," Joey's smile twitched. The two of them stared at each other without a lot of comfort between them, a sort of uneasy aura. Nathan looked like he wanted to sink within his own portrait, what with his stock smile plastered on his face and shifting feet. Joey gestured at him. "Nathan invited me."

"That's nice of you, Nathan," Linda's smile relaxed a bit, and she took a deep breath of her own. She blinked as she took in Joey's appearance. "You're looking well."

"You're not," Joey replied instantly without thought. A wane smile appeared on her face. "What's going on?"

"You artist types are all the same, aren't you?" she asked, a melancholic bitterness to her humor. "So good at painting pretty pictures, but not quite able to see what you're looking at."

Joey did not say anything. Nathan looked between them.

Linda gave another sigh; "You two really were made for each other."

Victory! Triumph! The witch has been defeated!

Joey failed to not smile.

"Linda, that's brilliant!" Nathan suddenly interjected, turning to Joey with that portrait grin, but more genuinely now. "We can arrange for Joey and Henry to have a little meet up, have some chit chat, and then hopefully we'll be able to have Henry distracted the whole day."

Linda and Joey stared at him. He raised his hands, smile faltering.

"It's only a suggestion," he added, flustered by their judging gazes. "No need to follow through with it."

"No, actually... I can see it working," Linda murmured. "Either he'd have forgotten what he did, which is not likely, or if he remembers, then maybe the 'guilt' he talks about will make him stick around Joey and talk with him. It's worth a shot, Nathan. Joey?"

"What exactly do you want me to do?" Joey asked, eyebrows raised. He was not quite following - or maybe he was purposefully being difficult, trying to draw out that positive rush of smug assurance that was running amok in his brain. "Talk to him?"

"Well, in a way, yes," Nathan paused as he thought through what to say. "Distract him- the longer, the better. A whole day would be optimal, if not, well, more."

A whole day with Henry.

"Sounds like a dream," Joey laughed quietly, smiling. "Linda, do you know where Henry will be going at the convention? Anything he was particularly interested in seeing?"

"I don't know," Linda confessed, brow knitting. "He doesn't really talk about it. Maybe he said something about... about... oh, right." Another slight, sad smile. "There's going to be a reshowing of your old toons. Someone is talking about the technology you used for it, a camera company or something. I'm surprised Nathan didn't tell you."

"I wanted it to be a pleasant surprise for Joey," Nathan admitted. Joey blinked, tilting his head at his friend- certainly surprised, a good feeling settling over his shoulders like a hug. Things seemed to be turning around since this trip- he really needed to thank Grant for nudging him to go. "But that sure would be something."

"So I'll meet with him there," Joey cheerfully said. "I'm sure nothing can go wrong at all."

--

Joey could hardly sleep after Linda had left. He and Nathan spoke a bit more on the subject, how they would go about getting Linda to Nathan’s place safely and how to let them know if something were to go wrong (because, in spite of Joey’s high-riding optimism, there was a serious concern that something could go wrong). Joey stared up at the ceiling, fingers intertwined with each other as he tried to quell his anticipation. It had been years since he had seen Henry, and the excitement overshadowed the concern that probably should have been there. After all, Linda was attempting to escape a man she once loved- surely that was cause for some alarm. However, when it came to Henry, Joey knew he was a lost cause; they had built a life together and he had never gotten the closure needed to finish that chapter of his life, where he had been left in a heartbeat. 

Perhaps, he never would. 

Not with Henry. Not when he finally could have him back in his life. There was nothing but excitement in his veins as he looked up at nothing, seeing images of his former friend in his mind’s eye as he partially drifted, mostly basked in joy and anticipation (why were those two words so foreign to him, yet so familiar?). 

He was up and raring to go far before Nathan was, scarfing down a breakfast so fast it nearly made him choke. A clogged windpipe would not stop him from getting to meet with Henry once again. Nathan’s son, Wilson, drove him to and dropped him off at the convention. Many more people recognized him the second day, seemingly just as excited to see him as he was to see Henry. Yet Joey knew that none of them would be half as excited to see Henry as Joey was. So he greeted and spoke and nodded along, all the while his bright green eyes scanned the crowd. Soon, the show was starting, the presenter brimming with delight that the creator of the show was watching- though, as upon Joey’s request, did not mention his presence (unless he were to see Henry as well). The presentation was rather interesting, even though Joey’s heart began to sink at the notion that Henry was in fact a no show. 

But then, the presenter froze, and grew allthemore excited before continuing, fidgeting and barely able to restrain a beaming grin. At the end of the showing, she announced her gratitude that both the esteemed Joey Drew and the elusive Henry Stein had come to attend her presentation. Joey saw a brown haired head suddenly rise above the others, square framed glasses flashing into Joey’s vision. 

His heart skipped a beat as he smiled and waved. 

Henry gawked at him, eyes wide behind the glass. 

“Hello, old pal,” Joey brightly said. “Good to see you again!”

Henry only stared, shocked. He was about to say something when the crowd around them shifted, moving the two of them to the center together. 

“Let’s catch up with some lunch?” Joey asked him in a mutter, smiling from ear to ear, unable to contain his absolute delight. Henry, too overwhelmed to think of anything else, agreed with a; “I need a drink. And you are paying.”

[starlonga]

[jhsharman]

"Dear Diary"

The second of a premise of Betty as unreliable narrator for diary writing, which then moved into one page installments largely by Al Hartley. I suspect that when Kathleen Webb referred to finding inspiration from the diary narration by Betty as inspiration -- and then it moved into a title -- one or two 70s stories where Betty is not fabricating things are being referred to more than this.

They appear to color in new leggings for Betty in the second panel. And can't decide on a new pants color for Archie here.

[galaxynajma]

People say gojo satoru has the prettiest lips and yeah he does

But what about HIM!

pretty boy has way better lips ( yes that’s actually his name)

What lipstick is he wearing? ( or maybe he just has really pink lips )

[exactlysizzlingdonut]

BISHOUNEN CONTENT BECAUSE IM IN LOVE WITH HIM FR. MANS CAN MAKE ME KMS ANYTIME.

The fabric 👹👹

Also his calves??? I’m a sucker for nice calves bro

Like look how sculpted they are RAAAAGAGHHHH

I need this figure in my life

[ideologyofone]

Do you think we’re soulmates in another universe?

[autoexorcism]

you never found your way out of my mind

[cholvoq]

“in all timelines, in all possibilities, only you…can show me this.”

[kingdeath000]

TRANS WOMEN ARE REAL WOMEN AND DESERVE REPRESENTATION IN MEDIA JUST AS MUCH AS ANY OTHER WOMAN

This post is cancelled. Look at quakke instead ⤵️

[symphonyofsilence]

Let the poor man rest.

[stanpineskisser]

Stan is SUCH a girldad it makes my heart hurt

(Any ship taggers will be blocked on sight 🩷)