#My black marker died again Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[amethysttable]

Pesky Bird alert!!

[zahri-melitor]

Playing with the Dick-Jason-Tim age timeline again because playing with “can I fit Dick being 8 at the circus and Tim also being there” is enrichment for my brain.

Using Batman: Year 3 and A Lonely Place of Dying as the starting point this time, being that they are the ORIGIN of the timeline dilemma that nobody can quite square, and I have a solution to offer for the timeline up to LPoD (highly dependent on ‘if the pre-Crisis fact doesn’t fit, that’s because it’s pre-Crisis’ and ignoring future retcons. I’m building this from the original scaffold)

Dick is 8 at the circus. Tim is 3. We will establish this via Year 3 (“almost 10 years” since the Graysons died/the orphanage) and Tim’s canonical age in LPoD (13).

Given the fuzziness over when Tim actually turned 14, we’re going to run with Dick being close to his birthday when LPoD occurs. Using the 20 March birthday for Dick and the 19 July birthday for Tim, this gives us a 5 year, 4 month age gap and makes Tim about 3 ½ at the circus, which is a little older than I like him to be (I have so much more flexibility with dates if I can claim he’s 2, damn you Year 3 for using ‘almost’ rather than ‘approximately’), but we’ll live with it because I really need Dick to be almost 19 on the day Tim appears simply to try and cram as much pre-Crisis late-Robin and Nightwing history in as possible. This contradicts Dick being 20 prior to Jason’s death, but Dick can’t both be 20, have the circus 10 years ago, and be 8 years old for his parents’ death. However, squaring this with Janet Drake’s burial date of Christmas Eve is difficult, because Tim still being 13 at her funeral becomes impossible. Alternatively, if we use the 24 October birthday for Dick and still place Haly’s Circus and LPoD in the period before Dick’s birthday (maybe some time in September/October), we can come out of this with “about to turn 19” Dick and “13 and a bit” Tim, with a 5 year, 9 months gap between them, plus giving Tim a 3 month training period before he debuts as Robin on 24 December. In either case, choose whether Dick being born on the first of Northern Hemisphere Spring or Janet Drake being buried on Actual Christmas Eve is the more important fact in your heart to determine which option you use here.

Timeline markers:

Dick therefore does not debut as Robin until he is 9. He was Robin from 1940 to 1984, a period of 8, almost 9 years using ye olde 5 real years to 1 comics year rule. This actually matches fairly well with the date I want to give as when Dick stops being Robin – at some point when he’s 17. Yes, I have to give up the semester at Hudson University still happening while Dick is Robin not Nightwing, but that’s pre-Crisis. The Bruce and Dick fight where Bruce benches Dick, Dick storms out, and heads off to New York to be his own man (and changes his name to Nightwing) all happens at some point when Dick is ~17. Dick’s schooling is a bit of a black hole given his childhood and the contradictory birthdays (and the fact I’m not great on northern hemisphere school year dates and start dates). I THINK the October birthday is better for this in that we just have to pretend he was the youngest in the class, and can say Dick finished school still 17 and before he becomes Nightwing. March birthday I think if the fight happened while Dick was still 17 and at school, our lad was commuting from New York to school for the final few months (good thing his best friends include a speedster and a flyer, I guess). Or it happened when Dick was 18 and 3 months on approximately the exact day after Dick finished school, and the timeline suddenly gets VERY tight.

I like Dick being 17 when he becomes Nightwing if we can wrangle it for the simple fact that it gives a nice parallel for when Tim is 17 (and also loses the Robin title). Dick having gone through his big growing up moment before he entered legal adulthood makes the way the same mistake echoes down over the years more poignant (everyone has to grow up too young). I also would really like Dick to have finished his high school education before he becomes Nightwing simply because it makes a more coherent growing up narrative (and figuring out how Dick finished his education if he was living in New York is a headache we can then avoid).

In any case. Dick’s had his fight with Bruce. Call it June-July. Bruce, feeling lonely, decides the next sad teenager he meets who is trying to steal his tires is a great prospect to be the next Robin (son). Hello Jason. Jason is also 13. He is about to turn 14 the first moment possible. His birthday is apparently 16 August, which works really well for the fight going down right after Dick finishes school. Bruce makes Jason Robin. We are now on a hurried countdown. Jason turns 14. He was Robin from 1983-1988, which is right on 5 years, so approximately 1 comic year. Jason canonically dies on 27 April according to one picture of his tombstone. This would make him 14-nearly-15. This works great for October Birthday Dick and terrible for March Birthday Dick. If we have October Birthday Dick, Jason was around for ~10 months before he dies in April. If we have March Birthday Dick, Jason was around for anywhere between 7 months (Dick fired at 18 in June, Jason dies around January the next year) and a year (Dick fired before March still 17, Jason appears immediately after, and again dies around January/February the next year) while we ignore that April death date.

This works well on a meta level. One, there’s simply not that many Jason-as-Robin stories. Every time people stretch his period from Batmobile-tyres-to-death out beyond 20 months or so, you start hitting the point where you have more timeline than story to fill it, a problem seen practically nowhere else in comics. Jason has been cited as having 6 months of training before he went out on the streets. You can keep all of this if you want a very short period with Jason in the costume, you can call this comics time and shorten it if you’d prefer Jason to have longer in the costume. But Jason-as-Robin only lasting under a year lines up with everything about how we approximate the passage of time in comics. Secondly, Jason being Robin for only a short period matches the fact that he has very few interactions with Dick and the wider hero community. He has, what, ONE team up with the Titans? The one ski trip with Dick? Checking the Events timeline he had COIE (which he doesn’t remember), plus Legends and Millennium, for 3 Events during his tenure. He appears on page for all of these, but not in a manner where he’s interacting with heroes outside Gotham in any way he’d remember. He’s pretty isolated, but also there really isn’t any TIME to give him wider connections.

Also during this period, the majority of the NTT stuff prior to LPoD occurs, and Dick hypothetically does his single semester at university before dropping out (probably due to the amount of stuff going on in his life making studying hard). He may even have dropped out of university DUE to the drama surrounding all of this depending on which birthday timeline you run with. Tim is a lil bean at boarding school.

In any case, Jason Todd died. He wasn’t even 15 yet. It’s very tragic. Bruce immediately starts going off the rails with grief. October Birthday Dick (seriously, this just suits the timeframe here so much better) then gives us anywhere between 3-6 months of Bruce grieving and getting steadily more unstable before 13 year old Tim Drake decides Something Must Be Done, We Need A Robin. He then heads off to find Dick Grayson at any point between July and October, make this gap however long-short you want. March Birthday Dick we probably cram death-until-realisation into under 2 months, but we’re working with even more of a sliding scale given it’s just harder to anchor known stuff in this timeline.

Ta da!

Conclusions:

if I want this to work I am gonna run with the 24 October birthday for Dick, just because it makes pinning dates down easier. Sorry, 20 March birthday fans.

Ages: Tim is either 5 years, 4 months or 5 years, 8 months younger than Dick. Tim is 23 months younger than Jason. Jason is either 3 years, 3 months or 3 years, 7 months younger than Dick.

Cass is 2 years, 6 months older than Tim. She is 5 months older than Jason. She is either 2 years, 10 months or 3 years, 2 months younger than Dick.

Steph is about a year older than Tim and about a year younger than Cass.

Damian, who is extremely indirectly affected by anything in this timeline, is 6-7 years younger than Tim and 12 years younger than Dick. He was definitely conceived while Dick was Robin.

Incidentally: Tim figuring out Dick is Robin happens when he is 9. With this timeline, Dick was 14-15 when Tim worked that out. Tim therefore spent at LEAST two years fanboying Dick!Robin, and then saw Jason!Robin for at most a year, realistically closer to 6 months. “Jason was my Robin” doesn’t exist

(Also tragically for me, The ‘Tim is 3’ reading of the circus means that Tim was definitely born prior to Bruce’s return to Gotham. There’s this lovely little wrinkle that if you use a timeline where he’s 2 at the circus, he was probably born right around when Bruce debuted at Batman, which is just a sweet little note for a character so tied to other people’s origin stories)

(Seriously though if you allow Dick be 10 when he is orphaned, it lets him be Robin until 18-19, he can turn 20 before Jason’s death, frees up so much timeline kludging around the Jason period, even if it does create a bigger age gap between Dick and Tim)

[lostshots]

thoughts on shadow generation

now that im done playing the story here are some of my thoughts:

the cut scenes are so good, although the detail on the model's fur/texture is a bit distracting (it's not a bad thing)

the flavour text is great! we get to see some insight on maria's and shadow's relationship on the ark, as well as the other characters relationship towards shadow

maybe it's the fact that this is my 2nd sonic game, but it's boring that all enemies have the same attack pattern: staying still until you come closer, then they shoot projectiles

hades 2 spoiled me for combat lol

it's so nice to see shadowing emoting again

i approve this game for people awful at platformers (signed by me, a person who sucks at them)

its really easy to fall off the ledge or miss homing shots at enemies/bounce pads if you arent paying attention

removing lives is handy

there were some areas i couldnt find, so i had to use a walkthrough just to get back to mephiles' area once i had all the keys

actually i fell off the path going to the black moon, so i had recollect rings and figure out how to get back up there again. not fun

i spent so long on the last phase of neo devil doom bc i kept running out of rings

sucks there's no checkpoint for that, but it is the final boss

would have been cool to see shadow introduce his friends to his family, but time paradox i guess

wish the doom morph could be activated at will so i can show maria squidow

actually rouge not commenting on his wings is a missed moment (dont think i saw mention of it in the compilations)

There are a lot of callbacks and references to past events

The anniversary manga is one of them (shadows name origin)

Shadow and Maria's relationship is a standout

some speculation:

Sad that shadow probably ended worse off emotionally at the end of it

if the timeline is intact, gerald probably died enraged at shadow too, since even his past fatherly feelings didnt stop him from writing over shadow's mind

there's no way they wouldnt expand on maria's little sister since they added her in

they probably dont know about ivo/eggman since there's no mention of him in the journals, and maria doesnt mention cousins

so eggman might have been born after the ark tragedy

which makes it funnier that shadow will be older than eggman, and his adoptive uncle

someone else mentioned it, but it's surprising that they deconfirmed the mural theory, since gerald respected the land too much to explore it or see the master emerald shrine

maria mentioned being surprised that he popped out as a hedgehog, and gerald's journal just calls him a sturdy biped. which means the species was not planned

so shadow really is a black arms in the shape of a hedgehog

there goes the theory that there's a hedgehog donor out there

would have been funny if it was a male hedgehog that donated some samples

then shadow gets 3 dads yay

actually would gerald go far enough to use maria's DNA to create shadow? for the gene compatibility if he managed to remove some of the markers for NIDs?

the manga showed blood transfusion, and that would only work if he had a suitable blood type

apparently it is possible for animal blood to be used in transfusion, just not worth it bc of antibodies?

someone who knows about biology correct me, i just did a quick google search

that would make shadow a black arms/human/hedgehog hybrid (if hedgehog dna was even used)

overall, very fun, and the main story can be completed in 6 hours.

now let's see if i can finish all the achievements after beating sonic gens...

[emberdew]

Be More Ghost Chapter 3: The Squip Pitch

Summary:

A Be More Chill AU where Danny gets a Super Quantum Intel Unit Processor (or Squip) to help him become cool and win over Valerie, but things don't really go as planned.

Masterpost | AO3 Link | Word Count: 1,207

If you take my advice and if you pay the listed price, well then you go from sad to interesting to hip! Yeah, your whole life will flip when you buy a Squip.

Danny made his way over to the bathroom and started to try scrubbing off the marker stains on his backpack. It wasn’t going well. He grimaced at the smudged black lines that just wouldn’t go away.

Boyfriends… What would it be like if Danny and Tucker did date? Did he even like Tucker like that? Danny wasn’t really sure. And obviously, Tucker couldn’t feel that way about Danny. They were totally just friends and it was probably better if they stayed that way. 

Yeah, Danny and Tucker were just good friends. Danny was crushing super hard on Valerie right now anyway, so even thinking about a relationship with Tucker wouldn’t make sense.

But it had been nice when Tucker hugged him earlier…

“Fenton! I told you not to wash that off!” 

Danny jolted and dropped his bag as his hands involuntarily turned intangible. He hadn’t noticed when Kwan had entered the bathroom.

Dreading confrontation, Danny started heading for a stall. Maybe he could just avoid Kwan-

“Sneaking into a stall to get away from me? That’s just pathetic.” Kwan sneered at him. 

Danny stilled and lowered his hand from where he was reaching for the stall door. He braced himself for whatever transphobic comment Kwan was probably going to say next, but instead he kept staring at Danny without saying anything.

Then, Kwan’s whole body twitched. The movement reminded Danny of when a ghost overshadowed a human. But Danny’s ghost sense hadn’t gone off, so Kwan couldn’t be overshadowed, right? 

Kwan started mumbling something and Danny just got more uncomfortable. What was going on? 

“I- um. I’m gonna go.” Danny turned toward the door.

“Wait.” Kwan stopped him. His voice had a weird intensity that again made Danny think that Kwan could be overshadowed. Danny tried to check Kwan’s eyes for evidence of overshadowing but his irises just looked like their normal brown- not glazed over or ghostly.

“Do you remember me in middle school?” 

Danny was sure he hadn’t met Kwan until freshman year at Casper High when he became best friends with Dash and started bullying Danny like all the other A-Listers. What kind of question was that, anyway?

“We didn’t go to the same middle school-” 

Kwan interrupted him by banging his fist against the bathroom wall. Danny took a step back in surprise.

“Yes, we did! You just didn’t notice me.” Kwan turned his head, looking away from him to stare at the bathroom wall. “Nobody did.”

Danny tilted his head as he eyed Kwan. They had gone to the same middle school? What was he getting at?

“In middle school, I was a loser just like you,” Kwan turned his head back to smile at Danny, “but then, I got a Squip.”

“You got a what?”

“A Squip. It’s some top-secret, can’t-even-look-it-up-on-the-internet shit.”

Danny was even more confused. He’d never heard of a Squip. He thought maybe Tucker would know; he would have to ask later. But why was Kwan telling him about this now?

“It’s from Japan. It’s a gray oblong pill- quantum nanotechnology CPU,” Kwan continued. “The quantum computer in the pill will travel through your blood until it implants in your brain and it tells you what to do.” Kwan pointed to his skull.

“It does what?” Danny raised an eyebrow. That was… pretty unbelievable.

“Shut up!” Kwan grabbed the front of his shirt and pinned him to the wall. Danny resisted the urge to turn intangible to get out of his grasp.

Danny cringed, expecting Kwan to punch him in the face. Instead, Kwan slowly brought him back to the ground and let go of his shirt. 

“My bad, old habits die hard.” Kwan dusted Danny’s sleeve. Danny bit back a joke about how he had half-died hard too.

“Anyways, I’m sorry for bullying you. I only did it ‘cause my Squip told me to.”

Danny didn’t think that was a very good apology but he wasn’t going to say anything.

“But now my Squip is saying you’re not a bad dude. You might want a Squip too.” Kwan looked thoughtful, which was not an expression Danny was used to seeing on the jock’s face.

“Are you offering me drugs?” Danny asked incredulously. This whole situation was just getting weirder and weirder. 

“This is better than drugs, Fenton.” Kwan smirked at him. “It’s a super advanced AI that you can hear in your mind. It helps you to act correctly. It’ll help you to be cool.” 

This was sounding too good to be true to Danny. But now Kwan had him hooked. He wanted to stay and hear him out.

“Picture this-” Kwan held his fingers out like a frame, “no one would care if you’re late. All the teachers would love you. You’d get to join the A-Listers for sure.” 

Danny remembered what it was like being an A-Lister when Kitty had overshadowed Paulina to make her date him. Life had been easier for him- not having to come up with explanations when getting back to class after a ghost fight, not having to do his homework, not getting bullied anymore. But he had missed Tucker and Sam… And hadn’t Kwan gotten kicked out of A-Listers?

“Wait, if this Squip thing is so great, how did you get dropped from A-Listers last year?”

“Oh, that was just a temporary setback.” Kwan waved the question away. “My Squip knew you wouldn’t be in my spot for long. And if you had your own Squip, we could both stay A-Listers this time.” 

“Okay…” Danny thought that explanation seemed reasonable.

“Look,” Kwan put his hand on Danny’s shoulder, “right now you’re helpless and almost hopeless. But getting a Squip is life-changing. You gotta buy one.”

Danny just nodded slowly.

“I have a hook-up who works at the Payless Shoes at the Amity Park Mall. Bring me six hundred on Monday and you’ll be set.” Kwan turned away from Danny and started heading toward the door.

“Six hundred dollars?” Danny gaped. How was he going to get that much money?

“It’s worth it, you’ll see.” Kwan pointed at him and left. 

Danny stood alone in the bathroom, mulling over the whole bizarre interaction. A piece of technology that could help him be cool? Could that really be real?

Maybe Kwan was just messing with him. 

Shaking his head, he picked up his backpack from where he had dropped it in the sink and inspected it. It seemed like “BOYF” was just going to be a permanent fixture now. Resigned, he turned the bag intangible to phase the water off it, shoved all his stuff back in it, and slung it around his back. He walked over to the nearest stall and reached for the ball of ghostly energy in his chest to trigger his transformation into Phantom. After the white rings swept over his body, he soared out of the school and started flying home.

The stuff Kwan had said, his pitch for that life-changing tech, kept replaying in the back of his mind the whole way back.

[wandering-and-wondering]

Four stories about my feelings

Story 1

Janus, at a crossroads, tired, standing still, feet are hurting not my own, shoes, stuck in black tar, almost comforting so I say and stay stuck, it my fault, oh if I listen to my mother and the father than I would still be on a the leash of fate like I deserve, I deserve this, being stuck, being sick, cover in red spots that I can’t wash away, tame me, touch me, control me, with your massive magnificent hands, i look up and shrugged and hope for rain in this desert holding my hands towards the sun as it mock me, as I try not to melt, knowing that the only shadow is under the shoes, the one I am curse to inhabit,

should I falter and dissolve into the sand be one with stardust that I and my smarter ancestors can finally be one or they also will judge and forbid me from the pearly gates like I deserve because I did little and not enough, forshame and forsake this tainted soul they said I sin once, then I would go to hell and the demons and imps will mock me for my humble and nice attitude I’m not good enough to be hurt for all my transgressions, they said I only sin once and both the good and the bad would agree and sent me to the gray void, I lay alone yelling and wailing to the infinite limbo my actions wouldn’t matter. I would just exist, just like did on earth, why? Why? Why?

I throw up the black tar as it cover my feet and am curse remember my awareness of my predicament of being stuck I cry and sweat in this desert hoping the water might reach my lips, but a last, pillar of salt, I look back and nothing happens, nothing upon nothing upon nothing, a pawn of nothing, I look a lot, I always look but never speak, my mouth clamp with a melted sliver of silver coin, Useless, how could I be so stupid? I didn’t recall my younger self wouldn’t have these problems and life oh how I jealous of her, an angel and I lose her wings, for shame, I so sorry, I molded her body shed her again and again becoming a shred of her, I hope they can all forgive for being and not being, there along the distant I see a mob of a ficking black mass, judgment or freedom please I beg please take me use me I don’t want to care anymore but it never comes it a moves but never takes me. And I’m still stuck in tar, at a crossroads, on this earth, God why?

Story 2

I look at the seed packet on my desk it is cover in dust, it wails and mocks me with it presence. It was stupid to buy, just set decorations now. But I’m sorry for it, it lay there silently in stasis, waiting for me something but I never do. It and I wonder if it will ever become a plant. But what if I plant it and it dies, or get eaten birds and creatures, or worse what if it shows nothing just dirt and a pot and a faux seed, a boiled one that the king gave me for a test and I was too late, I’m sorry my little seed, I’m a horrible mother

Story 3

I live in a cardboard box, I went in to years ago, and I decided to stay, you can see my drawings that I drew on it with this gray marker,which use to have many colors but it broken and bleed together into this muddy gray, this box use to be so big but it shrink, well it more snug now, that’s fine, I’m fine, I don’t know how long i been in these brown walls, and why should I care I like being here, alone with my drawings cover walls and my thoughts, alone… abandoned…I wonder if anyone is looking for me, but I don’t care it not like I want to be found, and if I was they would probably be too loud, would they be mad? Anyway I like it here, it safe and familiar, although soon there will be no more room to cover with my drawings I already cover my body with marker, was that bad, would they be mad that I tainted my body that I’m marked with marker, it doesn’t matter because I like it here, I though I can’t stand properly anymore, my back hurt. Would they be mad at me, I'm sorry if I’m complaining. I know it's my fault I’m trapped in here, my younger self wouldn’t complain about their back hurting so why should I? Even if they were smaller than I am now, what I’m I saying? I like being in here it’s my box, If I leave it will be throw away, it can survive without me and I it, I don’t want to got back to the chaos outside because it too much, and I hate outside, I wonder how it change without me,

Probably not much, right? I don’t care, it’s just me and my box, together…forever… ugh… smile this is what you wanted…right?

Story 4

I am corrupted, cover in these marroon splotches that I hide under my white robes, I know that I can only see them, they move they dance when I think, I don’t admit it but they entertain me I didn’t say that, they grow the more I think especially when I think of taboo and the shadow of things but I mustn’t, cover them up but why should I what if I admit I kinda like the spots? They are unique and different? So tell me why can’t I touch the flame to feel it warmth? Why can’t I got to the shadow to escape when the sun is always, if everything was white and clear then we wouldn’t know where anything was because everything would look the same and would bump into things, why can’t I cry and scream, why should I follow people who are dead to me because he is watching? who’s he? If he is all the good and the snake is all the bad, then does my actions have any weight if they are control from the person upstairs or downstairs? Why am I here to either follow one or the other? To repent, to wash the mud I was molded, created from? Am I just a sheep trapped in a pen? Why does everyone think it’s always black and white? If it was then why do we need judges to judge the gray, to separate it into black and white? I like gray its my second favorite color. I like mud and fuzzy things. I like chaos and unpredictability. But I do understand the point of the others because I care about them. I’m aware I contain multitudes, but I don’t understand why people are mean hearted, I guess they aren’t in their head, because they have surface friends, pleasant civil people they can connect to their own community when I am alone with my thoughts because I’m a sinner and a humbug. I just hate being just a picture. I want to 3d, or 2d with this imploding brain that’s spirals into oblivion, to infinity. I sometimes wish to be just a sheep and follower, and yes man. but I think too much you know? It has it pros and cons, always it pros and cons. But at least I’m imaginative and empathic for better and for worse, I look into the void and want to just touch it even if everybody is tell me to not to. They always want me to do and don’t do things, I just want to caress the void just to see how this feels then I can be lock up and do as they say I said but I know I that I would want more, like how everyone wants more, I just don’t think we were meant to become this big we are not gods even if we want to believe we have a purpose every one wants to become bigger them themselves because we don’t want to relate to the animals we are and we made tools but we don’t really know who made us if no at all, it almost impossible for to now the source of our souls, so we fear and scream and dance until we die and return to the dirt to the earth and where we enter an eternal sleep and dream of-I don’t know, I know I don’t have the answers that everyone been asking since we became sapient and sentient I aware that I’m not aware of everything and I can say I’m ok with that but I’m not because I’m human you know?

[curseofhecate]

And you understand now why they lost their mind and fought the wars

Anthony Lockwood x fem!reader

They are best friends since forever yet they only now realize they're in love with each other.

3.1k

This has been long overdue. But it's finally here. I really hope you enjoy it and it's not that bad as it was in my head. Also it's the first time writting for Lockwood and I have yet to read the books because I'm a slow reader and I'm still stuck at a thausand boy kisses by Tillie Cole. This based off of You're in love (Taylor's Version).

The tension in the room was unbearable. It wasn't unusual for a case to go horribly wrong but it was a rare occurrence that one of them would get hurt. 

Last night's case could be rightfully referred to as a disaster. It had all gone wrong from the very start. The little information they had on the house's history, Lucy forgetting the salt bombs, the client's lie about the number of ghosts they'd have to face,it had all led up to this. 

No one had gotten seriously injured but in Lockwood's eyes even a broken wrist was too much of a damage. Especially when it was his best friend that had suffered the injury. 

It was well past 3 am now and tiredness was evident among the team. After a difficult case and a trip to the hospital, the last thing the three of them needed was their boss scolding them and pointing out everything they had done wrongly. 

Lockwood sighed, waving them off and assured them that they'd continue this conversation in the morning to which the rest of his team groaned. George was the first to go up to his room, complaining about how he needed to shower. Lucy lingered for a bit, finishing the rest of her tea in one big sip before bidding them goodnight and retiring to her room as well.

That left the two best friends alone in the kitchen. Lockwood got up from his seat, only now noticing how his tea had grown cold. He placed the kettle on the stove and opted for chamomile while the girl lit the three candles in the middle of the table. As he placed the two mugs on the table she turned off the lights and sat down next to the boy. "It's hurting my eyes" She shrugged at the boy's confused expression. 

Taking a small sip from the steaming mug in front of him, Lockwood turned to look at her again. Only this time his gaze didn't give away irritation or anger. His eyes had softened, the previous flames had died down and in their place was now worry and adoration.

This was a side of Anthony Lockwood few people were privileged to see, and even to them it was a rare sight. It was a look meant just for her, his best friend since he could remember.

His gaze shifted from her eyes to her injured wrist that now had a cast wrapped around it. "Does it hurt?" He asked gently, grabbing her wrist to inspect it, even though one couldn't notice anything out of place due to the cast. 

"I'll get over it. We both know I've had worst" She shrugged. Anthony sighed. He didn't like the idea of her getting hurt, especially because of him. Reaching over the table for the marker George had abandoned he smiled a little once he saw the little doodle on the thinking cloth. Another version of George’s take on angry Lockwood.

“Well in his defense, it did look like smoke was coming out of your ears” Y/n chuckled once she saw what he was looking at. Lockwood didn’t argue, only uncapped the marker gently grabbed her injured wrist again. 

“Can I?” he asked looking up from confirmation. The girl nodded, moving closer so that it would be easier for him to write on her cast. And right there, in the dimly lit kitchen and in the early hours of the morning, Lockwood wrote his name in black ink. He was careful, writing it on her inner wrist where no one could see his first name, Anthony, written in calligraphic letters, if they didn’t already know.

“People will think I’m your property Lockwood” she joked. “As if you could ever be someone’s property” he argued. 

He hoped that the dim light would hide the rosy color that was spreading on his cheeks and that she couldn’t feel the heat radiating off his face. And, truth is, there wasn’t much proof of Lockwood’s blushing. But she knew him too well and could tell by the tiny and subtle change in his demeanor. 

She had seen just enough to know.

It had been roughly a week since that night when someone else noticed the carefully written word. She and Lucy had been hanging out in their shared room, goofing around, flipping through magazines, painting each other’s nails and gossiping. It was one of the very few nights they didn’t have to deal with visitors and hauntings, which was a rare occurrence. 

“Oh come on! I want to sign your cast” Lucy complained, holding up a pink glitter pen. “No Luce, you’re going to ruin it” she said, letting herself fall back onto the bed, sighing. It had been a long day. Between spending the better half of the day with George at the Archives, doing research for tomorrow night’s case, coming back to find Lucy and Lockwood arguing about who would go out to buy the groceries (which was pointless as Y/n offered to go instead, to which Lockwood insisted he’d be the one to do it since she had a broken wrist and, according to him, couldn’t carry a single bag but still let her tag along with him) and dancing with Lucy to whatever song the radio was playing she had become exhausted. 

“How come Lockwood can sign your cast but I can’t” she pouted. Her words had her sitting back up in mere seconds. “What? You two know that I’m not stupid enough not to notice. God, even George isn’t that oblivious”.

“George knows too?” the other asked, confused.

Lucy nodded in response. The girl groaned, falling back onto the bed, already knowing what’s coming. 

“So, has he asked you out yet or-”

A pillow was thrown in her face, cutting her off. “Shut up” Y/n said, blushing, head down looking at her hands in a futile attempt to hide the pink color that was rising to her cheeks. Lucy took hold of the pillow and threw it back at her friend with little force so as to not hurt her. “You're blushing” she announced laughing at her friend.

“Oh shut up!

"Are you sure you're going to be alright on your own?" asked Lockwood, standing in the middle of their living room, their equipment bags placed down on the floor beside him. Her and Lockwood had been arguing back and forth all day about whether she could, or not, join tonight's case. It had already been four weeks since the accident that led to breaking her good wrist and the girl was growing tired of not being able to accompany the others on their nightly adventures. However no one could deny that she couldn’t yet fully handle a rapier so Lockwood won that argument.

"I could still come with you, '' she offered, hoping that he would finally cave in. "N/n we've already been through this'' he scolded, like a parent would their child,which was quite funny since it usually was the other way around whenever Lockwood decided to do something reckless (which was at least once during every case).

"Fine."

"You still haven't answered my question," he pointed out.

She sighed. "Yes, Anthony I'm going to be just fine. I can handle myself. Besides you are the ones staying out after curfew and putting yourself in danger while fighting ghosts."

"Like you don't do the same every other night."

"Apparently, I don't," she said, raising her bandaged wrist.

Lockwood laughed at her antics. "As soon as you can handle your rapier without dropping it every two minutes, I'll let you come with us. I promise. But until then you have to rest."

"I think I've had enough rest for the next eternity" she groaned.

"I just don't want to risk you getting hurt again. I want you to be safe. And taking you with us when you can't use your rapier means you can't defend yourself. And as much as I'd love to be your personal knight, I can't risk anything happening to you."

"I know Anth" she said, moving forward to pull him in a hug. The boy copied her actions, pressing a soft kiss on top of her head.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

Lucy hated that I love you, didn't seem to be doing anything for the two. She hated that they were both so clueless to their feelings for one another. She hated that they couldn't just kiss already. She hated that she had to sit through all this painfully slow slow burn. But most of all she hated that she'd have to ruin their little moment.

"Come on lovebirds. We have a ghost to take down" George interrupted them before Lucy could even say anything.

The Lockwood&Co agency was out of commision for the holidays. 

It usually felt nice to have a break. Not when it was the Christmas season. There were, simply, too many things to do, and that left all four of the friends exhausted. And now, well into the evening of Christmas Eve, the house was for once quiet.

George and Lucy had retired to their bedrooms a little while ago, which left Lockwood and Y/n. The two best friends were sitting side by side on the couch, sharing a blanket. Two empty mugs were abandoned on the coffee table in front of them and the radio played softly in the background.

And while Lockwood was immersed in the book he was reading, his best friend was resting her head on his shoulder, her eyes drifting from the book he was reading to the window.

The usually bleak weather had been replaced by a lighter sky and a soft white had started to cover everything. Noticing this, the girl tugged on the sleeve of his sweatshirt and lifted her head from his shoulder. This seemed to gain his attention as he averted his gaze from the book and looked at her confused.

"It's snowing,'' she announced. Getting up from the couch she pulled on her snow boots quickly and reached for their coats, throwing Lockwood his before putting her own on.

He didn't need to ask to know what that meant. Actually he knew just the moment she pointed the change of weather out to him. He knew there was no point in arguing with her, so instead he put on his coat and started searching for his own pair of snow boots.

When he had successfully put them on he was quick to follow the girl out the door leading to their backyard. And just as the door closed behind him, he felt something cold hit the back of his head. "Hey" he exclaimed, faking agitation as he turned to face her.

The girl gave him an innocent smile which didn't last long when a few seconds later she broke out laughing. Lockwood was amused. For a moment he froze in his place, not because of the cold or the snow but because he was mesmerized by the girl in front of him and time stood still for a second.

What could he have possibly done to deserve an angel like her?

The boy was pulled out of his trance when another snowball hit his face and his best friend was suddenly laughing harder than before.

He smiled a little, scooping up snow from the ground and throwing the snowball at her. The girl stopped laughing, clearly not expecting it. She glared at the boy as if he was an old friend that had betrayed her and turned into her worst enemy before her face broke into a soft smile as she picked up snow to throw back at him.

"Oh, it's on" Lockwood shook his head as he copied her actions.

Their little snowball fight lasted a bit over 20 minutes and it consisted of throwing snowballs at each other, laughing and giggling as Lockwood chased her around. Eventually they both got tired and when he finally caught her he lost his balance and ended up tackling her to the ground.

He rolled on his back and the two laid there, on the snowy ground, for a few minutes, laughing until they eventually calmed down. There was a silence then, one that lasted only a few seconds and yet it was enough for Anthony John Lockwood to realize that he didn't just love his best friend but he was in love with her.

Pulling himself up, he offered his hand for her to take. She joined their hands and let him pull her up. The two stood there, looking into each others' eyes with their faces only centimeters apart.

Anthony paused, as if wanting to say something but had decided against it at the last second. Then, his eyes never once leaving hers, he said "You're my best friend."

He had told her these words many times yet this once, they seemed to hold a completely different meaning. One that suggested that maybe she wasn't only his best friend and that maybe the line between platonic and romantic love had become blurry.

And it was at that moment that she realized that he was in love. With her.

He was in love with her.

And so was she.

She didn't give it a second thought, because if she had then she would have never actually done it, before pulling him closer and pressing her lips against his in a soft kiss.

And for the second time that day, time stood still for Anthony Lockwood.

And when she pulled away, she looked into his eyes and she told him that "I love you too."

And this time, the phrase she so commonly used with him held a different much deeper and more sacred.

The next morning she woke up in his room, to an empty bed. The clock on the bedside table read a few minutes after seven. She didn't bother changing out of his shirt that he had given her last night to sleep in, because she didn't want to accidentally wake up Lucy, with whom she shared a room with in the process. Instead she walked straight into the kitchen, knowing Lockwood would most likely be there.

And he was, sitting at the table, a steaming cup of tea in front of him and another mug placed directly opposite from him, where she would usually sit.

They greeted each other with a simple morning and she walked over to him first, leaving a kiss on his cheek before settling in her seat, her hand reaching over the table for his. Then there was a quiet "Merry Christmas" and after that a comfortable silence followed.

The two didn't need to exchange words, they understood each other perfectly even without saying things out loud.

She wished every morning could be like this. She wished she'd never have to worry about a case going wrong again or him doing something reckless that would put his life in danger as he more often than not did. She wished she could freeze time and stay in that moment forever.

None of them heard the timer going off. Not when the smell of something burning filled the room.

It was still a wonder for George how Lockwood had managed to burn the toast.

"Did you know that Lockwood has a picture of you in his wallet?" Lucy asked, staring absent-mindendly at the ceiling while laying in her bed. "He does?" asked the girl who lay next to her, turning to look at her friend.

"Mhm" the redhead nodded. "I noticed it yesterday when we went grocery shopping together," she continued.

"That's a bit weird. To keep a picture of your girlfriend in your wallet" Y/n pointed out.

"I actually find it really romantic. It's like he wants to have a piece of you with him all the time. I didn't really believe it could happen outside of romance novels" Lucy shrugged. "Hm. Who knew Lockwood could be such a romantic. Don't tell him I told you though because he will refuse it."

"That he keeps a picture of me in his wallet or that you called him a romantic?" the other girl laughed.

"I was talking about the picture but I guess he would have the same reaction in both cases."

She never really knew what it was like to be in love. She didn't know how to expect it would feel. She didn't even know how one falls in love with another, so much that they would go to the ends of the earth and sacrifice both themselves and the world for the other person. She thought it was something that existed purely in books, novels that would keep her up all night. And even if it did, she thought that she would never find it. That it wasn’t for her.

She never believed that she would find the Mr. Darcy to her Elizabeth Bennet; she'd never meet someone who would give up becoming a god for her like Percy Jackson did for Annabeth Chase.

Or at least she didn't used to believe.

But in the end, she found everything she could have asked for and more in the face of Anthony Lockwood, first her best friend and now her lover.

And suddenly, she now understood why some lost their minds and others chose to fight the wars, and even why certain people spend their whole lives trying to put the feeling of loving someone in such a way into words.

Because really, no amount of words, no matter how many or meaningful they were, could ever even begin to describe how she felt for him.

[idcnticxl]

Nova gave a small smile as Buck lit up at her question, then stood to her feet to go retrieve the markers. Upon return she again perched herself on the coffee table, helped Buck lift their leg up to the table and began to look through the box at the various colors.

"I know I'm overreacting, it just-" Nova said with a sigh. This was the part about new friends she hated. She decided on a black marker. "My dad... died in the hospital. When I was like... fifteen. And, y'know... there. Like, right there."

Biting down on the cap she opened the marker with a quick POP before scribbling a quick NOV just above Buck's knee. She underlined it 3 times and drew a star at the end instead of an A. Closing up the marker, she tossed it back in the pack still not yet making eye contact again. With a deep breath Nova shrugged.

"You're fine though, so it's fine," Nova said.

despite the bone-headed decision to waddle halfway across the room to get to nova, buck is grateful for her help back to the couch where they drop back down onto their ass, wincing a little as the movement jostles their hip, sending a mini shock wave down their broken leg. that's what they get for being an idiot.

as much as they want to repeat their assurances to nova, it's apparent their words won't be enough, not for right now anyway. maybe they'll try later once she's calmed down & not feeling so consumed by her guilt. instead they light up at nova's question, nodding. "for sure. there should be a bunch of markers in the drawer by the fridge." markers they've collected courtesy of christopher & their hangout days spent drawing whatever the boy is obsessed with at the time.

[poll-ventures]

Perdition 1.4

< >

I hung up. I stared at the phone in my hand, its screen showing an old rotary telephone slamming into its receiver.

Numbly, I watched it repeat several times before it faded away into the black of the dead screen. Why had I done that?

What am I doing?

I broke into a sprint down the road, running as fast as I could to the woods. 

*****

The woods of Old Hill were untouched. Serene, tranquil, and still easing itself awake from the dusty silence of early morning. I tore through the trees at a sprint, thin vines and branches tearing at my coat as I sped over the cold packed dirt and gnarled forest roots. 

I was following a creek, and I was relatively sure it was the same one that Noel meant. I’d seen the maps of the land in the museums, but those had never held much truth when it came to small details like a small creek in the heavy western woods. Noel's parent's mansion had been built only a few decades ago, so I was guessing at a ghost.

I slowed as I approached a large fallen basswood tree, leaning on it as I caught my breath. I really wasn’t made for running, and my lungs screamed with the icy air pulling and pushing out of them. As I sat on the cool bark, I faced the way I’d come, and recognized it.

I’d been here before, with Noel, when she needed a break from her homework, or life in general. This was near the right spot.

“Noel!” I shouted, turning around on the tree to search for her. The quiet, yet alive chatter of the woods slowed as my voice rung out, then returned as it died.

A woodpecker stabbed a rhythm into a far away tree, and the forest all together went on uncaring. I swore under my breath, and moved my legs to straddle the cold dead tree like a horse.

The felled basswood spanned the creek, and I stared down its length as I caught my breath. Moving my gloved hand down the trunk, I found my glove was sticking to something.

It was a carved heart. The injured wood was green and fresh, sap building up and out at the edges of the cut.

The letters in the heart read N + J, then a date. 2-3-23. Very fresh. I stared at the ‘N’, brushing the older sap aside with my thick gloved digits.

Natalie.

The name still burned painfully in my heart, incorrect and shameful in the memories it wrought. One word from a well meaning stranger, one reminder of the date of the accident, that’s all it took. 

February 15th, 2020. The night was alive in my mind again, without my asking. I turned my head up, to face the woods. 

The woods, as many dark and cold nights on the road had taught me, could be very dangerous. Refusing to drive or even be driven after the accident, I had backpacked my way down from New York.

I’d thought the trip would be quick; Google Maps said ten days, and I thought I'd be in Old Hill in nine, maybe eight days, easy.

After the money for inns and motels had run out, I had realized that walking worked on the same kind of time that hospitals and classes right before lunch did: Slow time. 

Time that stretches on until you're sunburnt and dehydrated, until you want to turn back, but that would make things even worse, and everyone back home doesn’t want you there anyway, so just keep on heading down I-81 counting the mile markers. 

Slow time traps you in this until your eyes roll into the back of your skull, and you’re willing to sleep on a pile of rusty nails because at least they don’t fucking honk at you for having the gall to walk on the shoulder instead of in the gluttonous mud trench that sucks your falling-apart-shoes down its shit-coated-throat.

So, after a long day of trudging, the sun would go down, sometimes obligingly slow, sometimes slipping right out of slow time and into blink-and-you’ll-miss-it time, diving below the horizon and leaving you soaking wet, struggling with two damp sticks to make a fire.

This, however, was preferable to the perils of the interstate’s shoulder and its many bored, cloying cops and just-like-me vagrants.

If I had to choose, though, it’d be the vagrants. I’d shared a few kind fires with a number of them, sometimes learning their names and their stories, sometimes sitting in uneasy silence until we wandered off to sleep in private.

As the weeks wore on, I had been moving into a cold front, and not sleeping in front of the fire had become impossible. 

More often than not, I’d made camp in a thin layer of trees that lined a highway-side property. Sometimes you’d need to hop a fence, which started out hard, but by the second week was routine.

This was technically and legally trespassing, but a camo sleeping bag and a good spot usually got you through the night without disturbance. Usually.

More than once, I’d been woken by something rummaging through my belongings, sometimes even the coat I’d been sleeping in. Sometimes it’d be curious and annoyed animals, but most times it had been people. The cops had always been the worst. 

“What you’re doing is illegal,” they’d say, then look at me confused and finish either with “Sir,” or, more often, “Ma’am.” Always with disapproval in their voice and always using more force than needed.

Sometimes they’d let me move on, or I’d get a ride to their office, where they called my father, confirmed he knew where I was, then bewilderedly let me go, usually with a stern warning. 

Most cops, when they understood, had offered food and drink for my trip. Some had even offered rides, which I graciously denied. Some offered neither, and just let me go.

One, the worst, had left me locked up in the little town’s singular cell for three days and three nights. It was just outside of West Virginia, right after I’d crossed the Kentucky border. 

Jessup, as the nothing little two-road town was called, apparently had trouble keeping folk around. Or so I was told by Jessup’s top boozer, who said his name was Jesse. He’d already been in the cell when I was thrown in.

The officer who’d found me on the side of the road, a mean mugging ugly woman, had given Jesse her meanest mug as she walked away with a clipboard securely tucked beneath one arm.

Jesse of Jessup played harmonica, and drank like a fish. In the morning he was always set free, but at night, he was brought to the cell, what he lovingly and drunkenly called ‘Jesse’s Little Corner of Jessup’. 

On my last night in his town, he’d snuck in a small bottle of Fireball, a deck of cards, and his dirty harmonica, still wet from its play in the bar. After the mean-mugger had left for the night, Jesse showed me how to play Hearts, Bullshit, Garbage, and the 'ca.

He was good, and I told him as much. In his jovial way, he corrected me: “I’m not good,” I remembered him slurring, “I’m mean. ‘Jesse,’ you should say. ‘You play a meaaaaan har-moan-i-cah,’ you should be saying.”

So I did, and he cheered. We shared no campfire, but did huddle and did dance around the rattling radiator, him blowing sharply into the ‘cah and me stomping my boots and clapping my hands.

He’d thanked me for my company, and kissed me gently on the cheek. He’d reeked of alcohol and worse, but I thanked him for his good humor, and let him sleep. 

After the mean-mugger had exhausted all of her attempts to find me guilty of various crimes, she’d let me go. She had demanded I shower first, staring me down with a disappointed grandmotherly glare. So, thanks to her, I walked out of Jessup and up the highway on-ramp cleaner than I’d been in weeks.

The memory of the mean-faced officer set a worry ablaze in my stomach as I stared down the creek. Again, the stab of the woodpecker cut through the wood’s idle chatter. Why was I out here?

Why in the world had I ignored direct orders from an officer of the law, when they knew my name and phone number? It gnawed at me. I’d never done anything like this.

I finally crossed the log, and stepped off of it onto the other side of the creek. “Noel!” I shouted out again, this time more of a bark. A quick check of the woods revealed nothing but the quiet apathy that suffused the trees. Wasting my time, when she could be in danger. What the fuck am I do-

“Hands up,” a thin, scared voice said from behind me. I recognized the slight southern accent.

“Noel,” I said, half turning my head. “I-”

“I said hands up!” She was shouting now, and I turned to face her with my hands up.

Noel, almost thirteen and dressed in stained Hello Kitty pijamas, held a rifle aimed at my chest. The lever action rifle was almost comically large in her arms, and I laughed nervously, falling, then stepping backwards as she approached me slowly, gun held level against her shoulder. She was trying not to cry.

“Where is my father,” she asked in a broken voice, screwing up her face in a grimace.

“I-I don’t know, Noel, what are you doing? I came here to help you,” I blurted out, still holding my hands in the air carefully. “Please, put the gun down.”

She shook her head. “Answer me,” she said, waving it in the air. She stood on the basswood I had crossed the creek on, and faced me, searching my face for a clue.

“I don’t know,” I repeated, feeling the cold press of a tree against my back. The creek babbled quietly next to us, and I stared at her. We both stood, unmoving.

Carefully, she stared at me, then raised the gun to point at my head. “Stop fucking lying!” she barked at me. I flinched, closing my eyes.

“I’m not! The cops said you were missing, nothing about your dad! I don’t know what the hell is going on, I just want you to stop pointing that thing at me,” I said, breathing heavily. 

“Bullshit,” she spat, the curse sounding foreign in her light voice. “Don’t move,” she said, and braced the rifle against her with one arm as she dug in her pocket for something. Then she threw it at me, and adjusted her grip on the gun. 

Her phone landed next to me in the leaves, the screen lighting up to show a picture of Noel and her mother, smiling happily in a selfie. I looked up at her, facing the glare of the rifle’s blackened metal barrel. She stared at me, raw anger in her eyes.

“You know the passcode,” she growled. “Open it. Watch the video.” I blinked, then nodded, crouching slowly and taking my right hand down to put in the numbers. 9-2-1-2. Her birthday.

The phone opened, showing a paused recording of a computer monitor. The woodpecker stabbed his staccato into a nearby tree. I tapped on the screen, then pressed play.

The video was a recording of the security system in the house I’d lived in until yesterday, portrayed in black and white. It was a view from the top of the grand staircase, watching the front door and most of the upstairs balcony, and the time in the bottom left corner read 2:03 A.M..

Noel, holding the camera in the video, was quietly and carefully breathing, the view slowly moving with her breath. The time in security footage flipped to 2:04 A.M.. The real Noel’s breathing suddenly broke out in a gentle shaking wheeze, I wasn’t sure if she was sobbing, or laughing. “Keep watching,” she choked, seeing I was looking up at her.

Car headlights streamed through the front door’s windows, casting shadows on the wall of the balcony floor. The balustrade’s shadows fled quickly across the wall, then slowly melted away as the headlights died. A moment passed, and then the door opened. Noel’s father walked in. 

Kyle Montgomery was a tall man, ambiguously young but mature and well kept. Grey was seeping in at the top of his scalp, peppering his blond, jaw length hair. Carefully hanging his keys on a hook near the door, he stared at himself in the full length mirror next to the door, straightening out his thin mustache and checking his jawline. 

He mussed up his hair, then turned his head back and forth to check if it was correctly incorrect. Nodding in approval, he shrugged off his heavy business coat, and let it drop to the floor as he walked up the stairs. He shed his suit and loosened his tie, leaving him with just a tailored pinstripe button up tucked into perfect black slacks. 

As he rose to the top of the stairs, he stopped and carefully undid the highest button of his shirt, the tie hanging loosely about his chest like an ascot. 

Then, he paused, staring down at the mess of his coat on the ground, the stairs, then the hall the opposite way, where his wife and child were asleep. He looked small in the video, and suddenly very tired. Still facing his bedroom, he raised his hand gently to his mouth, and bit down softly on it. 

He turned to face my bedroom, biting down on his own flesh hard enough to draw a bead of blood. He walked to my door, then knocked on it, drawing his wounded hand to his side, near his hip. He looked as if he were going to draw a sword, though nothing was there, just his right hand hovering a few inches away from his left hip.

The door opened, and I was standing in the crack. I was dressed in pijamas, and looked at him confused. He said something, the recording silent. In the past, I nodded, widening the door.

My brain felt like it was dropped in a bath of ice water, pure confusion washing over me. “What the fuck?” I said aloud, watching myself open the door further, letting him step in. I walked away, disappearing into the room as he slipped through the doorway, then closed it. 

I stared at my door in the video, nauseated. “Noel,” I said, staring up at her from the floor of the forest. “I don’t remember this.” My voice was cracking, confusion and fear seeping into my words from my core.

“Bullshit,” she croaked. She readjusted the grip on the rifle. “I’ve literally seen you do it. I watched you open that door for him! I don’t know what you’re doing in there, but it’s got to be why he’s gone. Where is he?”

“Noel,” I pleaded, “That’s not me. There’s no way, I’m not lying. I wouldn’t do that to you, or your mom,” I said. “Beli-”

“I don’t believe you,” she shouted, almost sobbing now. “You’re a liar. You stole my dad, or killed him, or something, ‘cause you knew it wasn’t right. Almost every night at two A.M., since you got here. Look!” She gestured towards her phone with the rifle. 

I looked down carefully, cringing away from the gun as it came back up to point at me. Noel in the video was shaking, watching as her father left my room, five minutes after he had entered it.

He looked the same as when he’d entered, save for the blood and bite mark on his hand. They were gone. He walked calmly down the stairs, grabbed his coat, and left the house. The car’s headlights cast the familliar shadows in reverse.

The camera spun, and the mouse on the desktop shakily moved to a new folder, reading 2/13/23. Two days ago. The mouse maneuvered to the video file labeled 200, the second file in the folder, and opened it.

Almost on the dot at 2:03 A.M., Mr. Montgomery stepped into the foyer, shrugged his coat onto the floor, then climbed the stairs.

This time, he didn’t pause on the way to my door to bite his hand, stopping only to knock, clearly hover his hand over his empty hip, then enter my room. 

I hadn’t even looked up at him. I’d just let him in. 

“What the fuck,” I whispered hoarsely. 

The mouse skimmed the video to five minutes later, when Kyle exited punctually, closing the door after him carefully, then taking the stairs two at a time to leave the mansion. 

The video then clicked through random nights at two A.M., watching the same process occur many times over, sped up. 

Sometimes he bit his hand, sometimes he just knocked. Always, his hand reached for the empty space at his left hip. I watched, silently, until the video ended suddenly in the middle of a night.

Noel had been staring at me the entire time, burning with silent rage. “Just tell me.”

I took a deep breath, and sat on the cold, packed dirt. “I don’t know, Noel. That’s not me. There’s no way…” 

I wasn’t one to repress memories. My worst traumatic memories, I could remember in painful detail, burned into the fabric of my being. It could be an actor, but no, I’d been there at two A.M., almost every weeknight for a year. I could very distinctly remember my nights, they were usually taken up with studying and listening to music.

A coldly horrible idea formed in my head. He could have been drugging me to make me forget. Something in a drink, or something in food. He hadn’t been carrying anything in with him… 

But it could’ve been in his pocket. I writhed in disgust, and I drew my knees up to my chest, feeling my breath hitch inside me as I stared emptily at the phone. 

“What the fuck was he doing to me,” I said, hollow, not really there, not really meaning to. What had he done to me? Why couldn’t I remember? If he was drugging me inside of my room, how had I let him in? Would I let that man in my room if he knocked? No. Definitely no. “What the fuck,” I whispered, rocking slightly.

“Parker?” Noel asked softly.

“No,” I stated, almost to myself. “It’s a fake, a fake video or a fake set that he made to set me up. It’s just an actor, just…” Noel was staring at me, shaking her head.

“What do you mean?” She asked, lowering the rifle a little, stepping towards me.

“He was never home, he could’ve been, I don’t know, setting this up? There’s no way I’d let him into my room. I don’t even like your father as a person, let alone,” I stopped, feeling bile rise in my chest. “No. This isn’t real.” I stated firmly, and felt like I was coming back to myself, at least a little.

“No, Parker,” she said, stepping back again and raising the rifle. “I watched you do it. After I recorded this, I stayed up to watch you. He knocked, you let him in.”

“No,” I pleaded.

“Please, don’t lie,” Noel whispered.

“Stop calling me a fucking liar! I don’t remember any of this!” I was shouting now, on my knees in front of her.

"Just tell me the truth!" She cried, matching my intensity.

"I am!" I screamed I picked up the phone, throwing it back to her harder than I needed to. She staggered backward, shocked.

"Liar." Noel almost growled the word, dripping with resentment.

She bent to pick up her phone, momentarily hugging the rifle against her chest, hand still on the trigger guard. It was pointed at me. My eyes darted up to Noel's. She wasn’t looking at me.

What do you do?

< >

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

pt.1: the swapping begins

-> 4-fking-am masterlist <-

b:katsuki / f.reader

genre: neighbor au, pro-hero bakugou

warning(s)!!: bakugou's potty mouth (ofc)

status: on-going!

synopsis: you had just moved into your new apartment and like every other college student under the sun, you had the worst sleep scheudle known to man.  due to this, you find yourself playing music through your speakers at 4 am. your neighbor slides you a note under your door about your ‘shitty’ taste in music, thus the note swaps begin.

a/n: the first part has arrived! hopefully, updates on this particular series won't be so drawn out since i'm planning to keep all written parts on the shorter side along with the smau parts being just easier since it's all just dialog LOL (ive done smau in the past for other things but they weren't so hot but hopefully i'm better now lol rip)

-x-x-x-

w.count: 1.3k

-x-x-x-

Why did you decide to go back to school to pursue further education again? If it wasn’t to stress yourself into early grey hairs or to rip out those grey hairs until you were bald, then why?

Collapsing over your desk- textbook open and notes out in messy piles with doodles across every edge and corner from wandering concentration- you groan. Exams were right around the corner, but you couldn’t for the life of you get your brain to focus on one thing- much less multiple things- for more than a couple hours, so studying quickly turned into a failed attempt to study.

Normally, studying wasn’t so difficult for you and you actually found it therapeutic in its own weird way. You enjoyed learning new things and the pride and wholeness you felt after succeeding to teach yourself something new was well worth whatever the process to get there was to you. But, this current college burnout was making all those end results hard to get to.

You glanced at the clock on one of the elevated shelves of your desk, the dimly glowing orange letters showing the time of 3:54 am. You groaned again, pushing your forehead into your written words and definitely smearing pencil lead on your forehead while you were at it. Maybe you’d soak up the words this way and have the knowledge transferred automatically into your brain if you pushed just hard enough.

Another dull and unrelenting amount of minutes pass you by before you officially call it quits for the night. Giving up, you walked to the other side of the room and plopped down on your bed’s edge next to one of your nightstands, your wrist rubbing your forehead to hopefully clear away the mess of leftover lead on it. On this nightstand was your radio and beneath it along the shelves and below the drawer was a collection of CDs.

In a world where albums were digital and everything was Bluetooth compatible and no one carried around a portable CD player anymore, you felt somewhat awkward sometimes at the seemingly large and ridiculous collection of yours. There were still plenty of people with CDs and even vinyls, but still- the awkwardness of your ‘retro’ thinking at your age did make you feel a bit self-conscious; no matter how idiotic it sounded.

You leaned over the bed and down to the bottom shelf cubby and grabbed a thin, plastic album case. Popping it open, the cheap plastic threatened to break and bend as you pushed open the top of your radio and placed the CD inside, shutting it again and turning it on.

A small little baby blue boombox that resembled a sort of bubble-like structure- a late birthday gift from your friends back in your hometown.

You figured if you didn’t absolutely blast your music, it would be fine to play aloud. Plus, you decided to put your bedroom in the backmost room, and the second room closer to the front room of your apartment was used for storage- since renting a storage unit was way too expensive. In your mind, the room closet to the door for a single living tenant would definitely be their bedroom- so you did the opposite when you moved in.

With your legs still handing off the side of the bed, you threw yourself back onto the mattress with your arms out to your sides. You stared at the ceiling of your room, thinking that at some point you’d need to purchase some cheap glow-in-the-dark stars to tack up there just for nostalgia’s sake.

As you heard the radio read the CD in small hums, you shut your eyes and smiled when the first track started. To be honest, you weren’t really pressed for what music you were going to be listening to, so you just kinda pulled from your cubby and popped the CD in without even looking at what you grabbed. You almost laughed when an older album your mom used to listen to started playing.

You weren’t exactly sure how it happened or when, but the next thing you knew, you were staring blankly and tiredly up to your ceiling again. The sun outside had risen and you heard birds, outside chatter, and basic roadside living outside. Even being up on the fourth floor, you could still hear the world below fairly well since you almost always had your window open with a fan inside of it.

Your body was sore from how you were laying on your back with your arms out, and you felt stiff. Legs partially numb from hanging off the bed all morning when you turned to look at your clock on the desk with squinted eyes.

Almost noon.

“God,” you moaned, forcing yourself up and wobbly making a path out of your room and into the kitchen to solve the problem of your severe cottonmouth. Stepping out of your narrow, short hall, you yawned and stopped before stepping into the kitchen when you saw a note at your doorstep. It had been slid under the front door and was face down, small blotches of black bled through to show that the other side had something written on it in marker.

More intrigued with the mysterious note than ready to deal with your dry mouth and throat that demanded water, you trotted to the paper and flicked it up. Your eyes quickly scanned the note and you gasped, slightly slapping a hand over your mouth.

‘Your taste in music really fuckin’ sucks’

Oh my god, someone heard that? Were you too loud? Was it annoying? Who in their right mind has the further room from the door other than you who did it on purpose so that this situation could be specifically avoided? Would you need to move rooms? No, then you’d have your other neighbors slipping you notes or even knocking on your door.

Maybe this neighbor has a roommate and had no choice but to take the room furthest from the door. Would you need to move out now before you died from overthinking the situation?

Racing back into your room, you tore out a sheet of lined paper and a mark erfrom your jar of pens, pencils, highlightser, what have you, and began to write in large letters a note back.

‘I’m so sorry about the noise! I’ll make sure not to play it that ungodly early again! (also, no it doesn’t, my taste in music is fine).’

You felt a little silly putting the added small text at the bottom of the paper in parentheses, but you felt the need to nip this particular neighbor’s opinion about your music in the butt- you boiled the choice down to comedies sake.

Making your way back to your door, you unlocked the bolt and unlatched the chain as you poked your head out. For it being almost the middle of the day, you made sure no one was in the halls before you jogged out your door and to the left. Your room was the furthest left room and they heard it, so clearly it had to be the left side neighbor... right?

Taking one last left-to-right look down the hall, you knelt at the door, pushed your paper under it, and dashed back into your own apartment before locking it back up. You let out a breath, as you pushed your back into the door, feeling awkward and almost embarrassed at the idea of passing notes with your neighbor. Trying to be secretive about it and acting like if someone saw you push a note under their door you’d be looked at strangely.

In a somewhat awkward way, you felt like some weird criminal.

“Whatever,” you shook your head, slapping your hands on your cheeks and heading to the kitchen. Finally ready to get that glass of water you had been craving to soothe your aching throat with. You had other things to get done today anyway. Now that you were awake, better get your day started.

Even if you may have just completely fucked your sleep schedule.

[help-i-need-a-cool-username]

I like pinning/jealous!Mercury and i live for Emerald City Siblings so have this less than half baked idea that popped into my head earlier

Time travel baby ✨

Emerald and Oscar get deliberately sent to the past (Oscar semblance? Magic spell?)

In the future (no more than 10 years. Im thinking more like 6 years) Emerald and Oscar are partners

They're besties. They're affectionate.

So they go back in time. Im thinking either after Mercury splits off from the group/Emerald leaves or sometime before Mercury knows what Oscar looks like

They pop up in different places. Emerald pops up either next to Mercury or in the same building as him

I have NO IDEA what any version of older!Emerald's hair would look like so if you have ideas please drop them in the notes

She looks mostly the same. She dresses mostly the same too. She's still skinny (years of low caloric intake will effect your body like that) and she's got this large jagged scar going across one of her collar bones

The real differences are in how she carries herself. Mercury, who's trained to be observant, notices them. She has more confidence/self-esteem. She's more comfortable in herself. She's grown up

She's also stopped mimicking Cinder, which Mercury appreciates

Not that Emerald brushed Mercury off but she's a woman on a serious mission who's worried about her partner, so she starts looking for Oscar within her first 3 minutes there and half-ignores Mercury who's following her asking her all these questions because he's so confused right now

Maybe she has some kind of marker of having a boyfriend? Mercury definably notices that now. (Rings? Specific hair thing? A filled in soulmate mark?)

They quickly run into Oscar

Now Oscar looks a bit different. He's finished puberty so he's taller, almost as tall as Emerald (so short for a guy, but also perfect height for Emerald to give him affectionate cheek/temple kisses... which will make Mercury jealous in a minute), he's filled out a bit more (so more wide), and his voice has dropped

Its pretty clear that Oscar is still young, but he looks just old enough for Mercury to assume him and Emerald are dating

Its a cute reunion, if you're not Mercury

They relieve shout each others name, run towards each other, and hug each other really tightly

Like i-thought-you-died-tightly

Maybe one of them picks the other up a little

When they pull away Emerald doesnt go far. Oscar's forehead is bleeding and she's pushing his bangs back to get a closer look

At this point Mercury has put Time Travel Confusion on the back burner to be Jealous over how close they physically are

Emerald squints and asks if Oscar is okay/what happened with such concern it almost makes Mercury "im allergic to expressing feelings" Black gag. Oscar gives a little laugh, says its all alright. Emerald then kisses his eyebrow before pulling him back into her so she can hug him again, where she cradles the back of his head and holds it against her neck while she presses another kiss to the side of his head and says "im glad you're alright"

Jealous Mercury is in full swing and driving the car right now. Has made the conclusion 1) Oscar is Emerald's boyfriend 2) Mercury himself is not Emerald's boyfriend 3) Oscar is Emerald's partner and her boyfriend so not only did Emerald replace him his replacement is getting everything Mercury wants

Mercury does what he always does when Emerald expresses care or love to or for another person: shut her down

It doesnt work. See future!Emerald is not longer not-expressing her feelings. She's found people who care about her and lets her openly care about them. She's also got years of experience with this exact Mercury BS

Oscar himself doesnt care what other people think or say about himself personally. He has inherited that particular personality trait from Oz by now

So they just act like he didnt say anything and keep doing what they were gonna do anyways. This upsets Mercury a little

Yadda yadda yadda actual plot elements

At one point both Emerald and Oscar have told him separately they are not dating but that just makes Mercury think they're gonna end up dating really soon

Towards the end Mercury finds out Emerald's boyfriend is HIM

He gets smug and happy about it

(Dont worry, future!Mercury is a lot less emotionally constipated. And surprisingly fond of PDA (which isnt that surprising considering how jealous he can get))

Someone tells him its not gonna happen anytime soon, he's actually about to not see Emerald for a very long time. So he'll have to be patient. He looks at future!Emerald and thinks "yeah, it'll be worth it"

[findingjoynweirdstuff]

Dream SMP Recap (March 3/2021) -     The Burger is a Lie

Tubbo moves past the denial stage of grief into anger. After creating a grave for Tommy, he decides that someone needs to be held accountable.

It’s time for some good old-fashioned detective work.

---

VOD LINKS:

[Ponk’s VOD was deleted so unfortunately I can’t recap it since I didn’t see it :( ]

Tubbo

Foolish

Awesamdude

Captain Puffy

Ranboo

---

- Tubbo walks down the Prime Path with plans to build Tommy a grave in Snowchester. 

- He doesn’t even know why or how it happened. Why was Tommy in prison?

“I want to blame someone -- I’m angry! Who’s to blame?”

- He wonders who set off the TNT to trap Tommy in there.

- Tubbo reaches Snowchester and finds a small ice island just outside the border to set up a gravesite. He makes a patch of grass, a wooden bench, puts down some flowers. He makes the gravestone out of wood.

“Tommy’s favorite block was literally oak wood. (laughs) He was a simple person, chat. He was a simple person.”

- He places a sign.

“In the Memory of Tommy. He was taken from us too soon.”

- He puts cobblestone around, and puts down a jukebox.

“This was meant to give closure, chat. This was meant to just give closure, but instead I’m just feeling more and more mad."

- Tubbo places down some lanterns and a Prime Log. He has a moment on the bench.

“Alright...so...what now? I’m pissed, dude. I don’t know how this was allowed to happen. I don’t know how this was allowed to happen. Receive his stuff from the prison -- no, I’m not going in that thing for a very long time.”

- He decides he needs someone to be held accountable. He wants to launch an investigation.

- He goes under the McPuffy’s and plans to make a little room to gather all the information in one place, and also a place to go in an emergency. Like a panic room or a bunker. No one should know about it until they have enough information to convict someone.

Tubbo starts building.

- He doesn’t even want to go into Tommy’s house, not even for supplies.

- He grabs a lectern for the room and starts writing. A storyline is needed.

The Crime:

- Murder

The Timeline:

- Tommy Visits Dream.

- Bomb gets set off.

- Tommy was Trapped with Dream.

- Tommy is The Crime is committed.

- Start with number two...where? Where were the bombs set off? Because if it was all a ploy, then Sam is the one to be held accountable. 

- Tubbo goes to the prison to check around the perimeter. The sound of the bombs came from above, but Tubbo remains skeptical. That could have been a ploy to cover up the tracks.

- Tubbo finds a patch of the shoreline where a water level is missing. He assumes that someone was just gathering sand there, not that it’s explosion damage.

- Tubbo flies onto the top of the prison and notices that there’s snow missing where the snow biome should encompass. A small area of a few blocks -- they must have been tampered with. Tubbo documents the evidence.

Evidence:

Tommy was trapped inside because of an explosion “outside” ..

Around the outside of “Pandora’s Vault” there was no evidence of explosion damage.

However on the roof of the Vault there is evidence of an explosion. We can tell this because of the snow pattern on the roof of the prison.

However snow can be broken by TNT from inside the Vault. But I suspect that the TNT was detonated outside.

- Now, Tubbo needs to go and find out who has access to stocks of TNT. Who has the majority of the world’s TNT? Well, there was a country that used to exist on this server. And who was responsible for its destruction? 

Tubbo visits L’manhole.

“Technoblade, Dream, and Philza. Suspects number two. We’ve moved on from Sam. Suspects number two and three, sorry -- Technoblade and Phil.”

“Everyone’s a suspect, chat. Guilty until proven innocent, I’ve always said.”

- And doesn’t Technoblade owe Dream a favor? Tubbo declares him suspect two.

- Tubbo runs to Technoblade’s house. There’s not much of anything out of the ordinary.

- He goes inside and looks through the chest, finding one with plenty of gunpowder, about half full. What looks off about it, though? What is missing here?

“Chat, where is the rest of the gunpowder, chat? Where is the rest of the gunpowder? It’s a fair question...Techno uses it for potions? No, no, hear me out. If chest was at least filled up to here, okay, that is four stacks and a half of gunpowder, okay? Each gunpowder is three splash potions. Three splash potions. So that’s over twelve stacks of potions! Potions that are not stackable! And in this establishment, there are not enough chests to hold twelve lots of sixty-four un-stackable potions. Rockets? Yeah, that’s another good call. What else is a good call? TNT. Let’s keep looking.”

- He continues to look through the chests, then exits. Suspect two has all of the materials to commit the crime.

- Suspect three? No sand, not enough gunpowder.

- He starts to leave.

“‘Check Ranboo?’ I mean it’s not gonna be Ranboo, is it? It’s not gonna be Ranboo. Yeah, he has access to all the stuff, but I doubt he even remembers it’s there..."

- He does a quick search anyway. The person who committed the crime must have not been prepared. They gathered the sand outside of the prison -- that’s what the missing shoreline must have meant.

- He notices Ranboo’s plan signs and reads them. He goes down into the basement but the vault door is shut, so he doesn’t find it. He assumes chat is talking about Pandora’s Vault.

“There is sand that has been mined outside the prison. The TNT was crafted rash. Technoblade doesn’t do rash, he does planned and calculated. Suspect two, three and four. I’m gonna presume they’re innocent right now, except for suspect two.”

- Technoblade could’ve supplied someone else with gunpowder. He wasn’t online during the explosion, but who was? Foolish and Ranboo.

“‘Big Law?’ Yeah, I’m back. I’m back in it again. I suppose you could say that...I’m on my A game right now.”

- Was Jack Manifold online at the time? No. Just Ranboo, Foolish, Dream, Tommy and Sam. Foolish lives in a desert. There’s a vast supply of sand in a desert...but was he streaming at the time?

- This does not look good for suspect number four...

- He returns to the bunker to get his evidence straight and places down signs.

Who Caused the Explosion?

Techno Owes Dream A Favor

Techno Has Gunpowder Missing

Sand Disturbed Outside The Vault

Techno Was Not Online @ The Time Of Explosion

Ranboo & Foolish Were Online @ TOM [time of explosion]

Foolish has access to sand

Ranboo has access to gunpowder

Sam lock Tommy In The Vault

Dream is in the Vault

TO DO:

Find out who visited Dream

Interview more players to get big picture

- Who visited Dream? So far, Tubbo only knows Tommy. Who else would ever want to visit Dream except for Tommy? 

- A dono leads Tubbo to realize that TNT can be planted beforehand with a timer. Sam could have planted the TNT with a timer. It could have all been Sam. It could have even been Dream with a contingency plan...but how could he have known Tommy would visit? Because of the favor? Did Techno convince Tommy to visit?

Why did Tommy visit Dream? Closure? Did anyone give him that idea?

- Tubbo decides he just needs more information.

- He sees the McPuffy’s...is it a coincidence that, as soon as Tommy got put in prison...burger shops started popping up on the Dream SMP?

- Maybe this happened because of the BURGERS.

- Could it have been Jack Manifold, wanting the hotel for himself? 

“Nah, Jack’s way too dumb for that.”

“The burger is a lie!”

- Maybe the Egg has something to do with it? Tubbo goes down into the Egg Room and shouts at the Egg to ask for answers. He leaves the Egg Room with no more answers, wondering if he’s about to leave the anger phase and head into bargaining instead.

- Ranboo works on his Conflict Resolution Pit after months, planning to finally finish it at long last.

- Ranboo looks at the chest by the pit and finds...a Manberg war shield? Whose is that? He isn’t sure what the shield means.

[Fun Fact: According to Karl about the banner’s design, the black represents all the colors combined, meaning “Unity.” The red is “the blood of our enemies.”

“It’s unity unless you go against us.”]

- Ranboo continues resource-gathering and building.

- Sam works on his creeper farm! He also answers several questions. Here are a few!:

* Are Sam Nook, warden Sam and Awesamdude all different people? 

Sam Nook and warden Sam are different people, but the warden is not a separate character from normal Awesamdude. They are the same person. Sam Nook is the only separate character. This will be explained more in the future!

* Why is Sam’s pickaxe named “Warden’s Will Breaker?” Does it have anything to do with breaking the prisoner’s will? 

“Mayhaps, mayhaps...”

* Isn’t it a little strange that he’s building a creeper farm? 

“Well, I’m the king of creepers so they should be excited to die for me.”

- Ranboo asks if he can shoot Sam. Sam says yes (in game)

- Ranboo shoots Sam in the face. Sam turns majestically and stops moving. Ranboo is confused and is worried that Sam might not be alive. Sam’s computer is suffering.

- Ranboo tries to get Sam to move.

“Oh my god he’s been completely paralyzationizitated.”

- By Sam’s request, Ranboo tries to push him to safety.

- Sam has been bound to the y-axis! He starts seeing through Ranboo’s stream.

- Ranboo tries to drive Sam in a boat but he starts seeing colors. 

- Sam dies on the Prime Path. Ranboo makes a marker sign in remembrance of where he died by paralyzationizitation. 

---

Upcoming events remain the same.

[cannabiscomrade]

Alarming things I’ve learned as a parent of a stillborn child from other parents in the community, and my own experiences

#1 the general stillbirth rate in the US is 1/160- which seems ridiculously too high, but the statistic for black gestational parents is 1/90. In a large 13 country study, they found that black gestational parents were 1.5 to 2x more likely to experience stillbirth than others, due to socioeconomic factors and environmental and medical racism. This is tightly connected to black maternal mortality rates.

#2 Several diabetic parents and parents with lupus and other autoimmune diseases I’ve seen found their concerns about cause of stillbirth to be brushed aside as a result of diabetes/autoimmunity, with little to no investigation into the real root cause.

#3 Chronically ill people will often express concerns about their pregnancy before their child dies and are (again) brushed aside and overlooked until it’s too late. This is also very common with first time parents that express concerns about things like reduced movement. I have Hashimoto’s, which commonly associated with hypothyroidism, and so is pregnancy. but I had hyperthyroidism my whole pregnancy, and I was told that I was just “over medicated”. It turns out the hyperthyroidism was a soft marker for my child’s chromosomal condition, Triploidy.

#4 some employers do not grant maternity leave to the gestational parent of a stillborn child, and certain insurance companies have refused to recognize a stillbirth as childbirth, thus not covering their leave under short term disability. Some non-gestational partners have been forced to go back to work soon after their child’s death

#5 I get a whopping 5 paid days from my employer for the death of a child- and I’m lucky because I at least get paid time from my employer

[ashintheairlikesnow]

The Visit

(I found this prompt while cleaning out my inbox and I’m so sorry I missed it the first time, Anon! With more than 150+ messages I am finding all kinds of treasures I missed when they came in!)

Prompt:  "10. True tenderness is silent and can’t be mistaken for anything else" for Chris? <3

CW: Referenced death of whumper, referenced parental death, grief of an abuse survivor/whumpee, religious abuse, frank discussion of death, referenced past child abuse and survivor anger

Essentially a follow-up to this piece after Oliver’s death

Jake borrows Nat’s truck for the trip out to the cemetery, the old stick-shift Ford better able to handle the steep hills outside the city than his own beat-up four door. Chris sits next to him, pale and silent, and it’s a callback to a version of Chris that hasn’t existed in years, not since he was a frightened child.

This is a different kind of silence - heavier, it muffles the music from the radio, makes it seem like static and not songs at all. Jake doesn’t turn it up, or change the channel. He lets the silence draw out.

It’s not the same kind of silence, in the end.

The gates, wrought-iron and looking a mix of delicate and eerily strong, are open for them to drive inside. The rumbling engine of the truck catches the attention of an older woman laying flowers on a gravestone, who looks briefly up at them as they pass, but doesn’t wave.

She only looks.

Chris doesn’t look at her. His hands are folded in his lap, his hair caught low at the nape of his neck, the blue captured by a pale gray clip that holds it back from his face. He asked Jake to get him a suit, for this - he’s never owned one before.

Not since he left the bastard’s house.  

Jake didn’t ask why - he just took Chris shopping, and they bought the suit. It’s black, with thin gray pinstripes that match Chris’s hair clip. His button-up and tie are perfectly done - Chris had done them up himself, the vestiges of training he still remembered. He’s wearing black leather shoes, shined up just for this, and he took out all his earrings, the perfect emptiness of the skin making Jake’s stomach flip at the way Chris has removed nearly all of the ways he made his body his own.

Jake drives around a curve on the little paved road, and finally comes to a stop.

The grave is unmistakable - the dirt is still fresh and soft, and hasn’t fully settled. It’s just... dirt, and behind it a little marker stuck in the ground. A simple name, date of birth, date of death. That’s all. The real stone hasn’t come in yet.

OLIVER WILLIAM BRANCH DOB: 09/09/1966 DOD: 04/02/202X Chris stares at the pile of dirt, and Jake sees his knuckles turn white. He’s not rocking, not tapping, not humming. Just... silent, and still. Like he’s carved from stone.

Statue boy, Chris used to whisper, when he was scared. Be a good boy, statue boys don’t move, stillness is better than what I do, statue boys stay still...

“You-” Jake’s voice cuts into the silence, a knife into skin, and he flinches at the sound of his own voice. He’s just wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and suddenly he wonders if Chris wanted him to wear a suit, too, if he’s disappointed Jake didn’t think of it on his own. “You don’t... have to do this, Chris.” His voice drops, stays lower.

Chris doesn’t look at him, only looks at the grave. His beautiful face is pale, and looks young - more like when he first showed up - and the blue hair suddenly looks wrong, like he shouldn’t have it yet. It should still have its coppery new-penny shine. The roots are hinting, just a little, at the color it used to be. “Yes, I, I, I, I do.”

Jake swallows against a lump in his throat, and slowly nods, turning off the engine and sitting back. The radio continues to play, pulling on battery power, while the two of them look at a pile of soil that covers a dead man whose life is still carved into Chris’s mind. “You want me to get out with you?”

There’s a quiet, as Chris thinks.

Then he whispers, “Please,” as his thin fingers find the handle to the door and open it up. His other hand grips onto the bouquet of roses they’d picked up to bring out here, wrapped in crinkly paper and tied with a thin string.

Immediately, birdsong filters in, intrudes on the silence, demands their attention instead.

Jake is out of the truck in a heartbeat and around to meet Chris as he slowly steps down. He looks like a child dressed for a party, even with a suit carefully chosen to fit. Or maybe Jake just struggles to see him as anything else, in moments like this one.

Chris leans towards him and Jake slides an arm around his shoulders.

He doesn’t regret this man’s death, only that it couldn’t have been half so painful as what the bastard deserved - but Jake keeps that to himself, because he can see the tears standing in Chris’s eyes, and that’s not what Chris needs to hear right now.

Instead, he just says, softly, “I’m here.”

Chris nods, bumping into him once, twice, three times - a reassurance, a reminder. Then he starts to walk, clinging to the roses in his hand, and Jake walks beside him, narrowing his own long strides to match, so he won’t pull away, so they’ll move together.

There’s no one else here, in this part of the cemetery. It’s just the two of them, walking towards the grave marker, the laid-in dirt. Somewhere, six feet down, is the man who once made the width and length of Chris’s world so narrow that it was condensed to a single hallway, a basement, to the shape of tears.

Jake stands slightly back when Chris steps forward on his own. He doesn’t offer platitudes - he can’t hope that Branch is in a better place, he’s still got his fingers crossed that hell is real just so people like Oliver Branch can experience it - he can’t say everything happens for a reason and then ask himself what possible reason there could have been for Chris to lose everything and be given his own hell in return.

He can’t say it’ll get better or time heals all wounds or you’ll find a way to forgive him or God has a plan because Jake has lived with those words branded in his soul from a thousand well-meaning relatives and church people and his mother’s so-called fucking friends and none of those words did shit, they never helped, they only made it clear that no one wanted to sit in silence with the weight of what had happened, only talk over it until Jake and his mom pretended the pain wasn’t there anymore.

No one deserves forgiveness - you make the choice to forgive, and it’s got nothing to do with whether or not anyone deserves it, you forgive for yourself - not for them.

Time didn’t heal shit, and he’s never forgiven the man who nearly killed his mother and would have kept hurting him if he never got bigger, stronger, better able to fight back.

He can’t say God has a plan, because if that’s true, then it’s a shitty fucking plan, isn’t it? To steal a child from the love that should have been the foundation of his life and hand him over to wolves to be devoured instead?

He can’t say any of it, because he doesn’t believe it, and all those well-meaning words are just knives that tear you open and then demand you comfort the people who can’t stand the sight of blood.

All he can do is give Chris his silence and his presence while he watches Chris lay a dozen roses on top of freshly turned earth.

Chris speaks, and his voice carries just enough, and Jake’s jaw sets, trembles, sets again as he pretends not to hear. As he tries, and fails, not to listen.

“I tried,” Chris whispers, in his slow-stone voice, the one he was trained to use, that he can still slide into as easily as he might throw on a shirt in the morning. “I tried... to be, be good, Sir. I was... I was good. I loved you, and... I didn’t... leave because I didn’t love you-... I... I didn’t deserve to be hurt, Sir. But...” He trails off, and Jake forces his gaze to wander.

A bright red cardinal stares back at him from a tree branch nearby, flits away, lands on a different gravestone. Jake stares at it, wondering with a strange unsettled curiosity if it’s the same cardinal, if it followed them out here somehow, but of course that’s... not possible.

There are cardinals everywhere. Cemeteries just make everything seem haunted.

The gravestone the cardinal rests on has been here a while - there’s a single spray of flowers laid on one side, and nothing on the other. It’s one of those double-stones for married people, Jake thinks.

Chris is still talking to Oliver, and Jake forces himself with all his strength not to eavesdrop, just to be here, to be the strength Chris needs. So he stares at the cardinal, and the gravestone.

Each side has a little clear plastic heart, and Jake knows what those are - the gravetones where you can put a photo of the person inside, and see them, and he thinks those are creepy as hell, but... but he can see why you’d buy one.

A woman and a man. Jake squints. They have the same date of death, he thinks, and his heart twists. Car accident, maybe? That sucks. Chris said once that he remembered his parents died.

He wonders who misses these two, who left the flowers.

Life is not forever - but love is. Beloved parents of-

Jake feels Chris press up to him, cold nose against his neck, hitching in sobs that are nearly soundless, gasping for air.

“Do you want me to talk to you about this?” Jake asks, gently.

Chris shakes his head, twisting his fingers into Jake’s shirt, rocking now, for the first time since they left. His voice, broken, starts to hum to try to drown out his own tears, and Jake slides both arms around Chris’s shoulders and holds him tightly.

“D-don’t, don’t talk, don’t-... don’t don’t don’t, I just n-need, I need, I-”

Chris tenses and then lets out a wail, echoing off the trees, soaked up in the ground around them, a half-scream of stifled pain he’s carried since he was seventeen years old.

“Hurts, h-hurts, hurts, it hurts-”

“Sssshhh, I know, I know it hurts, Chris, I know.”

“It hurts!”

Across the cemetery, the old woman doesn’t look up from her careful care of the stone she is tending, giving them space, a kind of tenderness all its own in allowing them their privacy.

Jake just holds on tighter, giving Chris an anchor, a steady presence he can scream into until all the sound is out of him, until the scream is gone.

Then, it’s quiet. They stand, for a while, in silence, other than Chris’s slow avalanche slide into outright weeping for the man who did nothing but try to destroy what spark he had left, and Jake doesn’t say a word.

He’ll probably cry when his abuser finally dies, too. Assuming anyone tells him.

When Chris, red-eyed and sniffling, pulls back to get in the truck, Jake lets him go, climbs into the driver’s seat, and brings the old truck rumbling to life.

Chris’s knuckles are still white, but as they drive around the curve again, he starts to rock, back and forth, back and forth.

When Chris starts humming, Jake turns the music up a little to give him something to hum along to, and Chris flashes him a tear-stained, trembling little smile in gratitude.

A dozen roses in brown paper lay on top of the grave of a man who could never deserve the grief that Chris so freely feels for him.

The cardinal watches them go, and then hops down from the top of the gravestone to peck at birdseed scattered on only one side of the double-stone grave of two people who died on the very same day when Chris was fifteen years old.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp​, @finder-of-rings​, @endless-whump​, @whumpfigure​, @slaintetowhump​, @astrobly​, @newandfiguringitout​, @doveotions​, @pretty-face-breaker​, @boxboysandotherwhump​, @oops-its-whump​ @moose-teeth​

[ravenclaw-questions-gone-writing]

Trope Snippets Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 A Stolen Hood

Marinette dragged the vigilante she’d knocked out into their temporary base, an uncertain Adrien trailing behind her.

“Do you- I don’t think- Are you sure we should be doing this?” he asked, his voice higher and more feminine due to the voice changer Marinette had built into the mask of his hoodie. It was based off of Lila’s voice, because if they were going to do this, they might as well incriminate the annoyance. (No matter how temporary because there’s no way it’d hold up when the Bats actually looked into it.)

Marinette shrugged. “No harm no foul, right?” Her own voice changer - not that she needed one - based off that piece of- that thing Lila called a brother.

“You just knocked him out, that’s definitely harm!”

Marinette pouted at her partner in crime. “It was only a bit of-” she cut it off there, aware of the active com, and wiggled her fingers in the gesture for magic. “He’s not hurt, just asleep.” She said as she took Red Hood’s guns and tucked one away and sent the other one to Adrien. 

“It doesn’t last long, he should be waking up any minute now. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s just pretending to be asleep since he no longer has a way to contact the other bats and we have his guns. Reconnaissance in an unfamiliar and possibly dangerous situation is a very basic thing.”

Marinette shrugged as she examined the com. Ritsu had already tampered with the tracking aspect of it. That should buy them at least another ten to fifteen minutes before the Batfam realizes, forcing Marinette and Adrien to relocate.

She smiled, she kinda wanted to mess with them. And, wow, she was spending too much time with her prankster parents. (The magic teachers she saw as parental figures, not Tom and Sabine, who were more like flatmate-siblings than parents.)

Adrien gives her a look and rolls his eyes, he knew she was up to no good - more than they already were anyway. “I’ll begin preparations.” He grumbled, not wanting to deal with it.

Well, they both dealt with the insanity of their reincarnated lives in different ways.

He wasn’t really one to talk. For every prank of hers, malicious or otherwise, he had a magical plant or creature - sometimes both - to create. And at this point, he’d probably recreated every non legendary pokemon the two of them could remember and then some other… more questionable creations.

Adrien pulled a metal bucket, some firewood, a set of stationery with a black chisel tip marker would be waiting alongside some paintball guns, two gallons of honey, and four pounds of birdseed from his pocket dimension and began counting their inventory to make sure they had everything and extras just in case.

“What are you planning to do with Red Hood?” demanded one of the bats from the com. 

Marinette, giddy with anticipation, could barely contain her snickers. “We’re not going to hurt him if that’s what you’re worried about. We just need him to do a favor for us.” She says, managing to keep her voice even. It came out more cheerful than she intended but it got the message across.

Red Hood turned with a snarl. “I’m not doing shit for you cra-” Red Hood’s snarl died down into a gasp. “Holy shit, you’re just kids. What are you, 12?”

Marinette pouted, she was 16, thank you very much. It wasn’t her fault that she was so short. And even though she preferred being on the shorter side, calling her a 12 year old was going a bit too far.

The assumption about her age would be useful in throwing off the bats so she let it be. 

“Speaking of favors, Mr. Red Hood, can I have your autograph?” Adrien asked from the other side of their warehouse.

“You knocked me out and kidnapped me for an autograph? ” Red Hood asked incredulously.

“Uh, no. He’s just a huge fan.”

“Oh shit, I didn’t think this through. What would he even sign it out to?” Adrien groaned.

“You could just use your assassin name? And I don’t mean the codename.”

Adrien shuddered and Marinette would have at least snickered if she hadn’t been through the same pain of having a Class 3-E codename.

“Assassins?” someone hissed on the other side of the com.

“Who are you affiliated with?” another demanded.

Marinette blinked and thought about it for a minute. “Uh… I stayed with the League of Shadows for a while some years back, does that count?”

There’s a stunned silence on the other side of the com before cursing fills the air.

Adrien groaned, “Why would you tell them that?”

“The most annoying thing for a detective is having a lead you can’t follow up on.” Marinette said, staring off into the distance as she recalled their attempts to track down Hawkmoth, who - in this universe - was not actually Gabriel Agreste. Surprisingly.

“Look, I’m not doing anything for Ra’s.” Red Hood snarls again.

Marinette frowned at him. “Who said anything about that old fart? No, we’re doing something much more personal.”

From the com, she could hear some suspicious coughing from the bats.

Marinette could tell Red Hood was startled and amused by what she’d called the demon’s head. The helmet was annoyingly in the way of reading his facial expressions but that’s what having a magical, very on-point, intuition was for.

“...Ok, you have my respect but I’m not doing any favors for someone who kidnapped me.”

Oh, right.

Sometimes, Marinette forgets that people don’t react like she does in kidnapping situations. But to be fair, she gets kidnapped like twice a week ever since she caught the Kudo curse from that trip to Japan, usually by some random amateur murderer, some burglar in all the cases they run into, or Talia Al Ghoul. It gets repetitive after a while.

“I think you’ve been spending too much time with Talia.” Adrien chirps from his place.

“A future mother-in-law is still a mother-in-law. I’m pretty much obligated to spend time with her.” Marinette huffs at Adrien. “And even if she wasn’t, she’s still my godmother.”

There’s choking, squawking, and a strangled noise of realization from the other side of the com. Red Hood himself was sputtering, Marinette wondered if his saliva was collecting on the inside of his helmet.

Really, that couldn’t be comfortable or sanitary.

“Nevertheless, if you won’t help us, we’re going to have problems.” she growled at Red Hood, before turning the comm off and tossing it aside.

“If you don’t want to help, I won’t force the issue.” Marinette pouted at Red Hood, then shifted her disappointment to Adrien. “I thought you said he’d want to help.”

“I really thought he’d want to.” Adrien said mournfully.

“Alright then, we’ll just keep you locked up until it’s over and release you tomorrow morning.” Marinette sighed, giving the vigilante a glance before turning back to her partner. “We don’t have much time, who else do you know is skilled with guns and would be willing to help us shoot the Joker?”

Red Hood spasmed and jerked up. “ Woah. Hey now, maybe I was being a little too hasty in my decision making. I’d be willing to give the plan a listen.” 

“Oh?” Marinette perked up, “That’s wonderful!”

Ch 2 Bonus

“He won’t work for you.” a gruff voice came out over the coms.

“So, Red Hood, what do you say?” Marinette prods her captive.

“Didn’t Batman just say I wouldn’t?”

“Well,”  Marinette replied petulantly. “he’s not the boss of you.”

There was a beat of silence and despite Marinette’s glee, she could feel the “oh shit,” silence from the other side of the com.

Then, Adrien’s cackling cut through the quiet. “Oh my gods, I can literally hear them all thinking, ‘Don’t do it. It’s a trap!’.”

Ch 2 Bonus 2

“Robin, who are we dealing with.” Batman demanded.

“Baby bird, was that your fiance, since when do you have a fiance? Or do we have another sibling we don’t know about?”

“I thought the league would want you to marry a woman to continue to the line. Why is your fiance  a guy?”

“Tt. She is most likely using a voice changer.”

“ She? That was a girl? ”

“ Robin. ”

Damian sighed. “I do not know her real name, I’ve always just called her Uma. As she said, she is my mother’s god daughter. She doesn’t break promises so we know she won’t actually hurt Red Hood, but what she’s after, I can’t say.”

“Try.”

“Father, it could be anything from wanting directions to a store to decorating the entirety of Gotham all the colors of the rainbow because she thinks it looks too dreary to needing information on a hit. In the League, she was most well-known for being unpredictable and chaotic.” Then, after a moment of debate, he added. “If you want an example, she is also known for being the main instigator of the zombie whale incident.”

“Excuse me?”

“The what? ” Red Robin squawked.

“Elaborate.” Batman growled.

“As she would say,” Damian replied dryly. “Long story short, she dropped a whale on my grandfather.”

[shortyisweird9]

'Lonely ghost serie'

"Babysitting is hard when you ,yourself, are a gremlin, baby"-part V

Tw⚠️: swearing, angsty vibes ( I think)

Your body moved in distress, turning the sheets all over as you left out a gasp of terror, your face clenching in pain. You have a nightmare, a usual occurrence that happens when you are stressed. Having such a big imagination, your dreams/ nightmares came vividly, with excruciating details. You could see them in colour however the images were blurry, hazy almost.

This nightmare was about Fatima, the sketch artist from up top. She was a senior here and usually the person in this block turned for guidance, relief and peace. She was from the South part of Sudan, fact that she lets it known by her traditional style fashion, her food and her drinks and the occasionally loud conversations she has with her folks back home. A peaceful artist with beautiful brown skin with yellow undertones, an oval face with a big smile plastered on it and shinning black orbs. An angel in disguise that you often seek when the world proved too much for you. Fatima never really showed her own worries and fears but you were one of the privileged few who did see her at her lowest, an experience that motivated you , scared you and hurt you. The amount of times your heart clenched those times matched with how many tears left her orbs.

You were ejected vertically on your bottom as your mouth left a silent scream, tears dropping from your eyes but you didn't have time to think it over since loud noises came from upstairs,Fatima's room. In your paranoid state you didn't question the musicality of the sounds ,chosing to ran out the door ,slapping it shut and jumping two steps each time till you reached her door.

Fatima was enjoying her second favourite types of music, Afro-Latina songs when a storms of pounds hit her door. Confused and terrified, she grabbed the nearby mop before she opened the door. It was just you.

You stood there in black shorts made from former leggings to long for your short legs, white ripped shirt stained with old paint from when you helped her renovate and messy long hair and tear filled puffy eyes.

"Y/n! My girl ,what happened?"

There she was, with a long white fit dress that ended in a curve at the start of her feet and silver grey hijab wrapped around her head. She look energised despite being 5 in the mornina Most importantly she was Most importantly, she was safe, unharmed and happy.

Your noise picked up the aroma of her handmade mix of tea that filled the textile of her dressing where now your head rest as your body convulse in a breakdown again. Shocked and confused, she wasn't stopped however from showing you the comfort your soul may need.

She caressed your long hair and rubbed your back as you two sat on the white tiles of the entrance. The door long close by her other roommate, Catherine Blank - a 26 years old from Dublin.

On Fatima's commends, the red haired freckled woman brought you a knitted blanket and a cup of water. Her hands found their way on your cheeks when you finally calmed down,rubbing them on your wet skin as you drank the water. Your eyes fell down in shame for disturbing them.

You didn't know why it happened. Just two hours ago you finished talking with Corpse and went over your notes one last time.

You seemed fine, too busy for any bad thoughts to bug you or anything such as. Yet here you are.

"Jesus ,girl. You scared us." Came the heavy accent voice of Catherine.

You looked at her standing in black leggings and a black top, skinny hands on round hips and a scowl of worry on her square face. Green eyes softening when they met yours.

"I..um..."

"You don't have to tell us right now, sweet girl. Come, let's enjoy each other with some select songs."

You all three burst in laughter at the ridiculous pompous tonality Fatima chose to express herself with.

You followed, grasping the extended hand of Catherine as Fatima rearrange the blanket around your tattoos covered body.

————————————————————

It was morning when you finally return back into your apartment. The door closed itself with a heavy thud that resonated within the insides of your shaky lungs. You calmed down significantly since that explosive outburst of fears and terrors.

You cleaned your eyes as the light of the morning painted you in a sick look: eyes blood shot, red nose, puffy face and pale skin. You looked like you died and came back alive, well maybe a fragment of your sanity died tonight who knows? Your shredded sigh echoed in the empty apartment ,the others already gone to work/university. Essentially you were alone. Again.

You cleaned your eyes as the light of the morning painted you in a sick look: eyes blood shot, red nose, puffy face and pale skin.

You looked like you died and came back alive, well maybe a fragment of your sanity died tonight who knows? Your shredded sigh echoed in the empty apartment ,the others already gone to work/university. Essentially you were alone. Again.

Your soul long desired the touch of another: to be grasp tightly and lovely by their hands, to be enveloped in their smell as they whisper sweet nothings into your ears, to have their warmth dry your tears, to bring comfort to your pain. You resigned years ago that you were never meant to experience this sessions, merely observed them. But your heart craved them and craving it did, as you watched in fake disgust the romantic displays in Ace's romances.

Right now, after crying your eyes out, your burns needed that comfort, needed that care and love but again you were denied of them, you can only thank yourself for that.

The cup was slapped in foolish fury as you tossed some hot water in it. The tea bag falling towards the end of the cup.

Three knocks were heard at the door and you curiously turned, cup left forgotten.

Opening the door, Omar was standing there with a little albino boy with clear big blue eyes and curly locks. He was wearing a red blue and white checkered shirt with beige church pants. He smelled nice ,his cologne hitting your your long narrow nose immediately after opening the door.

You raised a brow as he sheepishly smiled.

"Nice kid."

"Thanks."

Then silence.

You continued drinking your tea,staring at the man who finally realised that you didn't know the motive of his visit.

"Alma didn't tell you?"

"What?"

"She said you agreed to watch over Tj today."

Wait.

Your panicked grew was your eyes turned to the calendar to the right of you. There in bold yellow numbers the day of 5th November was left clear with the exception of being circled over with a gold marker.

"Shit ,it was today? I mean ...fuck. Sorry, Omar. It totally slip my mind."

The man laughed ,his brown eyes were warm and forgiving, no offense taken by your skip of mind.

"It's fine,Y/n. So it's alright if I leave this little guy with you for a bit?"

"Y-Yeah. But I don't have-"

As Omar entered the hallway, a grey bag you previously not seen was by the door , you picked it up before going to the living room.

He sat the kid dressed in a sailor white and navy blue stripped t-shirt and light grey sweatpants on one of the sit of your 1970s floral printed sectional sofa.

The kid was making sounds and hand gestures ,wanting to be picked up again by his father who was busy speaking with the 159cm tall woman.

"Tj here is a big of a love bug, get him to like you and you can't go anywhere anymore. Just like his mother I suppose. "

"Does he have any..um..food preference I should know about?"

"Um...Wait, Alma left you a notebook, ah well not you but me. Here ,it should have anything you will need. Again,thank you so much for doing this Y/n."

"Yeah, yeah. Don't worry about it." You said ,flipped the pages of the hard back notebook. Luckily Alma had a neat writing.

"Well, I need to go now. Be nice, little guy. "

Omar bent down to kiss his son's forehead, a sign of goodbye. The child stared at his father with a confuse look as he bubbled nonsense. His tiny hand reaching for the leaving figure.

Omar left soon after ,waving bye-bye to his son and almost kissing your forehead as a habit he picked up since he got together with Alma, their form of goodbye.

You stood there, staring at each other as the kid started to laugh and throw his toy at you. You caught it, he will throw it again and so forth.

You were tired however and knew the boy with too much energy will not be easily manipulated into sleeping. Opening the TV to the kid's cartoon channel , you settled on the opposite couch ,eyes falling victim to tiredness.

----------------------------------------------

You must have been asleep 2 hours and so begore the loud crys woke you up.

Crys? Shittt! The kid.

Shooting out of your crouched position, you ignore the stirring pain of your sudden movement. Your legs' thud brought the attention of the crying mop of hair.

A wrenches smell filled your nostrils as your dread grew when you realised where its source came from. Looks like it's time to change a diaper. Oh ,man!

With a mask over your nose, hair tied behind your back and gloves you started changing the boy in the bathroom, you cleaned and washed him and brought him back on the layed blanket on the couch. Your disgust grew as you cleaned the sink and disinfect it.

You groaned as you threw your equipment in the bin, a bing didn't let your stomach cringe at the memory of the smell. It was a message from Corpse.

'Hey :)'

You smiled, quickly texting him back.

'Hey!"

'Up to play something today?'

'A new stream? You just finished one tomorrow, I don't want you to burn yourself out.'

'<3 But no, I mean to play together in private, just the two of us.'

You wanted to text him back, teasing him with the proposition of a date but the sounds of broking glass was heard from the living room.

With a scream , you quickly typed out :' Cant baby in troble.!'

The kid was fine thankfully , grinning and laughing at your panicked state. What was not fine was the white porcelain vase with blue florals Sabrina brought for her collection. She wouldn't be mad per say but she wouldn't be happy either.

The kid ,now standing to ran around the room ,using the coffee table to his advantage, your legs screaming from the workout. Luckily the broken vase was behind you away from the child.

Unfortunately, your phone started to ring. Who the fuck would call me now? Oh! It's Corpse. Wait..Corpse!

"H-hey Corpse ! What are you - come here you little block of swiss cheese."

The man laughed as the phone's speaker vibrated on your right ear where you lodged it.

Tj laughed innocently as you grabbed him and hold him to your left hip. Your hair,nerves and mood all a mess.

"A-Are you okay?" Corpse asked after recovering from the fit of laughter.

"Me? Oh ,sure. I have a gremlin here who's more trouble than his worth. Hey! Stop that!"

The happy face of Tj turned in a cringy crying one as he wailed. Apparently you wanting to stop him chewing on your white banda, tightly nicely on the top of your head ,was too much.

"Sounds like trouble. By the way, you called me?"

"I did?"

Your eyebrows clenched as you look at your calls history,you did actually. The icon of the call must have been press on accident or that it was a sign from the universe that you are in dire need of assistance.

"Y-yeah. Look, Corpse l-I gotta go. I will call you-"

And you stopped, your breath becoming more fast as your nose flared.

"Um ghost? Are you...Are you there?"

"Stay on the line,Corpse. This kid just pissed on me."

With that another wave of laughter hit the man as he thrown himself into the chair.

----------------------------------------------

Finally, you changed the damn brat after cleaning him again and taking a shower yourself. You left a breath as you watched the chil playing with his blue rocket toy.

"Babysitting is much harder than the films makes it out to be." You grumbled, pouting as you listened to Corpse's chuckles.

They managed to calm you enough to turn the intimidating glare you had plastered all over your face into a more stern one.

Your body dressed in a clean pair of white jeans short, black tank top and blue checkered shirt over, leaned on the frame of the door. You were waiting for the milk to heat up, luckily the boy was only a month away from being an year old so you could give him cow milk without worrying.

"Babysitting is hard when you ,yourself, are a gremlin, baby." He said ,his voice making you visibly tingle.

You sighed, placing the phone near the wooden bread box and grabbing a cup. By now the milk should have warmed up.

"Um...goofball?"

"Yes,Corpse?"

"You...you are not wearing your voice changer. I..I am sorry, I should have told you from the start but I like the s-sound of it ,I didn't want it to stop."

You could hear the beads of his bracelets as he played with them, nervously waiting for your response.

"I-It's okay, Corpse. You don't need to be sorry."

You swallowed, this day really came for your neck. Your eyes stung as you fight them off, no reason to make Corpse's day shittier by being pathetic.

"You are not fine ,are you goofball?"

The kind and worried tone of this wonderful individual you became to take a liking of was enough to cause everything in you to break loose.

"N-No ,it's not. Everything been so fucking stressful and I-I don't know what to do Corpse. I try my might to fight these thoughts but everytime they resurface stronger and more disturbing. I can't keep them in control, Corpse. I just CAN'T. A-And I keep worrying about losing all: my friends, my belongings and my family. I feel like I will drive them away especially if I can't bring my share to the table. I don't even know why I tell you these to be honest, I don't want to scare you away but in the same time I ... FUCK!"

Your fists hit the table you been resting on hard , scaring the child in the living room. His cries only angered you more.

"Ghost. Ghost! Ghost! Gho-"

"WHAT?"

You instantly regretted shouting at him,stopping from your pacing too.

"Calm down,buttercup. I know how you feel and going down a warpath or an abyss of sorrows ain't the answer. Come, let me help. "

"You still want to?" Your voice came out timidly and shying away in fear, shielding your eyes in shame despite him having no possible way of seeing your face.

"Of course, you goof. Now let's see what we do with that kid."

You swiped a tear out of your right eyes ,smiling and nodding before remembering he couldn't see, just hear you. That made you more anxious now that you realised that he knows a close guarded information.

————————————————————

A smile ran down your face as you watched the child all wrapped up in his dark blue blanket struggle to jeep his bright eyes opened as his ears and energy were captured by Corpse's singing. It's was a lullaby about moon and love, being in Spanish you only understood unfortunately the words close to your mother language.

You almost lost yourself to the gentle hums , stringing of a guitar and over all wholesome cozy atmosphere when loud voices and thumbs came from the apartment near Fatima's.

An idiot called Tudor who plays the bass part in Sergiu's band lived there, he and his boyfriend Micah. Two assholes who had a bone to pick with everyone, well more like Tudor had ,Micah was a follower.

The sense of protection enveloped you as you caressed the child's hair and kiss his right temple, letting him with Corpse to fall asleep.

Your grey flippers cracked against the stone stairs harshly and quickly. Your glare being as cold as the staircase room.

You knocked furiously on the door, hurting your hands by the metal indentations carved into the door. Your ears picked up footsteps approaching the door in a lazy manner, the two making jokes about what kind of bitch could be bothering them.

The smirk on his long face vanished when his pale blue eyes meet your fiery dark ones. He puffed a lock of dirty blond hair , saluting you in a cocky but intimidated manner :

"I wonder why the Red Riding Hood is paying us a visit? What do you think ,Micah?"

He leaned back to let his dark skinned boyfriend take a look at you. His eyes showed fear but he continued the masquerade in order to please his scumbag of a lover.

"I don't know, babe. Maybe she wants a threesome."

Tudor laughed like then pig he is, Micah lipped an apology to you, his black gems cowering in shame.

Micah wasn't a bad man , he was just naive and a people's pleaser, with no sense of stern morals but even awareness to know he is the wrong. You never understood why he wasted his breath by staying at the side of this buffoon of a dude. You ignored his half-cocked insults, knowing they didn't really had a backbone to them.

"I will appreciate if you could tone it down a little. No one needs to know you two are making a sex tape."

This seemed to anger the taller white as mayonnaise man who dismissed his boyfriend with a wave of his painted hand and moved forward to you. The red door of his apartment shutting up with an echo.

You two glared at each other, not one of the other backing down. Your breath was forcefully calmed down by your anger , last thing you needed is for him to know he was affecting you by coming too close. Your hands shook in their tight grip and you were pleased you cut your nails earlier.

"Just because Sergiu lets you come with us when we play, doesn't mean you and I are friends. Got it, girly?"

His rough tone only displeased you.

"And just because you can string two cords and not sound like a dying cat doesn't mean you are a great singer either, buddy."

"Fuck you." He said that to you in a clasped breath, his teeth biting on his lower lip as his face appeared more furious.

If this motherfucker puts his hands on me ,I swear I will...

"Y/N? Y/N!"

It was Sergiu.

The man in a punk style leather jacket ran quickly up the stairs, his armored black boots clicking away.

His face was twisted into a fearing expression before turning into a more pissed off one. He knew of Tudor's dislike towards you and knew that the both of you won't hold back if this turns physical. He needed to be smart about this.

"Man, come on. Leave her alone."

He moved to come between you ,Tudor's movement of hand stopped him.

"Nah,man. This bitch thinks she come here like she owns the fucking place and tell me what to do? I am sorry, princess, but you got another thing going. "

"TUDOR ISAAC POPESCU!"

A female voice caused his blood to ran cold and you to smirk.

Behind Sergiu, a petite woman in her mid fifties glared at him. Her greying hair caught in a bun,her olive wrinkled face was in a madden frown as her blue eyes shield by fuchsia framed glasses stared at him. The madame in green suit pants and white and black blouse was his mother.

His mother, a teacher at your University, was a lioness of a woman, never detour from the right path of doing things and more importantly never afraid to tear down anyone if they being dickish. Not even her loved son.

Sergiu grabbed gently you without a word as you two left the mother and son quarrel in peace, a part of you already starting to feel bad. You hate when you argued with someone but your anger sometimes got the better of you. Today truly has been an exhausting day.

————————————————————

You are in your room,Corpse still on the phone with you. You already explained what happened and know you enjoyed just talking with him about everything and nothing at the same time,trying to not fall asleep for how calming his voice was.

"You sure you don't want me to end the call. You must be tired from all the noises. "

You stirred, cleaning the droll of your left wnd of your lips. Your head ache as you saw that night has befallen.

"Wh-What?"

"Goofball,I was talking if you wanted me to let you rest but you already beat me to it."

"T-Tj?"

"Your friends said they will take care of them. They were so surprised to find me singing to him, though."

"Ah,shit. Sorry Corpse."

"Nothing to be sorry about, pumpkin. "

"Pumpkin, seriously?" You asked ,snuggling back into the comforter.

"Yeah, why not? The fall season is still up for a month or so."

"Hmm, I prefer goofball better."

"If you say so, princess. You *yawn* you sure you don't want me to let you sleep?"

A panick arised into your soul as you quickly told him no.

"P-Please stay."

"A-Alright."

He began to continue the story one of his subscribers send him as your eyes shut. A smile on your lips at last.

————————————————————

Hey,guys!💖

Hope you enjoyed the fifth part of the serie. It was a roller coaster to write.

Anyway, stay safe!💗

Tagged💖:@moolujk @magenta-skyline @yikesyikesyikes95 @simonsbluee @cherry-piee @yoyoanaria @gaysludge @mythicalamphitrite

[mcrmadness]

Hehe. My newes drawing project is finally up 8D Click the images to see them better.

Both are on A4 papers. On the left: pencils + black colored pencil. On the right: Promarkers, a bit of Pigma Micron fineliners and white gel pens.

I am beyond happy about how both drawings came out! The marker one was so much fun to do! It was a neat challenge for myself and I truly think I nailed it. And I absolutely love the white gel pens. I haven’t got to use them much before because I haven’t had really any projects for them - mainly I’ve just used them for fixing stuff on comics. So when I got to that, I got so excited over how it makes everything look so much better that I was actually desperately searching for what else I could highlight with them and then got disappointed when there was nothing else left to highlight XD

I think I’m gonna do a behind-the-scenes post about this at some point again. I filmed almost the whole process of the pencil version’s Bela and ran out of 3 memory cards and had to use my phone at one point because both batteries from my digital camera died, and still didn’t get to film the final steps. My computer’s gonna love me when I transfer the videos to my computer, it’s already crying in pain because the hard drives are almost full. Let’s see if I ever manage to do a timelapse video of that...

Reblogging (and feedback!!!) is allowed and welcomed and appreciated!