#Sappy sedimentals

[astralnymphh]

i see all of your new requests, but let me post this yapfest first. i wanted to explain my further vision on "the sweeter the wheat" and how post-seattle!ellie just follows the reader around like a puppy and is a fucking #loser. :P

seeking revenge never felt so transformative, inside and outside of the material world. when ellie swore to her blade that it would taste the bitter, briny blood of abby, she never expected such a fallout as the one that befell her in the theater. in the maw of adversity, she failed to quench that blood-promise, and it left her with a few broken things that now surround her in jackson.

her garage quietened to the level of an abandoned church, lacking a dina, a joel, and a heart to laden it with sunlit laughter. her agonies: a ghost you bring back with you that says no word, no whisper, no indications of disgust with that fleshly desire for a second go at the blonde wolf who set her into this cycle, just a silence. something that eroded her thoughts to the bone and made them gnash and scrape against her head in an effort to dig deep for resolve. it brought nothing but regret and punished her into repeated sleep, where yet, she still sorrowed. a laid, humiliatingly tidy hill of bones sorrowed, one of them fractured at the center. forgiveness, fractured.

then there was you, traipsing through the thoroughfare towards the diner she thinks is your new station of operation, but isn't too sure. it was there, she followed many paces behind you, struggling with her weary feet and her slung arm—which dependently embraces her stomach for safety, solace, and health—watching you grow further and further away into the cry of spring light as she gawked on like a dog with a bone. a dog who simply wanted to play a game of catch but fears the look of desperation. maybe she doesn't deserve attention. that was before she even made it inside the diner at all.

it was in you that she sought a temporary resolve, wasting all those temperate, late nights weaving her limbs into you instead of sulking in her own emptiness. ellie's dolour and dejection turned into a sediment; she erased all disgust and question in her gut, and had forgotten what had her in tears weeks before. you're a saint, a goddamn fun person to be around. she likes to laugh with you, at you. she likes to sketch you, paint you. she likes to cook for you—even if hopelessly attempted. she likes to talk about where she might relocate to if given the chance, van life in the apocalypse, perhaps? you tell her everything is far beyond okay, and that she isn't a total loser for taking this long to ask you out but remained a desperate case in her journal and in her sentiments. she likes to hug you, hold you, touch you, even if it makes all those cringy diary entries look like wishes turned true. she likes to kiss you, even if it means she might rise into love with you and accidentally catch you in her never-ending blight.

“i just, um—nevermind. can't take myself seriously when i start to get all sappy, so i better stop before i.. yeah,” her voice became shy again, so to speak, fiddling with her ear nervously. quickly, she made herself useful by reorganizing the pillows so you could lay by her. shuffling onto her side and reaching out that newly-healed arm for you, “c'mon, i'm tired as shit,” elusively laughing.

it's the reason she holds back sometimes.

[thepenultimateword]

Date or Die Part 10

This might be so sappy you could make syrup out of it, but I give you, dear followers, the Date or Die Finale! To think I wrote part 1 as a quick little prompt fill on a whim in April; it’s crazy that its been nearly 10 months since then! Thanks for coming along for the ride!

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine

Supervillain took a long sip from their mug and squinted down their arm at the soft-colored mood board on their phone screen. The tea had gone from lukewarm to cold, allowing a ring of grainy sediment to settle at the bottom; now it swirled up and skimmed bitterly across their tastebuds, causing them to wince and stick out their tongue.

"You waited too long again," Villain said, glancing over the large stack of envelopes piled up on either side of them. How were they so good at noticing every little thing? Even when they weren't looking?

"It's gross when it's hot," Supervillain countered, forcing another sip out of pure defiance. "What do you think of this combination?"

They leaned halfway out of bed and thrust their phone in Villain's direction.

Instead of leaning out and meeting Supervillain halfway, Villain let their pen clatter to the desktop and strode over to the bed, crawling over Supervillain's legs and snuggling into their side. "Alright, let's see it."

Supervillain fought the warmth rising in their cheeks--that had been happening a lot lately--and brought the phone up to their lover's eye level.

"Oh, I like the dusty rose and dusty blue. Oh! And those string lights are beautiful. Do you think we can find some like that to put over the wedding bower? We could mix in real flowers and it would look like it's glowing!"

Supervillain cleared their throat, a well of uncontrollable affection surging up their airway as per usual. "Of course. Maybe we could go out and look at flower arrangements tomorrow?"

Villain nodded, stretching their arms and all ten fingers out in front of them before leaning back against Supervillain's chest. Supervillain had the sudden urge to kiss them. All over. Forever. Sometimes their presence still felt surreal. A dream they might wake up from at any moment.

"See something you like?" Villain said.

Supervillain jolted, averting their eyes to the wall in front of them. "How are invitations going?"

"Pretty good." Villain began playing with a lock of Supervillain's hair that had fallen across their shoulder. "Though I'm still stuck on whether or not to invite Friend."

Supervillain immediately turned their gaze back on their lover.

"My ex-best friend who tried to kill you and now is confined to a high-security prison? That Friend?"

"They invited you to theirs. It's only polite to return the favor. Besides, it's not like they can actually show up."

"No, but it's the principal of it. You try to kill my fiancee, you don't get an invite to the wedding."

"To be fair," Villain said, a sly grin curving their jaw. They twisted the lock of hair tighter around their finger and tugged just hard enough to tip their chin in their direction. "We weren't really dating when they tried to kill me."

Supervillain swallowed hard. "Th-they didn't know that."

This villain was going to be the death of them. Where did they get off flipping their roles around, them the suave charmer and Supervillain the flustered mess?

"And I already liked you by then. I liked you before then. So on all accounts it was...utterly...completely...unacceptable."

Villain was so close, Supervillain could smell the strawberries and cream on their breath from breakfast. It blended with a hint of ginger from their tea. That matching mug set was one of the best purchases Supervillain had ever made. It made Villain's eyes shine, sort of the way they shone now, like a couple stars blinking out of an inky black firmament. Just...beautiful. They were so...so...

"S-stop teasing me!" they cried, shooting upright and out of Villain's grasp. They snatched the ends of their long hair and bundled it up over their burning face.

Villain fell on their back cackling. "But it's so fun! You're like this super scary steel trap all covered in barbs and spikes, it's the best watching you turn into jelly."

"Evil!"

"Villain, darling." Gentle fingers slid over their shoulders as the smaller criminal draped over Supervillain's back and wrapped their arms around their neck. "You didn't know what you were getting back then, did you?"

Supervillains wrapped their hands around Villain's fists. "I did actually. I've always known you were clever, conniving, and mean, but you're also gentle, empathetic, and kind. I love every part of you."

"You're sappy." Villain nuzzled their ear.

Supervillain pecked the corner of their mouth. "You love it."

For a moment there was only warm silence, then Villain tipped halfway over their shoulder to meet their eyes. "So. Friend?"

"I don't know why you're insisting on it, but fine."

"And Friend's Spouse?"

"Really? They might actually come."

"They did testify against Friend in court."

Supervillain sighed heavily. "Fine. Whatever you want, love."

Villain grinned and dropped their weight back against the curve of their spine. "I love you."

"I...love you too."

Supervillain never thought they'd get to say that in their lifetime with such confidence, but they were immensely glad it was true.

***

"This was their idea, wasn't it?"

Friend sat in the far corner of their white, empty cell. A metal twin-sized bed and a plain, three-compartment chest of drawers were the only furnishings in the drab space. A framed picture of their spouse--glass removed of course--was about the only thing bringing any sort of personalness to the place. And now the wedding invitation.

"How'd you know?" Supervillain said, standing a few paces back from the glass, thumb hooked in the corners of their pockets.

Friend looked up, eyes flashing. They wore the face of young, golden-haired ship captain today. The one they'd stabbed in the back at the end of a sea heist six years ago. According to the prison guards, they did that often. Wearing faces that didn't belong to them. The prison's therapist said it was most likely a form of escapism, wanting to be anyone but themself at the moment. "Because they're petty. Like you. Like me."

A beat passed. The beat that carried the unsaid question they both held under their tongues. Did it have to be this way? Was there any universe where this turned out differently? Or were they always destined to crash and burn?

Supervillain shifted their weight to their other foot. "I didn't know jealousy would make you so homicidal."

"Everything makes me homicidal."

Supervillain chuckled humorlessly. "That's true."

The overhead light buzzed mechanically in the silence. The invitation's soft paper rustled as Friend rubbed the corners between their thumbs and forefingers.

"I know you've said you have nothing to say,'" Supervillain probed, "but..."

"It wasn't because I loved you," Friend said. Their voice snapped out cold and harsh like a whip. "I didn't. Not the way I knew you loved me. I'd known for years."

Supervillain's stomach squirmed a little. It probably shouldn't matter now, those feelings were just as nonexistent as Friend's, but they couldn't help but feel somewhat embarrassed that they'd apparently been so obvious.

The corners of the photo softened under Friend's pressure, and they slowly peeled them away, letting them flutter to the ground in little crumples of color. "I thought I wanted you with someone else. I truly did. Until you were."

"I wasn't--"

"I know. But you did fall in love. And suddenly, I knew I couldn't live without your attention. Didn't matter that I didn't want you. Still didn't want you. I just liked being your world. Having you on a string. Watching you dance to my tunes. That's probably sick, isn't it?"

"Well...that's what I always liked about you." Supervillan's eyes followed the next shreds of paper as they fell.

"But not anymore."

"No. Not anymore."

Friend stopped shredding just short of the faces and set the invitation flat on their dresser. Their eyes flicked up to meet Supervillain's through the glass.

"You're softer now."

"I'm not interested in playing with lives anymore, if that's what you mean."

Friend shrugged. "Dunno. Guess there's just an edge to you that's gone now." Their voice went softer. "I was never going to do that for you."

Once, Supervillain wouldn't have needed words to sit in Friend's presence. Their gaze had always been enough. Now they wanted nothing more than to get out and back to Villain's awaiting comfort.

"I should get going. Villain is outside."

They started toward the mouth of the hallway.

"Supervillain."

They stopped, half-turning back toward Friend.

"I hope... I hope the wedding is nice."

Supervillain nodded.

The walk to the exit was considerably lighter than it had been coming in.

***

Villain kicked their heels against the waxed linoleum tile. It had probably been 15 minutes since Supervillain walked back with the guards to deliver the wedding invitation to Friend. It usually took that amount of time alone to be searched, escorted in, searched again, and escorted out. Villain wasn't sure how long Supervillain would spend talking to them, but they guess they probably had at least 5 or 10 minutes longer to wait.

The door to the entrance squealed, and Villain glanced briefly over their shoulder. No sooner had the turned forward they were whirling around again.

"Oh! Hi!"

Friend's Spouse froze mid-step, shoulders hunching like a snarly dog.

"I hoped you might turn up!" Villain continued. "I mean, I knew you came in every Tuesday and Friday, but I wasn't sure if today would be one of those days when you don't come in because sometimes life happens and throws us off schedule. I also didn't know what time you usually visit so--"

"I get it," Friend's Spouse said, holding up one hand to quiet them. They looked around the waiting area a moment before nodding toward the sign-in desk. "Let me guess. Supervillain?"

"They should be done soon."

Friend's Spouse sighed but dropped into the chair next to Villain without too much of a fuss.

Villain fiddled their thumbs. "I never thanked you for what you did. Back at your house or in court. I-"

"I didn't do it for you," Friend's Spouse grumbled.

"I know. But you still did it so...thank you."

Friend's Spouse stared toward the passageway, currently empty except for the two guards at the mouth. "I just needed to stop them before they did something really wrong. And ruined something important to them."

"You're a civilian, right?" Villain said. "You're not..."

"In 'the business'? No. But I'm what you'd call a morally questionable person, so I didn't care what Friend did. Even when it came to death. But their obsession over the two of you...that did need to be stopped. As much for them as for anybody."

For not the first time, the civilian's strength impressed Villain. They didn't know if they would be able to do the same for Supervillain. Hurt them in order to help them. Then again, Villain couldn't really imagine Supervillain doing something so insane. Friend was definitely more volatile, which was saying something when Supervillain had actively held them hostage for over a month.

"Are you guys ok?" Villain said.

"Yes," Friend's Spouse said snappily. "...They're not happy with me, but at least they understand why I did it." They cleared their throat. "How are...you? Still with Supervillain apparently?"

"Yeah, we-- Oh, right!" Villain rummaged through their bag until their fingers glossed over the invitation they'd stowed away in case of this exact meeting. "Here."

Friend's Spouse stared at it for a long time. "You're seriously inviting me?"

"I came to yours."

"I kidnapped you."

"Supervillain kidnapped me; I can let it go the first time, maybe even the second." At the civilian's strange look, they added, "Nothing in villainy is typical."

"I'm pretty sure you're situation is atypical even for other atypicals."

Villain chuckled lightly. Probably true. If someone had told them the night of their almost-execution that the person holding a gun to their head would one day be their fiancee, they would have laughed, rather manically, in their face.

As if on queue, the steady clack of Supervillain's shoes traveled up the hallway, growing louder and louder with each step. Villain burst to their feet before the other villain had even entered view.

“Hey,” Supervillain greeted, passing the double guards and immediately interlocking fingers with Villain. A moment later they noticed their company. “Hey, [Friend’s Spouse]. I think they’re itching to see you.”

Friend’s Spouse forced a smile that looked more like a grimace and rose to their feet.

"Well,” Villain hung to Supervillain’s arm and shot Friend’s Spouse one more what-they-hoped-was-friendly look. “Address is on the invitation if you decide to drop by."

"I'll think about it," Friend's Spouse said, then softer. "Er...thank you."

With that, they made their way to the sign-in desk without a second glance.

***

The wedding had lots of chamomile and no cinnamon. The table of kettles, each set to boil on its own hot plate, filled the room with heady steam, each flavor coming together so the air practically bathed in the sweet, floral aromas.

Supervillain spun Villain under their arm, catching them on their chest before they could fully stumble.

"I thought your last wedding would have put you off from heels," they said, eyes all googly and soft as they tipped their forehead against Villain's.

"Well, you know me. I'm a glutton for punishment." Villain quirked a sly smile and slid their arms up around Supervillain's neck. "But hey, heels saved my life! ...Or was it cinnamon?"

Supervillain swayed them back and forth. "Don't know...but you were adorable."

"You wanted me dead," Villain scoffed. They didn't know when that had become a natural thing to say, but somehow it escaped their lips without eliciting so much as a shiver.

"I could still appreciate your cuteness. Especially when your little nose got all runny and your voice all squeaky and--"

Villain interrupted them with a quick kiss on the mouth.

"I think that's quite enough," they said as they pulled back.

Supervillain stumbled the next dance step, face flushed a bright, pretty pink.

"Aww, your so cuu-"

Supervillain's lips crashed back against their own.

Suddenly Villain couldn't hear the music, or the "ooos" of their guests, all that mattered was the steady pressure of Supervillain's hands on their hips, the soft warmth against their mouth, and the taste of honied chamomile. Their heart pounded so hard they felt dizzy. When Supervillain finally let them breathe again they swayed like a drunk.

Supervillain remained close enough for their breath to tickle their face. "Honey, you may be a villain, but I'm a supervillain. Don't you ever forget that."

Villain's mind had become nothing but blank static, so they nodded dumbly.

Supervillain grinned, something between wicked and smitten. "Want to make a bargain?"

Villain rested their head against Supervillain's pounding heart, letting the beats steady them as they gripped the lapels of their suit coat. “Sounds like our style. Let's hear it."

"Nothing serious, just…that we stay together until we die.”

“I think that was part of our vows,” Villain said with a chuckle. “Til death do us part and all that?”

“It’s different.”

The song came to a close, and Supervillain guided them by the hand back to their table, paying little attention to the of well-wishers that ambushed them along the way. Villain really wasn’t sure how many of the people were really happy for them and how many just wanted on Supervillain’s good side.

“How is it different?” Villain said, breaking them from the uncomfortable scowl before it could fully plaster their face.

“People break those vows all the time. We didn’t break our bargain…”

Villain pushed a lock of hair behind Supervillain’s ear. “And what are the consequences of breaking said bargain?”

“Death.”

Villain’s eyes widened, and Supervillain smirked.

“Not really. …I suppose nothing.”

Villain pondered a moment. “You know, death might not be such a bad idea…” As soon as it left their mouth, they quickly held up both hands. “Not in real life! I meant as pretend! A-and not with threats to each other, but maybe sometimes we could pretend that there’s a bigger threat, and we have to stick together to survive.”

Supervillain nodded slowly. “I like it.” They paused. “We’re weird, aren’t we?”

“Oh, that became clear long ago.”

Supervillain shrugged and picked up their wine glass of deep blackberry tea, lukewarm from neglect by now.

“Married or die?”

Villain grinned, rising their golden glass of chamomile glass in return. They clinked the glasses together as their hands found each other beneath the table.

“Married or die.”

Master Taglist:

@moss-tombstone @crazytwentythrees @just-1-lonely-person @the-vagabond-nun @willow-trees-are-beautiful @cocoasprite @insanedreamer7905 @valiantlytransparentwhispers @whovian378 @watercolorfreckles @thebluepolarbear @yulanlavender @kitsunesakii i @deflated-bouncingball @lem-hhn @office-plant-in-a-trenchcoat @ghostfacepepper @pigeonwhumps @demonictumble @inkbirdie @vuvulia @bouncyartist @lunatic-moss-studio @breilobrealdi @freefallingup13 @i-am-a-story-goblin @ryunniez @rainy-knights-of-villany @distractedlydistracted @saspas-corner @echoednonny @perilous-dreamer @blood-enthusiast @randomfixation @alexkolax @pksnowie @blessupblessup @wolfeyedwitch @thedeepvoidinmyheart @cornflower-cowboy @bestblob @a-chaotic-gremlin @espresso-depresso-system @prompt-fills-and-writing-spills @paleassprince @takingawildbreath @yindo @psychiclibrariesquotestoad @harpycartoons @pickleking8 @urmyhopeeee

[chaifootsteps]

Okay, no more sad Zibwick for now. Let's get some happy sappy domestic shit in here:

Imagine Zib working on his music on the couch while Wick leans against him reading a book with their tails interlocked.

Imagine Wick slowly becoming more and more comfortable with expressing his feelings for Zib in public, even if it's only in front of those he's close to (ei, the rest of the Lackadaisy gang)

Imagine Wick talking about rocks and sediments and Zib doesn't really understand what he's saying, but he still has this really soft, sweet smile on his face as he just gets lost in the sound of Wicks voice and how happy he sounds.

Imagine these two idiots being absolutely touch starved and cuddling the second their alone.

Imagine Zib leaning on Wicks shoulder, trying to make him come to bed cause he's been working for over 12 hours and he doenst want him to work all night again.

Doves, I say.

[raspberry-and-friends]

“Eek! I ship it!”

Name: Princess Flurry Heart Cake

Nickname(s): Flurry, Mommy/Fluffy (Buttercream), Lovebug (Pumpkin)

Species: Alicorn (an exact 50/50 unicorn and Pegasus mix, hence the unicorn hooves and pegasus tail)

Gender: Cisgender female (she/her)

Sexuality: Pansexual

Age: 25

Parents: Princess Cadence Pie and Captain Shining Armor Sparkle [DECEASED], Captain Sediment Pie (FtM Maud Pie) and Cheesecake Pie (MtF Cheese Sandwich) (stepparents)

Sibling(s): Kindred Spirit Pie, Olive Branch Pie, Tough Cookie Pie (younger triplet siblings)

Partner(s): Pumpkin Cake

Children: Princess Bedazzled Buttercream Cake

Headcanons and disclaimers below the cut 👇👇

Personality: Extroverted, sappy, optimistic, a hopeless romantic, and almost always knows exactly what somepony needs to make them feel better (“How did you know hyacinths were my favorite flower? You seem like a hyacinth kind of pony”).

Fatal Flaws: Nosy, obnoxious, clingy, has an accidental habit of interrupting ponies, and still has difficulty controlling her magic sometimes (when you possess the abilities of a full-grown alicorn as an infant, it’s not exactly easy to master them).

Oh, and she’s also cured… but we’ll get to that part soon enough ; )

Special Talent: Matchmaking

Cutie Mark Story: After her father, Shining Armor, passed away in battle when she was just a toddler, Flurry Heart was determined to find her grieving mother a new partner. Candance, once cheerful and full of life, had become a depressed shut-in who refused to speak to anyone outside the castle walls.

One day, the clever young filly hired a court jester—a cheerful party pony named Cheesecake—to entertain the sullen mare, and the two hit it off immediately. Cheesecake and her stallionfriend, Sediment Pie, both worked in the crystal empire as an entertainer and guards-pony respectively. All three of their personalities intwined perfectly, with just the right amount of playfulness and hardworking spirit to get the job done.

This is precisely why nopony was surprised when they finally made their relationship public. Sediment became the leader of the crystal guard, while Cheese worked as the head party planner of the empire.

And where was Flurry in all of this? Writing the invitations to their future wedding of course! All while being one of the youngest ponies in her family to get her cutie mark.

Base by SelenaEde

***DISCLAIMER: In this AU, The princesses DIDN’T hand off their powers to Twilight, and still remain the primary rulers of Equestria during the course of this story. The illustrations and writing (the latter of which has since been revised to fix previously missed grammatical errors and to more closely align with my current headcanons) were done back in 2020-2021 and posted to my now-inactive DeviantArt account. The signature ‘Hun’ reflects the name I went by at the time, Hunter.***

[holly-fixation]

Ink Stained Cloud: Ch 1

Summary: Cloud Strife, after finally winning the war against Sephiroth, is torn back in time by the Calamity, damaging his brain and body permanently. Through tainted evolution, he becomes a squid like creature, constantly spewing the very disease he put his life on the line to prevent. The Calamity uses Cloud as a proxy to bring this world’s Sephiroth to her for the first time. Cloud fights with everything he has, trying to pull Sephiroth away in any way he can. Can he protect his fallen hero this time? Or will he fall to the clutches of the Calamity once again?

Inspired by this prompt by @im-totally-not-an-alien . A rewrite/remake of Ink Clouds. 

Trigger warning: Body Horror

Chapter 1: I Will Not End

Wind swept through the air, wisping grains of sand and the parched soil of the Midgar planes with it. Land devoid of life due to Midgar's reactors spread for miles beyond the city, only the bravest and most persistent plants taking root in the sediment. Not long ago, a cliff overlooking the city proudly held the blade that protected him all those years ago. 

A last stand. Dreams. Honor. Living legacy. 

Cloud never forgot. They moved the rusting Buster Sword to the church in Sector Five after the Geostigma eradication. Yes, it still hurt to see that sword or step inside that church, but they belonged together. Knowing they were in the Lifestream together as always turned a soft smile on his face. 

But today wasn’t a day of mourning or a day of joy. He stepped off his motorcycle and locked it in place, looking at the view of the city. He stepped closer to where the blade laid for the longest time, no indent remaining in the useless soil. This was a day of thanks. He kneeled down and placed a hand where his friend, his protector, took his final breath. Silently, he closed his eyes and ran every memory of his friend through his mind. The visions flooded his emotions, and he took a strangled breath against them before steeling himself. 

Thank you for saving me. 

Thank you for your sacrifice. 

Thank you for your aid.

I know you’d laugh at me for doing something this sappy, but…

All I can say is thank you.

He inhaled to regulate his breath before patting the soil down. Through all their pain, through all their suffering and experiments and otherworldly monsters, Cloud was happy. He was finally happy with the life he created. The life he was given. The life he would never throw away-

Suddenly bright blue orbs flashed through his sight, claiming his strength, and he fell to the ground instantly, hissing and scratching in his mind, his eyes squeezed with an invisible force. It clutched his heart, pulling him down by…

By a string.

No.

His sight kept shifting between the struggling city and the blue orbs rushing through some invisible liquid. Flashes of white and dark. Flashes of mako. Flashes of Lifestream. 

Flashes of a single pink glowing eye, glaring, searing, corroding his mind.

No!

High pitched scratching and ringing, like nails on a chalkboard but softer, soft enough to fake a promise of a dream that was not his clawed through his mind. He tried to force himself up, yet his body remained glued as if in the midst of a gravity spell. He tried to grab his phone, but his unstable and disoriented sight made it impossible to use. His useless ears were trapped in the realm of the ringing screeches, ruining the option completely.

Through the ringing came laughter. A cosmic, galactic, transient voice echoed in his mind, eternally growing and blooming until it drowned all else. His hearing, his sight, his touch and taste and smell all failed him to that singular being. That calamity. That plague. That monster. That parasite that spread its virus through this world enough times-

All at once, the ringing and laughter silenced. His senses returned just in time to find falling through the air, completely out of control as his body flipped and twisted against his will, whipping wind scratching past him. Light blue, dark blue, light blue, dark blue. The pattern repeated in a blur across his sight through his spinning body, before he crashed into a deep mass of water. The force of the impact broke his body, his legs and ribs snapping like he slammed onto concrete.

His lungs seared as his panicked breaths forced the liquid through them, unable to stop himself, to hold, to force his body to obey. He pushed the water with his arms and tried to break the surface, but his sandy sight was only getting darker as he sank further and further into the abyss. He was going to pass out if he didn’t make it out. If he was lucky, he'd survive at all. He needed to get out. He had to-

But no. He wasn’t going to pass out. He wasn’t going to die. He was going to suffer for what he did. For his betrayal. For halting their plans. He would suffer every moment through a cursed new existence.

The bones of his legs snapped into three perfectly split rods, shooting up from his feet through his hips, and he screamed with all the air his body retained through the bubbles trapping him below. Every crack and readjustment kept his mind perfectly lucid as he tried, gods he tried, to end it in any way he could, trying to claw his way to what remained of his own legs. Trying to stop this ungodly attack. But nothing attacked him. Every tear came from the inside, stretching, and ripping, and twisting what remained of his legs, coiling them like steel cables and he couldn’t break free. 

As the last of the air in his body was claimed by the unforgiving sea, the twisted pieces rolled over like dominos, crackling and flipping his skin to a smooth, purple rubber, before stretching. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as he released what he thought was his last breath. But he was graced- cursed- by another through the same salty liquid, with absolutely no stinging pain to his lungs as it entered as smooth as silk. The odd chittering and shifting of what used to be his legs left him cringing and tensing before it, too, finally stopped at the very tip of the remaining limb. 

He dared open his eyes, ignoring the futility of the dark water that blocked his sight, but the darkness began to fade. Mako glowed from both his eyes and a faint dome in the distance, and soon he could see the crisp white floor of sand, the various swaying plants moving with the tide, and a dozen schools of fish. His instincts told him to look around, to search the area, but he forced his eyes to focus down, to see if his legs were….

His legs were gone, replaced by long purple tentacles anchored to a new wrapping of lavender around his waist. Six tentacles moved in perfect symmetry to keep him afloat, their circulating pattern suddenly calling memories of swirling pink clouds, a blue sky, and a heartless angel. 

That angel- that madman couldn’t do something like this. He was dead, destroyed and shoved back in the Lifestream multiple times, killed by him again and again. He didn’t have the strength to attack even if he wanted to. It was too soon since his last attempt at claiming the planet. But the calamity, his ‘mother’, the virus, the plague, the alien, was always vengeful, and would do anything for her son. He felt that now, felt it in every remaining bone in his body.

This Reunion was stronger than the one winged angel's, claws and vines rooted even deeper around his strangled heart. Cloud couldn’t help but scan the terrain for any semblance of help or even something he could use, anyone he could talk to or anything to break him free.

A silver school of interwoven fish swam past him in the beauty of the tide, shimmering and glistening in the mako light. His eyes followed as they swam away, a single thought claiming his mind. 

Pretty… 

Cloud suddenly snapped his gaze up. What was that? Why did that happen? How did that distract him? He needed to focus, to leave the waters and call for help. 

Soon red coral claimed his attention as he followed the unnaturally familiar shape it formed on its own: the body of a woman, curving and spreading with large angled masses, almost like wings. 

A warning. A mockery. A punishment. An attack. A symbol daring to remind him of It: that which nearly destroyed the planet. 

His train of thought vanished again as he analyzed the long stalks of seaweed all over the ground, wave like strands pulling memories of the Lifestream. He forced it back with every shred of his will. Calamity. Its son. The one winged angel. 

Loud rumbling from above pulled his mind away once more. His first instinct connected the sound to a possible monster, something primed to attack, and he had nowhere to run. Nowhere to call shelter. Terror claimed his heart, and dark, murky clouds began blooming around him. They entered his sight and he flinched away from them. But they followed, forming even larger, even faster as Cloud’s new breath rapidly increased, his fear, his anxiety flooding his thoughts. 

He needed to survive. He needed to run- swim. To escape. To leave. To live. His new tentacles pushed him away before his mind gave the command, moving him gracefully through the ever tainting liquid.

Little did he know that the more he moved in this accursed new body, the faster he spread the deadly virus he spent two years trying to cure. Little did he know that every moment in this world brought upon a new pandemic in the age before the Nibelheim Incident locked fate and the Lifestream on its battling course.

.

.

.

.

Thanks for reading!

Author’s note: Ink Cloud’s was the first fanfiction I wrote, but I had so many ideas and so many simple things I wanted to expand and fix. The pacing was a mess before, but I really like the idea. I wanted to do it justice. That prompt stuck with me, but I was a little too excited back then trying to get this posted as quickly as possible. 

This rewrite will not be exactly the same. This is a test of my abilities, how far I’ve grown, and just what I could’ve done if I didn’t limit myself 1,500 words per chapter for absolutely no reason (I promise future chapters will be longer but this felt more like a prologue than connected to the coming chapter). Descriptions will change. Scenes will change. New things will happen. Conversations won’t suddenly cut off (because I wanted to go to sleep but I also wanted a chapter a day, which was far too unreasonable for my schedule). I stand by most of my plot based decisions from back then, but I feel I understand these characters better now, and I want to expand this to the fullest.

Happy one year anniversary to my first fic! I posted Ink Clouds on tumblr a few months before I got an ao3 so the dates are a little different. Thank you for reading! I hope you stick around!

[shini--chan]

hello! hope you’re having a nice day :D! could you write 2p! canada’s s/o who’s usually extremely nervous deciding to snap at him finally? thank you!

Yandere 2p! Canada – Brink

For a long time, James had only seen you as a tame kitten – cute, harmless and utterly lovely. This now stood in sharp contrast to the alley cat that was hissing and arching its back in an attempt to make itself bigger. To him, this was all slightly intimidating by the virtue that such behaviour coming from you was so alien to him.

“You should get stuffed. Shove a broom up your ass. Jump of a cliff. Hell knows what just leave me out of all your insanity”, you spat at him, wagging your finger at him and unflinchingly staring him in the eye.

Sure you were trembling, yet at this point he knew at was from the excess adrenaline coursing in your system rather than from fear. The skittish lover he cherished so much had vanished, as if lightning had smited that person and something uncontrollable had risen from the ashes. There was no more bowed head, shaky eye contact or stuttered and quiet sentences. In that place, was something wild that could only be broken or left whole with no middle ground. A magnesium fire that couldn’t be doused by water.

His large hands curled to fists by his side. His temper was rising, and he wanted to prevent himself from doing something stupid, especially with how much you were pushing him towards his own brink.

“Maybe you should calm down, think things over a bit. I know that you thought about marriage before. You even planned it all out with one of your stupid friends, gushed about how cutesy it would be and all that sappy bullshit”, he growled back at you.

Your lips thinned to a narrow line, your expression morphing as if you had bitted into something rancid. By now, he knew what you found rancid, he had just never in his wildest dreams imagined that you would be capable of such an outburst.

“No, I won’t. Just how crazy are you? First you kidnap me and then you want to marry me as if we are some lovey-dovey couple”, you sneered at him, and then whipped away, putting the kitchen table between you. Somehow, you had developed a unique empathy. You had the innate feeling when he was just a hair-width away from going for your throat.

Granting you a smug grin, he said: “Crazy enough to love you. Hadn’t had a boyfriend before, eh?”

Emotional pain distorted your feature – he had hit a nerve with his callous remarks. Oh, he had predicted that you might need the tiniest fraction of pressure to be convinced to allow him to wed you. With your mousey demeanour, he had thought you would put up no fight when he would lead you to the altar. However, by how things were going, he would have to put you on weed to make you compliant.

There was the option of tossing his whole plan, yet once James put something to mind, he always followed through on it. A wedding would sediment his love for you and also convince you of your feelings for him. Besides, he had read that married coupled have more sex – he didn’t want to miss-up on that.

Finally finding your words again, you snarled: “Yet I’m not stupid enough to love you!”

[softest-creature]

You got any crushes or lovers cherry blossom? You Seem so Soft! ☺️

You sweetheart thank you!! No lovers at the moment. I’ve been finding it extremely hard to be intimate with people lately due to lots of past sediment. Which is confusing and hard because I’m such a passionate, mushy person in general. There are people who’ve captured my affections for sure, unrequitedly though mostly. I’m trying to let go of people who can’t reciprocate whilst navigating what it is I actually desire from a relationship. I hate feeling stagnant and need someone with as much energy and passion as me but also someone who is sappy and emotive and creative.

[annoyedbythevoid-blog]

Liberation Through Hearing

Face of chatoyant spirit wears the mask of the monoliths Reality is just a dream that we wake up from.   The unweighted greatness of nature, immortal in its wise perfection Knows that the spirit is boundless. Hitherto, stone beings cling to matter.            I’m in a tesseract of            delusion calibrated in            detached spiritual celibacy. Dimensional portals hang on the mouth of your volition—chew on complex infinity— All consciousness wears an axis, while bodies wearing a thousand todays cling to eternal reverence. I want to be free   from the color of Ego. I swim in the prominent void— dark red, burnt green machine. This plasma makes bread out of plagues. There is no plague without a form. Life is a paradox. I thread the needle Into every question, implore its source from divine intuition. The molasses of thought is tossed out by death’s receptionist.   I digress, clinging to the relic of flesh.   Empyrean kingdom disguises as rot Surrendering to the soft decay of the lockjaw lotus: We wear the cyclic birth as a ribbon of exaltation—such false refuge— You cannot catch your breath if you’re looking at your carbon.   Quartz disguises as corpse, consumes the closed eye vista.     These feet are roots. Branches of time. I’ve been taking a spade to my own limbs pleading for the key. Mother, have you found me? Liana of soul serpant keeper shakes The globe, peers curiously beyond the glass Writing rubrics on the semester of my own reflection.   I sacrifice the sediment of auric residue, the orenda Climbs into the Rorschach of fluttering vomit.   Horror and awe claim the same name. If I say my name out loud three times I might appear and rise like smoke from this yawning mouth, fall down to the ground like a scorched church over the night gaping in its star-charmed expanse. Electrons burst inside the serpent attached to my spine.  Devoured by all space and its color I                                                                                    release into Sacred Atonement!                                                      The gatekeeper has delivered the seraphim. Sacred Atonement!                                                      Icaros echo the dissolution of illusion. Mortal Eclipse!            Fear paints the self into an obsidian oblivion Mortal Eclipse!                                                 Flesh recoils from the palace of its own cocoon—                                                I boil in the samsaric sea. Sacred Atonement!                                                      Centipedes consume inches                                    Humans consume the precipice of every hour                        Energy consumes the infinite, measured by the breath of an aeon Mortal Eclipse!            The ego is carnivore and consumes itself Sacred Atonement!            The soul is a peach wearing pearls Mortal Eclipse!            The body is a sacred vessel wearing its quiet expiration.   The carnal mind bows into broken wishbone, yielding its buttery marrow.   Sacred Atonement!            I absorb into the disintegration of a seeds constellation. Time fulfills its perfect circumference. I’m a mouse in a solar maze chewing chimerical wax. The soul is the silvering flame.  Atoms-eating-body navigate the labyrinthine vein of bough becoming estuary. The light of a candle shines deific through a burning lyre, calling from the dimensional void:            “Mirror, mirror before the fall            shows the projection beyond your eyeballs.” I peel the bark from my face and touch the Earth’s mantle, Shake the leaves into the exposed heart-sun core.   Nothingness as canvas.   I feel like an infant— A fresh fetus of fruit nursing the tender breast of bardo medicine.                        Void. Your nucleus is a throne for the universe.                        Void. Become the soul without the self.                        Void. The body is a toy in a parlor of fire. There is no hell, only empty sky.                        Void I am the sun seeking the source   Synthesizing terror and curiosity. She planted seeds.                        Void. Unavoidable atlas.   Do not resist. Do not be afraid. Wander serenely in riddles of caves. The ruins begin to look like cathedrals.   The Tree of Life climaxes during the second death. What did you think she would sound like?            The ecstasy of release, hysteric revelry                        Mirthful catharsis becomes laments; twines the vine of itself            Along the spine of the trunk. Death is The metamorphosis of existence. You are The God having a human experience. Laughter is The fingerprint of the celestial self.   Incarnation does not grow linear.   My pomegranate womb plugs its roots into The veins of the Earth;   Wraps itself in life’s warm testament. She takes a hammer to the stone illusion Breaking it apart into floating cubes Disappearing into space. Reality is funny isn’t it? The certainty within the hour has expired, The last second has gone back into itself, Inside the mouth of reality’s coiling serpent. Time consumes itself and recycles Into the fertile soil of pristine cognition.   Fear is the germination of every karmic lecture. If all is one, then I am the Ether’s sister. I want to look into the eye of forever and confess my admiration. For Love is how the soul evolves. Be pleased yet once again to observe Your shifting flesh form into a newly fragile film of spectral matter. Is there really any difference between that of intuition and the angels?

Instead of cowering under the web of death’s riddle, I look onward, fascinated, at the tree before me weeping the golden harvest of its sappy denouement-- Retiring back into the capsule of the circadian season.   

[rshinystars]

A Force to Be Reckoned With - Fleurentia

Title: A Force to be Reckoned With

Pair: Ravus/Ignis

Word Count: 823

He was a force to be reckoned with. A pillar, indestructible, inconceivable, yet terribly devoted to what he deemed worthy of his attention.

A privilege, he would say, to even have him spending time to look at you.

But it was those small smiles and occasional chuckles that accompanied those words that made me incapable of denying the feelings that developed with each waking moment of being in his presence.

One would say that he was full of himself. He may have been, but after you went through what he did, you would realize that it was less an overconfidence and more a shield put up to avoid the creatures that took his innocence away. Those monsters that robbed him of a life of joy and subjected him to a life of torture, imprisonment, manipulation.

It was those scars that he carried with nary a moment of apprehension that made me realize how human he was. To the normal eyes, to the ones who just couldn’t comprehend the actions that he took, he was a puppet to the empire that strove to stop my prince - my king - from nearing his goal. To the analytical eyes, to the ones that tried to grasp the harshness of his words and the severity of his actions, did you realize that who he was on the outside was a hardened shell from the scars he carried.

Then again, for the eyes of those who deemed him impossible to fathom, you wouldn’t notice the scars.

You wouldn’t notice the way he flinched away from even the touch of his sister on occasion. You wouldn’t recognize the flickers of uncertainty that cross his face as a sudden memory bursts its way through the barriers built up.

You wouldn’t notice them because he wouldn’t let you - not if you didn’t try to understand.

Putting in the effort was the first way to even begin to recognize who he was. It was by far, the easiest part - the hardest was to maintain the effort. The man chose to make it difficult because trusting was an arduous task that he would claim was not worth his time. You’d ask a question, he’d insult you in the bluntest of ways. Sometimes intentional, other times not.

Mostly intentional.

He was my force to be reckoned with. An appreciation between the two of us that no one could quite figure out. Moments where he’d stick his neck out for me and I wouldn’t know why, but I didn’t let the action go unreciprocated nor unappreciated.

It was an uphill battle. The man, a walking complex of complexes, expressing feelings - oh, the formidable foe, feelings. I could look back at it and laugh, we both could. How insufferable we both were, trying to make one another recognize what we were attempting to establish.

It was just hard. Impractical. Unthinkably difficult and positively embarrassing to simply express and say those three words.

I love you.

It was almost a competition. Who could make it the complicated thing in the world? I’m almost certain he would be the victor, expressing his feelings was already hard, but two men, both focused on their tasks and duties to their countries and uncertain how to handle a devotion to someone else? Multi-tasking was never a problem until it came to us.

Laughable and absolutely insulting to what we had made ourselves to be. The prideful pedestals we stood up on wouldn’t let ourselves be overcome by the failures we suffered from with that challenge, but it was nothing we gave up on.

Though we considered it, we thought against it. The dance was too captivating.

Neither of us could consider a life without the other, no matter how pathetically sappy that sounded.

Spending nights talking about one another’s day, things that drove us up a wall, and pleasant surprises that made things in life not seem as bad.

Not at the time.

Yet, I lay in wait, for the time to come where the pain of permanent separation begins to fade and I stop reminiscing all the times we had and all the times we could’ve had.

Because no matter how “indestructible” a pillar may be, wear and tear causes things to weather away until there is nothing left but the sediment carried into the wind to their next destination where I pray they lay happily. The force, now able to relax and calm itself with a content smile on its face.

Hopefully, now they are fulfilled with no regrets as we continue our lives with them living in my memory - all memories.

It seems, people don’t really try to understand until they’re gone. An afterthought that lingers with apologies and regrets. Knowing him, he wouldn’t want these regrets, he’d scoff, claim you should’ve thought about it sooner and walk away.

And I would smile and try not to laugh.

Because Ravus Nox Fleuret was a force to be reckoned with.

[bazwillendinflames]

MacSingh

Thank you! I love them so much I could cry.

Who would be the big spoon/little spoon? In canon we see April as the little spoon but after a while Ram’s like ‘sweetie please’ and then the dynamic changes. 
Who would wake up first? Probably April? She has more responsibilities growing up. Ram has ptsd tho, so he might get nightmares. 
Do they have nicknames for each other? SWEETIE. I mean Ram totally calls her that and she’s mad and retaliated by calling him every sappy nickname ever. Plus 'dork’ and 'nerd’. 
How do they apologize after an argument? I think April would have to apologise first based off 'the lost’. They probably have long chats. 
What would they be like as parents? Oh interesting. April is an overprotective Mum but also a cool parent who lets her daughter take swords to school for Halloween. Ram is a good dad and tries to get all his kids into football. 
Who is more romantic? Ram. The boy is a walking rom-com. 
What sort of gifts do they get for each other? April probably makes him cupcakes and flower crowns. Ram goes for over the top sedimental gifts like photo boards. 
Who gets jealous easiest? Probably Ram. 
Who gets more excited for events e.g.. Birthdays, Christmas? April MacLean is queen of ugly jumpers at Christmas. 
Who is the most adventurous? April. She’s a literal sword queen. 
Who is the most protective? ^
What would they have been like as childhood sweethearts? Watch Class ep 3-8. 
Who uses all the hot water? Probably Ram because he needs long showers to cleanse himself of all the blood. 
Who would accidentally set the kitchen on fire whilst cooking? Ram. I write a fic on it. 
What would they do if the other one was hurt? April would fight. Ram would cuddle. 
Who gives nose/forehead kisses? Ram because he’s tol. 
What their biggest fight was/will be about: see: Detained.

BONUS #1: Song to sum them up? I have a whole playlist but fireflies by Ron Pope is my fav. 
BONUS #2: A head canon? April can play the ukulele and Ram buys her one in like 10 different colours.

BOTTOM LINE: Do I ship it? Of course. I’ve probably written the most fic about them tbh.

[winenoodle]

Domaine Belluard, Vin de Savoie ‘Les Alpes’ 2008 Imported by Triage Wines, Seattle WA. Yellow-gold.  Apple cellar and peanut, lentils and ozone and the wine is crammed with alpine mojo and glory.  Sappy with grain and vibrating with energy.  Yellow marl glacial sediment stains the palate.  Now.

[theliterateape]

Hope Idiotic | Part 34

By David Himmel

Hope Idiotic is a serialized novel. Catch each new part every week on Monday and Thursday.

SADNESS DOESN’T COME IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE SUDDEN DEATH OF A LOVED ONE. Shock comes first. You feel nothing. Your mind and body switch to autopilot. If you’re one of the first to hear the news, you get busy making phone calls to other loved ones of the departed. You involuntarily go through all of the other motions that come with surviving someone. You try to maintain the status quo. You eat breakfast. You feed your kid. If you’re Lou, you go couch shopping.

Sadness makes a brief appearance at the funeral or the memorial service. That’s when the reality of the death hits. As you watch the crowd of bereaved friends and family huddle and hug and share condolences, you realize the final truth that someone you cared about isn’t showing up. That person will never show up again. All you’re left with is whatever they gave you before the day they died. And as people tell their stories about the dead, and you hold a service program in your hand with a nice portrait of the dead on the cover, you cry. That’s the sadness. But there’s more. There’s a deeper, unwavering sadness. This sadness comes only after the news has gone cold and the body has been put away. It’s when things go back to normal and you find yourself reaching for that person, expecting to hear them, see them, and you get nothing in return but silence and emptiness. Going about the day-to-day even long after that person is gone is when true sadness shows. The enormity of the loss doesn’t come until later.

So the next morning, Lou didn’t feel much of anything beyond the shock. He called Lexi.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Me, too.”

“You okay?”

“As okay as I can be, I suppose.”

Asking people if they are okay after a loved one dies is a stupid question. Has the answer ever been anything but exactly what’s expected? It’s a formality we exercise because we are uncertain of what else to say or do. Because for some reason, doing nothing and just being quiet is unacceptable behavior, but it’s probably what we need to do.

“What happened? How’d you find him?”

“He didn’t show up at work, and no one could reach him. Lorraine called me a little before the end of the day at work, so I tried calling and texting.”

“When was the last time you heard from him?”

“Thursday night after work. He was on his way to an alumni event at the university. He said he had a bad day at work and that we’d talk about it later.”

“Did he sound okay?”

“Just tired. Melvin was all over his ass.”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“No. After work, I went by the house. I used the garage code and… I walked right past him in the car. Didn’t even see him. I went in the house, called for him, walked upstairs and checked the bedroom because I figured he was sleeping, but he wasn’t there. It was strange. So I walked back downstairs, and when I walked out of the kitchen into the garage… I saw him. In the car.”

“What did he look like? Shit, that’s weird. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. He looked like he was sleeping. But before I even got to the car, I knew.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“The doors were locked and the windows were up. I grabbed a broom and smashed the passenger window in with the handle. I don’t know why, but I tried to wake him up. Then I called Lorraine. Then I called 9-1-1. Then I tired waking him up again.”

“You don’t think he did it on purpose, do you?”

“Hell no!”

“Okay. I don’t either. I had to ask. Maybe you knew something I didn’t. He wouldn’t do that to us. It would kill him knowing we were having to deal with this shit.”

Lexi laughed. “Only you can get away with making me laugh right now.”

“So what’s the plan for a funeral?”

✶

MICHELLE SAID THAT SHE REALLY WANTED TO FLY TO LAS VEGAS WITH LOU FOR THE MEMORIAL SERVICE, but work was just too busy for her to get away. The memorial service was spearheaded by the Employee Events Department at Tigris. It was Melvin’s idea. They had contacted the church he and Lexi briefly attended, and the church agreed to host it.

The room was packed—three hundred people or so. A gentle, masculine-looking woman led the service. She looked like a young Bea Arthur. It was nicely done, and the sentiment was there, but overall, the whole thing felt like a farce. The program listed speakers as me, Neal Harding—friend, Louis Bergman—friend, Melvin Wilson—friend and co-worker, and Cal Keller—father. When I spoke, people laughed and cried. I managed to say what I had to say about my friend without cracking too badly. When Lou spoke, people laughed and cried some more. He didn’t fare so well and broke up twice. A hint of sadness. Melvin prattled on about how dedicated Chuck was to his job and how he always had an interesting approach to getting the work done. The bullshit was thick, and even those who didn’t know the true Melvin and Chuck relationship would have had to know everything he was saying was bullshit. Cal, came without Barbara or Darryl, but instead with a childhood friend of Chuck’s named R.J. When it was Cal’s turn to speak, R.J. stood uncomfortably on the stage with him.

“Thank you, all of you, for coming here to this service today,” Cal said. “Thank you Melvin for putting it together. This is all very sad. Chuck being dead is very sad.”

He began to cry, and R.J., who was wearing an oversized Indianapolis Colts jersey, put his arm around his old friend’s father and walked him back to their seats.

The young Bea Arthur minister returned to the microphone. “Chuck being dead is very sad,” she confirmed. “Let’s remember him in happier times with this slideshow.”

The lights dimmed, the two large screens on either side of the stage came to life with a photo of Chuck taken for his Tigris ID card. He looked like a corporate stiff. It was a terrible representation of him. His name and the years 1980–2009 faded in on the photo. Then the strum of Noel Gallagher’s guitar began. The slideshow was set to “Wonderwall.”

Funeral slideshows and videos are insulting. The intentions are well meaning, as are most things people do when in the grips of grief, but the truth is that those same intentions are just sediment filler in a deep, expansive bleak hole. These videos, which are an easy up-sell for the funeral director, are a collage of photos from the deceased’s life set to music, preferably the person’s favorite song. If the person didn’t have a favorite song, then something sappy and stock goes in its place. Something like “Amazing Grace” or inappropriately, Green Day’s “Good Riddance (The Time of Your Life),” which is about a breakup. What’s worse is that the photos chosen in the video are meant to represent that person’s life. No matter how great the photos are, no matter how representative they are of the different stages of that person’s life, the attempt to summarize a lifetime in a three to fifteen-minute slideshow is futile. A life, no matter how short or uneventful, cannot fit inside of a funeral video. And certainly not Chuck Keller’s life.

After the service, a large group of people—many friends from college Lou hadn’t seen in years—went to the Fish for a few drinks and to try to one-up each other with Keller stories. Lou and I got hammered, and Natalie drove us home to pass out together on separate ends of the couch.

✶

THE NEXT DAY, THE SORTING AND PACKING UP OF CHUCK’S LIFE WAS WELL ON ITS WAY. Lou arrived at his house to find Cal and R.J. loading up boxes into a U-Haul truck. But they weren’t Chuck’s. They were Lou’s boxes with all of his junk that he’d left behind and stored in the garage.

“None of these boxes are his?” R.J. asked.

“Nothing on the left side of the garage, no. This is all my stuff.”

“So we gotta unload everything we already loaded into the truck?”

“Unless you want to drop that stuff off in Chicago, yes.”

“Nah, we don’t want to do that. Just want to get all Chuck’s stuff back to where it belongs.”

“In Cayuga.”

“That’s right.”

R.J. started unloading the boxes. Cal came out from inside the house. “What the hell’re you doin’ R.J.?”

“These ain’t Chuck’s. They’re Lou’s.”

“So we gotta unload everything we already loaded into the truck?”

“You want to drop it off in Chicago?” R.J. asked.

“No.”

“Then yes.”

“What time did you guys get here this morning?” Lou asked Cal.

“We stayed here.”

“What, overnight?”

“Yeah. Didn’t see any sense in renting a hotel room when we got a house to stay at. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, of course not. Just would have been nice to know. How’d you get in?”

“Chuck’s keys.”

“Right.”

“Hey!” R.J. yelled as he walked down the ramp of the truck with a box in his arms. “How ’bout a little help with all this?”

Cal and Lou started unloading boxes and stacking them back in the garage next to Chuck’s car, which hadn’t been moved. The empty bottle of wine was still on top of the cup holder, resting against the passenger seat. There were shards of glass on the driver’s seat, the floor of the car and the floor of the garage. The plastic broom Lexi used to break the window lay next to the car. Lou noticed a crowbar leaning against the wall by the door into the house.

So this was it, Lou thought. That piece of shit car is where Chuck took his last breath. This wasn’t the scene of blazing glory Lou figured would have been his friend’s undoing. Lou imagined Chuck making it until his 70s before his liver gave up on him and forced him into a hospice bed, or he’d have a heart attack on a road trip and drive his car off the side of California into the Pacific Ocean. Or maybe he’d go off the grid and spend his days drinking and writing in some Costa Rican resort bar until one afternoon he just didn’t wake up.

The idea of death is always romantic. The reality is far less so. We’ll never know exactly how Chuck died. We know he drove home. We know he never got out of the car. Everything in between is romantic filler. His favorite song playing to the very end is just how I like to imagine it. The romance helps me all this time later in the quieter moments. I like to think he died having a good time at the moment.

That’s how he died. As Lou stood in his garage, he was thinking more about the why. All evidence for Lou pointed to Chuck’s luck running out. A guy can only drive home drunk and pass out behind the wheel so many times before it catches up with him. And that’s what happened. Chuck had exhausted all of his chances to get out of jail free. Chuck had had a bad day and placed a bet with the gods. But the gods determined that he needed to go. They were done covering his ass.

“Hey, Cal,” Lou said, still staring at the car. “Where is Chuck now?”

“At the crematorium.”

“Oh.”

“It was a whole lot cheaper to have him cremated than buried. Plus, there’d be all these extra charges to have the coroner ship his body home. His boss said that Tigris would pay for it, but I told him no. Just pay for the cremation.”

“What are you going to do with the ashes?”

“I’ll probably take some for a keepsake,” R.J. said.

“Have you thought about spreading them out in Zion? Any of the other national parks? Probably what he’d want done with them,” Lou said.

“I’ll have him buried with me when I go. Think we’ll keep him at the house until then.”

The first bit of proof of how terrible Chuck’s dying was had revealed itself. All that was left of Chuck Keller was doomed to spend eternity in a place that caused him the least amount of peace. It wasn’t right.

Lou excused himself, telling the guys that he’d get to work packing up the stuff inside the house. Upstairs, he saw that the guestroom and second bathroom looked lived in. He ran back downstairs to Cal and R.J.

“Where are you guys sleeping?”

“I’m in the master bedroom, and R.J.’s sleeping down here on the couch.”

“So, whose stuff is in the guest bedroom?”

“Probably that magazine publisher. He’d been living here. Told me he’d be by tonight to pick the stuff up along with that computer in the office.”

Lou was floored. The publisher was living in his house? Why? For how long? Why didn’t Chuck say anything? He called Lexi, and she agreed to meet him for coffee later that afternoon.

“I thought you knew,” she sai

“I had no idea. Was he paying rent?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Jesus Christ. The guy has money. He should have been paying the full amount. Why would Chuck keep this from me? And why was the publisher not living at home with his family?”

“His wife kicked him out,” Lexi said. “It was supposed to be only a week or so until they worked it out or whatever.”

“But how long had it been?”

“A month, maybe. Now I have a question for you? Who’s Gina?”

Lou lifted his head out of his hands and starred at Lexi. “Who’s who?”

“Who is Gina?”

“I’m not… What do you mean?”

“Lou, I know about her. Gina. Well, I don’t know a lot about her, but I know she exists and for some reason has a key to your house because Cal called her last night to let him in after he couldn’t reach me.”

“She still has a fucking key? Cal told me that he used Chuck’s key to get in. What the hell is going on here?”

“Who is she?”

Lou had warned Chuck about the dangers of dating two women at once; about giving them both full access to the house, and he told Chuck that he wasn’t going to help him clean up the mess when the whole thing finally caved in on him. And now it had caved. And that motherfucker wasn’t there to deal with it at all. It was now entirely up to Lou to handle it.

“She’s a girl from Tigris.”

“Did they date?”

“Yeah, briefly. While you guys were broken up,” Lou lied. Then he lied some more. “It wasn’t anything serious.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” That motherfucking fucker.

✶

ON THE WAY BACK TO THE HOUSE, LOU CALLED ME.

“Did you know about the publisher?”

“I had no idea. That’s pretty goddamn funny, though. And that you had to deal with the Gina/Lexi thing. That guy left more shit behind than Tupac.”

At the house, Lou was further surprised and mildly pissed that Gina was there. She was in the office with Cal and R.J. futzing around with Chuck’s computer.

“What’s going on here?” Lou asked. The three of them looked at Lou like they had been caught doing something illicit.

“Just getting Chuck’s files off this computer before the publisher takes it away,” Cal said. “I don’t know how these things work, so I called Gina.”

“I’m really not comfortable with this,” said Lou.

“Why, Lou? What’s your problem?” Gina inquired.

“It’s not that I have a problem, Gina. It’s that this computer isn’t yours to fool around with. It’s property of the magazine.”

“We’re not fooling around with it. I’m just helping Cal retrieve his son’s private files.”

“They’re not private. Not if they’re on a computer that doesn’t belong to him. You need to talk to the publisher about this.”

“Well, I don’t have time to help him later, so I have to do it now. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is that I’m not comfortable with this. You can’t come into my house and start taking things that don’t belong to you.”

“They’re not for me! They’re for Cal!”

“All the same.”

“It’s not all the same. Cal should have a right to his son’s stuff.”

“I don’t disagree with that. But that’s between Cal and the publisher and me.”

“Why you?”

“Because it’s my house, Gina.”

“Hold on a second, Gina,” Cal said. He walked to the office doorway where Lou was standing. “This is my fault. I don’t want to cause any problems. If you say we should talk to the publisher, then that’s what we’ll do.”

“I think that’s best, Cal, thanks. You say he’ll be by later tonight? I’ll call him and make sure he does come by. Let him know what’s going on.”

Gina began transferring files faster.

“Gina, please stop what you’re doing.”

“Why are you being such a fucking asshole about this?”

“Okay. You need to leave.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“I was trying to be reasonable about this, but you clearly don’t want that, so please, leave.”

“I’m here because Cal wanted my help.”

“I don’t care. I can help Cal. And this isn’t Cal’s house to invite people into. It’s my house. And I didn’t invite you. And since you’re being rude, I’d like you to leave.”

“Fuck you, Lou!”

“Look, I get that you’re upset and that you want to do the right thing. But you’re a little late for that. You should have tried being more supportive before he died. Now give me my house key and get out.”

She stood up and took the key off of her key ring and threw it at Lou, just barely missing his head. It chipped the paint and made a small dent in the drywall.

“You’re a fucking asshole, Lou Bergman!”

“And you’re trespassing on my property.” He took out his phone. “You have until I count to 10 to get out of my house, into your car and drive away, or I’m calling the cops to have you arrested.”

“Maybe you should go,” Cal said. “I’ll give you a call later.”

She stormed out of the office and screamed, “Fuck you!” right in Lou’s face as she passed. The three men watched her get into her car from the office window and peel off down the street.

“I’m sorry about that,” Cal said.

“It’s fine,” said Lou. He was impressed with himself that he didn’t scream back. Perhaps one of the benefits of being emotionally numb.

✶

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Cal and R.J. had the U-Haul loaded, and all of Chuck’s things were out of the house. Cal replaced the dead battery in Chuck’s car and poured a little gas into the tank from a container he picked up at the gas station. He was going to drive the car his son died in all the way back to Indiana. Lou thought the idea morbidly pathetic.

“You plan on fixing the broken window?” Lou asked Cal before he took off.

“Oh, yeah. I suppose I ought to have that looked at before we get too far.”

“I imagine you’ll sell the thing once you get home, huh?”

“Nah. I’ll hang onto it. Help me remember my son.”

Sadness makes people do the strangest things.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33