#anyway if it looks awful just open image in new tab

[statisticallymorelikely]

'Cause these plates, they smash like waves And the wine stains, hide the tears But that breathing you hear, don't mistake it for sighs Don't you realise they're just battle cries, dear?

Battle Cries - The Amazing Devil

[hospitalterrorizer]

diary64

11/14-15/2023

tuesday-wednesday

almost made cookies.

i've made the dough, though, so it's resting in the fridge for tomorrow. it will be better that way anyways i think. hopefully they will taste good.

otherwise, today i didn't record vocals but i did start work on a new thing, it should be done tomorrow i think, i just want to find a final sort of riff for it. or i guess just put it into midi, i think i wrote something good, but maybe i'd like to use that for another thing instead, who knows. i wouldn't mind a 20 second long pv song. the interview did also come out, but i have some problems, not with the interview, my friend kelly did a great job with that. just with like, how the pictures came out. i don't know why but i look so awful and it's made me spiral, since i'm so stupidly sensitive about that. it just makes me wonder if that's what people actually see when they look at me, if that's how i actually look, or if they really just have been edited terribly. i can't stand it, the pictures of myself i took that day, even the ones that aren't the most flattering, don't make me look that ugly.

look at the pics i took that i'm not super into:

and this last one is especially unflattering imo:

the pics in the interview are like, crazy, i don't know. i can't tell if i don't look like that or not but they feel like they make me look way more like, mannish, and give me way more shadow. is it just an hdr thing, are people's eyes just more forgiving than camera lenses, or do my selfies and these photos just not really capture the whole, like, issue, that is my face. they also make me look fat. that's one i can't explain at all. it's very weird. i literally feel like i look like a different person, and i go look in the mirror and try and see that and can't really. i dunno. i think the guy who took the pictures is like, maybe not great but has a good camera, so he's eligible for taking pictures for a low level thing like this. i can't believe though, that for some reason, this is the article that has the most views on this website. how disturbing. i don't like that people i know are looking at that, and saying, wow that's them (or whatever). it actually really bothers me. i'm sure this is going to be something i am dealing with for a couple weeks. unfortunately i can't talk to my girlfriend about this in any kind of constructive way (is there even a constructive way, though?). she blames herself for me doing the interview, which is wrong for a myriad of reasons, and she i guess feels guilty for getting people to see it, when as i've now seen it, i don't want anyone to see it, the pictures at least. they're literally so fucked up, and since i've either looked like that, or since i've been made to look like that, i don't know if i can trust mirrors or anything/ memories of what i look like (i already don't know if mirrors are trustworthy or not, honestly, the discrepancies between them and cameras wigs me out and i don't know if there's anything there that should actually be wigging me out), but i don't even know if i will ever know what i look like. i've talked about depending very much on outside perspective, having one that now says basically that i'm ugly, or feels like it communicates/presents that, is very troubling. it makes you want to give up, kind of.

give up has an obvious meaning, i think. i also can't post them here, the images, it'd make me freak to look at them more. but i'm leaving the tab open because i know i'm going to have to go check and check and check and make sure that it feels like it's because the images were edited badly and stuff.

whatever, though. i am gonna sleep soon. maybe tomorrow i'll understand better what the focal length did to my face and what makes me feel so ugly for no reason. maybe this will make me do something really good for vocals since i feel distantly hopeless for stupid reasons.

it's intolerable, the feeling that people look at it, and see me in that, it literally feels like out of my hands, i am not myself anymore, it's like a tulpa. i want to puke and cry, it's that bad, really.

listening to palatka right now is nice, for this at least.

anyway tomorrow i still have to export those songs i have re-done vox for, and other stuff. maybe i will write new lyrics for some of these songs that still have none, that would be good. and i guess i can do the song that has lyrics but no vox still. that should be fun. i just need to get everything started earlier tomorrow.

today i also mostly vc'd so it wasn't a waste of a day, not eaten wholly by misery, the vc and the music i did and guitar playing i did feels good. in the vc we just played a silly drawing game, which i was bad at mostly, at first i felt really really stupid, but the stupid feeling went away. i guess i was just too nervous at first i guess. i don't know why. social games like that make me feel like i need to perform or something.

i really wish i intuitively understood guitar stuff better, but i think i'm getting there, i just need to play more, the practice i'm doing i think is very good. playing hardcore feels like a really good thing for me, i dunno. i hope so. i really like it at least. learning the tricks these bands do is really fun for me, even if it's all really stupidly obvious. just ways to move power chords around and make them weird, and then all the crazy stuff with the half step up/down notes i can do, figuring ways to get all that together in a song is really fun. i'm looking forward to that tomorrow i suppose.

anyway, trying to think of more positives in my life so i don't feel like braining myself. obviously i can't, i love my girlfriend too much, i feel bad that she feels bad about this. it really has very little to do with her. she suggested the interview but i said yes, i showed up even though i knew a little before that a guy i wouldn't like was going to be there. i should have expected this too, but i really hoped i wouldn't look so ugly.

but whatever, i will be okay, i think, so,

byebye!!!!

[forever-rogue]

Afterglow - Part 5

A/N: Thank you guys for the support on the last part, and your mutual hatred of Ch*d. He really is the worst...As always, feedback and comments are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know. xx 💕

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Reader

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: None

AFTERGLOW MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

We’ll always be together.

Everything will work out like it was supposed to.

We’re going to go away to California and we’ll start our new lives there.

Nothing will ever tear us apart.

We’ll get away from this town and they’ll never see us again.

I love you.

“Hello? Hello…” you were barely aware of the hand waving in front of your face as you stared out of the large window, watching the late night traffic of the city. You shook your head as you snapped back into reality and found Chad staring at you with an annoyed expression on his face. You set your fork down and pushed your plate away, having lost your appetite some time ago and growing tired of going through the motions of eating. Chad sighed heavily, grabbing the fine linen napkin off of his lap and tossing onto the table, “what’s going on with you lately, sugar plum?”

“Nothing,” you cringed at the nickname but tried to keep your face a true mask of neutrality as you pushed the memories of your youth with Frankie to the back of your mind. You don’t remember exactly when you’d zoned out during the conversation, but a teenage Frankie, one that had promised you the world as you laid in the back of his old beat up pickup and stargazed had occupied all of your thoughts. You sat back in your chair and sighed, dismissively crossing your arms over your chest, “it’s just been a long day and I’m tired…”

“You seem to be having a lot of days like that lately,” he shrugged with a sour expression as he reached for his glass of wine and drained the rest of the dark red liquid in one go. You didn’t want to fight, not again, as you seemed to be doing every day lately, but you also weren’t about to let yourself get walked all over.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you scoffed at him, flagging down a waiter and silently asking for the check. 

“You’ve been spacey, you’re always claiming to be tired, forgetting appointments, and you don’t seem to want to do anything with wedding planning,” he huffed at you. You were willing to coincide that much - he was right on the money. You’d been preoccupied with thoughts of your youth, your past that you’d thought you’d buried well enough, but had let them back in. They had become all consuming...and frankly, planning a wedding you were constantly arguing about wasn’t something that seemed particularly appealing, “what’s going on with you? Are you...are you pregnant?” 

You almost spit out the water you had been drinking, your mind quickly running a million miles an hour at the question. You weren’t….surely you weren’t. No, luckily you’d had your period about three weeks prior and it’d been even longer than that since you’d last sex. It wasn’t exactly a thrilling time lately. Just before you could open your mouth to say anything else and reassure him that you most definitely were not pregnant, he blathered on, “you can’t get pregnant before the wedding...you know how bad that would make us look? It’s only two more months, after that we can try and get it out of the way. But not before.”

You snorted, grabbing the little bit of wine you had left over and downed it, to prove your point that you weren’t pregnant. Get it out of the way, you could have laughed at the statement if it hadn’t been so shocking. You never thought you’d have had a child with a man who thought it was just something to get out of the way. Maybe you’d get lucky and never have a child with him...it would spare both of you. 

“I’m not pregnant,” you hissed at him, “and don’t worry, at the rate we’re having sex, I’ll never get pregnant anyways.”

“You can’t,” he lowered his voice and looked around to make sure no one had heard him, “you can’t just go around saying things like that!”

“What?” you asked as the waiter came over with the check. You took it and thanked him with a smile as sweet as honey, not even bothering to check the tab as you tossed one of your cards into the sleeve and set it back down. Chad normally always insisted that he pay, stuck in his old school thought process that men should be taking care of their wives and girlfriends, not the other way around, “I shouldn’t be saying the truth?”

“I’m not going to fight about this,” he insisted sharply, his eyes filled with nothing but malice, but his outward expression suggesting he was happy and content, “look, we have a lot to do before the wedding, and after tomorrow I’m going to be gone for three weeks-”

“For work,” you finished forward, trying to read his face to see if you could detect even the slightest flicker that he hadn’t been honest with you. He was a lot of things you weren’t a fan of, but you didn’t think he would ever cheat on you. If nothing else, the fear of getting caught and having his personal life and image blow up in his face was even to deter him. 

Sometimes though, as you laid next to him at night, unable to sleep, you wondered if he truly loved you, or he just liked the pretty picture you presented, and the name that you carried. You loved him, truly you had, at one point anyway, but now you were questioning if you still did. Rather, you loved him, and you never would wish him ill, he wasn’t a bad man in that sense, but were you in love with him? That was the question that you had been struggling with. You often wondered if you were just going through the motions to go through them, to mold yourself into the image that everyone had of you. Were you truly happy? You weren’t even sure anymore.

“Yes, for work,” he agreed, keeping his face calm. You often considered yourself a fair judge of character and you didn’t detect anything that suggested he was lying, “and there are a lot of things that need to be done and finalized while I’m gone for the wedding. How can I trust you to do that when you can’t even remember dinner with our families?”

“I’ve got everything in my calendar, with alarms and reminders,” you promised, “it’ll all be taken care of.”

“Including your dress fitting,” he reminded you, “that’s the most important thing. We can’t have you going down the aisle in an ill fitting dress.”

“It will all be done and taken care of,” you promised quietly, “there’s nothing to worry about. Whatever’s going on with me, I’ll pull myself out of it.”

“Good,” he responded, offering you the first smile you had seen that evening, “I just want everything to be perfect on our day.”

“Of course,” you signed the receipt that was dropped off, making sure to leave a generous tip, before sliding your card back in your purse. Chad stood up and waited for you, and the smallest bit of joy that had been sparked always started to disappear already. Autopilot was on and you were once again going through the motions.

»»————-　♡　————-««

“When’s the big day? You are going to make the most stunning bride,” the young girl that was assisting your dressmaker was looking at you with the softest, most awed expression you had ever seen. You couldn’t help but smile at her, remembering that when you were young you had always dreamed of a day like this. You turned back and studied your reflection in the large, golden and gilded mirror, admiring the dress. It was a beautiful gown, made just for you, of course, as no one would ever let you forget if you wore a predesigned stock dress. 

“About two months,” you said softly, watching as Imelda, the woman who had dreamed up the dress from scratch after first meeting you, came back with a veil. The veil itself was just as gorgeous as the dress, also created by hand, stitch by grueling stitch. You stepped down from the small pedestal and let her place it on the crown of your head as you blended magnificently with the dress. 

“A fall wedding,” she sighed dreamily, “if I ever meet the one and get married, that’s what I’d want too. I think it’s the perfect time of the year, and so romantic.”

“It’s...it’s something,” you found yourself at a loss for words as you turned back to your reflection, finding the look complete with the headpiece. Every single inch was stunning, highlighting all your favorite parts of yourself. It was a dress borne of love, and made you look more like a princess than a woman who wasn’t even sure anymore if she wanted to get married.  Every day that had passed since Chad had left for his work trip about two weeks ago had been agonizing as you tried to figure out what you really wanted. Did you really want to get married to him? 

“I bet it will be so magical,” the young girl sighed wistfully. It took you back for a moment how much she reminded you of yourself, “how did your fiancé propose? Your ring is gorgeous too. I bet you’re both so beautiful together!”

"He's a very handsome man," you admitted, knowing that most women would fall to their knees for a chance at a man like Chad. He wasn't the type that you had been drawn to when you were younger, but he was still easy on the eyes. He had that soft, typical all American boy sort of look to him, tall, lithe with the blonde hair and blue eyes that women often found so dreamy.  It just wasn't...what you had envisioned when you were younger, "and smart, he's an attorney, and just...yeah. A good man."

For the right person he might even have been perfect. You wondered how things would be different if you were the perfect match for him.

"You'll have gorgeous babies," the girl brought forth a tray of jewelry for you to examine and pick through to find the perfect match for your dress. Imelda softly tutted at the girl, suggesting a pair of brilliant diamond earrings for you to try.

"Maybe," you decided to dodge that bullet and grabbed the studs, popping them into your ears to see how they went with the dress and veil.

"But the proposal - what was it like? I bet it was so dreamy..."

"It was simple," you admitted. It was simple compared to others you had witnessed, but still more over the top than you had needed or had desired. He'd waited until you were at an outing that you swore consisted of everyone you had ever known. There was no doubt in your mind that he had done it to make himself look good and show off the huge ring that now sat on your hand. It was almost too big for your taste and you'd often thought about trying to get something more subtle. But you hadn't wanted to argue over it, so you just accepted it, "it was at a dinner with our family and friends. A little lowkey, but he did it over champagne and dessert."

"That's perfect," she sighed wistfully, "I hope that if I ever get engaged, my future girlfriend does something like that, or I can do if for her."

"I hope you too," you promised her with a fond smile, "you deserve the world too and the engagement and wedding you dream of."

"Hopefully I'll look as pretty as you," she smooth parts of your dress down as she looked you over, "hopefully Auntie Imelly will make me a dress just as pretty."

"You already know I've got everything planned for you," Imelda promised her niece, "you just have to wait until you find the perfect girl and the time is right. I want nothing but the best for you, and I won't see settling for just anyone."

"Never," the girl nodded at her aunt.

"But now," she turned back to you and held out a stunning tennis bracelet, "what about you? Do you like everything or should we make any more changes to the veil or dress?"

You took a long while to study the woman staring back at you in the mirror. She was beautiful, that much was easy to see, dressed in the most stunning wedding gown and jewelry. Everything about her was breathing taking, but there wasn't even a trace of a smile on her face, no light or life in her eyes. 

"No," you whispered softly, running your fingers gently over the delicate lace of your the veil. You knew it must have taken Imelda hours and hours of hard work and care to make perfect it, "everything is stunning. This is...it's beautiful, every last stitch. Its an honor to be wearing this dress right now."

"Perfect," she beamed at you, "then we'll get it all put and stored safely until your big day. I'll of course bring it to that morning and make sure its perfect for you."

"But I can't...I can't take it," you said and the room grew so quiet you could hear a pin drop, "I can't accept this beautiful dress, this veil, any of it."

"What do you mean? I created this just for you..."

"I know," you said as you stated to peel off the jewelry and placed it show back in the soft, velvet case, "and I will pay you double what you originally quoted for it. I want you to keep it and give it to someone you deem worthy. Someone that desires to wear something so beautiful, someone that is marrying the love of their lives. I'll even pay for any future alterations, but I can't...I can't do this."

"What do you mean?" Imelda's face wen through a range of various emotions as she hastily helped you to pull off the veil.

"I can't get married," you stated, finally saying out loud the words that had been plaguing you for some time now. You couldn't do it. You weren't going to subject yourself to a marriage you didn't want with a man who wasn't the love of your life, "I'm not going through with this. I can't...no. I'll never be happy with if I do."

The young girl brought your clothes back for you as you started to strip off the dress, not caring in the slightest about any propriety anymore. 

"Listen, sweet girl," you told her as she pulled the dress off of you, almost buckling under the sheer weight of it until you helped her, "never ever settle for anyone. Wait until the right person comes along...maybe it'll take ages, but you'll be happier. Don't make the mistake I almost did."

You pulled on your jeans and t-shirt, casual clothes that Chad would likely have abhorred, and turned back to Imelda, "I am so, so sorry to do this to you. All the hard work and time..."

"I'm just glad you kept yourself from making a huge mistake," she whispered as she pulled you into a hug, "that's the important thing of all. The dress will find the right home, and one day your heart will as well."

"Thank you," you said softly, feeling the wave of emotions that you'd been suppressing for so long wash over you. For a therapist, one who told her patients to express themselves however they needed to, you'd grown too comfortable with settling and being content, but not truly happy. Something was bound to break at some point and this just happened to be the straw they broke the camel's back.

"Thank you," you brushed away a few tears, finding more comfort in her touch and kind words than you had in anyone else in a long time, "truly, thank you. And please, send me the bill. Whatever you want, I'll pay it."

"Of course," she gently wiped your tears away, her niece giving you a small wave as you turned to leave the shop.

As soon as you stepped foot into the busy street, reality came crashing down on you like a ton of bricks. This was going to change everything, emotions would be all over the place, and dealing with two controlling families would be an ordeal within itself. But regardless, you felt lighter and happier than you had in a long, long time. Nothing else mattered right now. The only thing you were focused on was the little bit of light that had crawled back into your heart. It wasn't an easy decision to make, but you knew it was the best one - the right one. It had been a long, long time since you'd been able to say that about anything...

»»————-　♡　————-««

As soon as you stepped foot into your apartment, you threw off your coat, snatched your phone out of your purse and tossed it onto the floor. Quickly searching for Chad's contact, you paused for just a moment to let out a long breath before dialing his number. 

You stormed into the bedroom and ducked into the closet, pulling out a suitcase while you listening and anticipated him picking up any moment. Your heart was beating like mad, threatening to burst out of your ribcage as you hastily tossed whatever clothes you into the large suitcase. It was a haphazard disaster, but you didn't care.

"Hello?" He finally answered after several long rings, sounding somewhere between surprised and annoyed, "what's wrong sugar plum?"

"I'm leaving," you blurted out before you could think about how to word anything or form a coherent sentence.

"What? Leaving where? What are you talking about?" he hissed under his breath, as you heard him walk to the door, shut it and work it, "what's  going on?"

"I'm leaving you," you finished throwing the clothes that were easily accessible and jammed into the bathroom to grab your things from there, "I can't do this. I'm not marrying you, Chad. We're over."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he must have heard you frantically scurrying around, as his voice had a shake to it, "what on earth are you talking about? You're not thinking clearly!"

"No," you said firmly, "I'm thinking clearly for the first time in a long time. This has been something that I've been thinking about for a long time. Chad, you and I...we're not meant to be." 

"You were supposed to finalize your wedding dress today," he hissed under his breath, clearly not realizing what you had said. Or if he had, he has pointedly chosen to ignore everything you were saying. Typical. And one of the prime reasons you were ready to be done with him and move on. You could couldn't imagine a lifetime of this - you'd never be happy again. You held the phone away from your ear for a moment and let out a long groan, "have you been drinking?"

"What?!" a look of annoyed disgust your features as you rolled your eyes at him, "no, of course I haven't. This is exactly what I mean, Chad. You just get so like...this and I'm tired of dealing with it. Are you even happy?"

"It doesn't matter if I'm happy," he huffed. Of course it didn't...that’s exactly why your relationship had been doomed for a long time. Status, money, image was everything to him. That had never been your wants and goals life - that was how you'd always been different from your family. You just wanted to be happy, nothing else mattered. That's why you had dreamed of moving to California and starting a life there with Frankie, "that's not what this is about."

"Of course it is," you insisted softly, "that's what...that's what matters in life, Chad. Life isn't about money and status and what others think of you. Its about being happy, love, being kind..."

"What are you on about? What kind of delusions have been put into your head?" his words were cruel and you couldn't deny the fact that they stung. This was everything you had rebelled against when you were younger, everything you never wanted to he. But here you were...someone you couldn't even stand, "your parents wouldn't stand to hear you talk like this."

"Yeah," you agreed quietly, "that's exactly why I need to do this. I never wanted to be like them...I don't want to be anything like this. I don't care about it. I just want to be with someone I love and to be happy."

"You're setting yourself up for failure-"

"Maybe so," you agreed quietly, "but that's a risk I'm willing to take. It's better to try than just to accept a life without happiness."

"Look," he sighed, deep, weary sound, and you could just picture him sitting there in frustration, "we can talk about all of this when I get back. Its a few more days...maybe you'll be thinking more clearly by then. Just make sure get your dress and have everything figured out. We can't afford to get behind."

"No," it was a firm, resolute statement. Part of you was shocked that he wasn't understanding or getting into his thick skull that you were being serious. Then again, part of you was not surprised.

"No?"

"You don't get it, Chad," you cradled your phone between your ear and shoulder before pulling off your over the top engagement ring and slamming it on the dresser, "when you come back, I won't be here. I'm not kidding, this isn't some sort of game. I'm done - we are done. I'm leaving and I'm not coming back."

"You can't just leave!" a little bit of panic had crept into his voice as he slowly came to the realization that you were serious - dead serious, "what are you going to do? Where will you go?"

"I can just leave and I will," you insisted, "this has been over for some time, Chad. We both know it. I'm taking my things and leaving everything else. The ring is on the dresser. The apartment is yours anyway, keep it. Keep it all. I don't want a thing. I’ll figure the rest out on my own.”

“If you walk out that door and if you’re not there when I get back, this is over forever,” it almost sounded like he was trying to give you an ultimatum, but it just caused you to laugh lightly. Everything about this situation was life changing - you were breaking away from your life’s charted trajectory, but it felt like the right thing to do. The girl you were when you were growing up would have when horrified to see what you had become. But she was slowly clawing her way out and coming back to life, just how she should have been, how she should have always been. 

“That’s the plan, Chad,” you sighed softly. You weren’t sure if he was ever going to get, or if he would only understand when he realized that you weren’t there. Maybe he had to experience the full reality of everything before he accepted it. You sat down on the edge of the bed, realizing that this was the last time you’d ever be here, “look, I’m sorry for not doing this sooner or expressing how I felt. I-I’ve tried but you always shut me down. I know this changes everything for both of us, but it’s the right thing to do. You’re not a bad man, Chad, but you’re just not the one for me. I don’t wish you anything but happiness, truly, but it’s just not with me.”

“People will talk, no one will ever have you back-”

“Yeah, and I’m okay with that,” you admitted, “those people? They never cared about me, none of them care about anything but themselves. I’m okay without them in my life. The people that matter will stay and they won’t care.”

“Sugar plum-”

“Don’t,” you cringed at the nickname, “don’t call me that, I hate it. I’ve always told you I hate it...and yet you never listened. I should have known, I should have tried harder to let you know. We should have talked more - you should have listened and I should have tried harder. This mess could have been avoided a long time ago.”

“You’re a therapist and couldn’t figure this out,” he scoffed and you could tell he was trying to go for a low blow. He was mad so he was going to try and fight dirty, “must not be a very good one then. What do they even pay you for?”

“I didn’t think you’d resort to saying something like that,” you stood back up and finished stuffing things into your suitcase, making up your mind to try and leave as quickly as possible, “but you know, I am good at my job and I try and help people. Just because I don’t always take my own advice, doesn’t mean it’s wrong. See, that’s why we would have never worked out - you’re so quick to anger and we’re never once had a rational discussion when you get like this. I mean, this wedding, everything that’s when going on has been for you and what you think people want. I’m not...I can’t do this anymore. This isn’t who I am, it never used to be. I need to be the person I truly am again.”

“You are making a huge mistake,” his declaration was enough to make you laugh as he desperately tried to do anything to make you feel small and to stay. If you believed that you needed him maybe you would stay. The sad thing was that he wasn’t even so concerned about you, or the fact that he loved you, it was all about how this would look to other people. Pathetic. 

“No,” you disagreed, “and even if I was, I guess I’ll learn my lesson the hard way. I’m okay with that. Listen...I’ll take care of cancelling everything for the wedding and telling my parents. You can tell everyone else, blame me, make yourself look good. I’ll have all the money refunded to you, I don’t care about it, I just don’t.”

“You’re really doing this, huh?” he laughed; it was a bitter, stunted sound. You finished throwing your clothes and few items from the bathroom into the suitcase and were in the process of zipping it shut. You already felt so much freer, so much lighter. 

“I am,” you acknowledged, grabbing your things and heading for the door, “this is goodbye, Chad. If it means anything at all, I am sorry for how this came about, but I’m not sorry for doing it. This is the right thing to do….even if it doesn’t feel like it now. In the future you’ll realize it too.”

A few beats of silence passed between the two of you, and just when you thought he was going to say something, the sound cut out and the call ended. You groaned lightly as pulled the phone away from your ear, tapping the corner of it against your head a few times. After all this time, this was how things were going to end? You knew he’d be mad, but you didn’t think it would be like this…

Figuring that while you were already in the middle of dealing with everything and that lovely response you had might as well call your parents and get that over with at the same time. How much else could go wrong? If you were going to be disowned, than you might as well find out now.  Scrolling through your contacts, you quickly found your parent’s house number, dialing and quietly wishing that neither of them would answer. Maybe they would be too busy running around -

“Hello?” your mother sounded cheerful as ever, and while you didn’t always see eye to eye with her on everything, you still cared deeply about her. You considered hanging up, but decided against it, figuring it was time  to get this done and over with.

“Hi Mom,” you said softly as she grew excited to hear from you. She startled rattling on, not even letting you get a word in edgewise as she went on and on about your wedding, “Mom, stop.”

“What do you mean?” she asked suddenly, taken aback by your little sharp comment, “this is your wedding we’re talking about it, honey, it’s going to be here before you know it.”

“That’s the thing...that’s why I’m calling-”

“You got your dress finalized today, right? I can’t wait to see it, I know you wanted it to be a surprise for everyone, but I wished I could have been there…” you could tell she was getting emotional, but it caused a light pang in your heart. It was never going to change your mind, of course, but still gave you a moment of pause, “tell me, honey, do you love the dress?”

“There’s no...no dress,” your voice was soft as a gasp came from the other end, “because there’s not going to be a wedding.”

“W-what?” she asked, fumbling on some words as she tried to wrap her head around what you were saying. No wedding? Surely you must have been pulling her leg. Your wedding was the talk of the town, everyone knew about it…”what do you mean there’s not going to be a wedding? Of course there...it’s in two months…”

“No,” you repeated again, “there’s not. It’s not happening. I told Chad, I’m leaving, I can’t go through with this. I don’t love him, Mom, not like that. I cannot marry a man that I do not love.”

“You already told him? You’re going to call this whole thing off?” she was getting hysterical and you immediately regretted telling her. Well...she was going to find out one way or another...at least this way she was getting it directly from you, “just like that? What’s going on with you?”

“Yes, just like that...but honestly, it’s been a long time coming,” you dragged your suitcases to the door and took one last look around the place, giving it one last look over, “it’s...I wasn’t happy, not for a long time. And it’s my fault for not dealing with it sooner, but I couldn’t go through with this. I’m not going to subject myself and him for a life of unhappiness.” 

“But what about-”

“None of that matters,” you promised, “I don’t care what anyone thinks. I just want to be happy and if I ever marry anyone, I want to be in love. Maybe that will never happen, but that’s better than a lifetime of going through the motions.”

“But Chad is...he’s perfect…” rolling your eyes, you tossed your eyes onto the counter and took off the apartment keys, laying them on the table for Chad, “the two of you…”

“Look great together? Would have 2.5 wonderful looking children? A dog with a big house and white picket fence?” you finished for her, “I know that’s what everyone says and thinks. But it’s so much more than that. Chad is not a bad man, and I know that, he’s good and he’ll be great for the right person, that person just isn’t me. I don’t care about anything else...I want to be happy, and right now, I know it will hurt him, but eventually he’ll be happy too.”

“Are you sure about this?” she sounded resigned already, knowing that it wasn’t worth it to argue with you. You always had a stubborn streak when you were young, and that had never changed.

“I am, Mom. I just...I want to be happy, truly happy, and if I had gone through with everything, it would never have happened,” you explained, “isn’t that important too? Does my happiness mean so little to everyone?”

“Your happiness is important, sweetheart,” she said softly. You could tell this was crushing her spirits and that no less than a million things were running through her mind, she always was the analytical type, stemming from her many years as an attorney. But at least she was trying; trying to understand your thoughts and respect them, even if it was hard for her, “are you positive that this is what you want?”

“I am,” you felt sure and confident in yourself as you headed for the door, propping it open and dragging your suitcases into the hallway, “this is the thing I’ve been more sure about lately than anything else.” 

“Well,” she cleared her throat, “then that’s what matters. You do deserve happiness, my love. What are you going to do now?”

“I hadn’t really thought that far ahead,” you admitted, “I’ll figure that out as I go...which I guess is now.”

“Your father and I are here if you need us,” she promised, surprising in a way because you were sure that you would be subjected to her wrath, “we do love you, you know, despite how it may seem sometimes.”

“I know, “ you closed the door slowly, listening to it shut with a soft click, bringing about a bit of finality to the life you were leaving behind, “I appreciate that. Right now, I just need to figure a few things out.”

“Call us if you need anything,” she insisted, and you took a deep breath before nodding.

“I will,” you promised softly, ending the call and tossing your phone into your pocket. At least that was done. Now you just had to figure everything else out. 

Everything else suddenly seemed unbelievably daunting. You’d gone through periods before where everything you had known fell completely apart. You’d gotten through it then and you would again. 

You had been broken and forced to pick up each tiny piece of yourself before. You’d do again and again and again if you had to. At least this gave you a chance at happiness.

This was just the first page of a new chapter. You can do this, you kept repeating to yourself as you started to walk away, you can do this.

On the outskirts of town, in the small, quaint house he called home, Frankie startled awake, out of his midafternoon nap. He looked around to see what the cause for the sudden wake up was, but could find nothing. He sighed as he sat up and rubbed his tired eyes, his heart panging with an odd, pulling sensation. 

He wasn’t quite sure what it was...but it was something. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[seraphdarlimg]

wish I were (pt4)

  harry calls reader drunk to pick him up, later on finding him sat at her piano and playing a little song

masterlist

‘heather’ by conan gray WARNINGS - ANGST, swearing, fluff WORD COUNT - 4,418

_________________________________________________________

   Just fine is how I was feeling. I was lucky enough to be able to get started straight away with a new song to work on from a different artist. Practicing new instruments and talking to new clients have been what I've thrown myself into for the past 3 weeks.

Though drowning myself into work has kept me busy and given me excuses to ignore the hundreds of calls and texts from Harry, it felt like months had pass instead of only one. I seem to forget more about them and only remember the look on his face when I turn my back on him and left. Instead of memorizing chords and words, my brain can only comprehend the words we said and the last time I felt his touch or embrace. When I want to remind myself of what he did, the moment on the balcony is the first thing that comes to my mind and I curse myself for it.

I missed him, of course I did. As I sit in front of my laptop with an opened tab on a recording program, I am instead met with another creator's block and thinking about Harry again. Two points of thought that I hate being stuck in at the moment. The empty bags and containers of snacks and my dinner surround me and I'm wrapped in a blanket while a sad playlist is playing on spotify. It was a depressing sight.

But I can only image the state that Harry's in. After everything, I still miss and care about him, wondering if he's excited about the album release tomorrow or if he's hydrated and taking the fact that I've chose to walk out of his life better than I am. It's pathetic really, but it's part of it and I can only hope to learn to live without him through time. If that is something I can even think of doing in the first place.

He hasn't called or text throughout the whole day though. I didn't want it to bother me but it did, even if it was time away that I'm asking for. I glanced at the black screen of my phone, pressing the button to turn it on. 12:23 AM and no notifications.

'i do love you, i'm sorry' one day ago. This is a good sign. This should be a good sign.

I sighed, forcing myself to turn away from my phone and focus on finishing this piece. The instrumentals are there and the rhythm is set, but coming up with lyrics prove to be difficult when I feel physically and emotionally drained.

It was late anyways. I would of been asleep by now to get ready for tomorrow, but it was most likely made clear I wouldn't be celebrating with the gang. I told Jeff the excuse that I had a meeting up north for the valid reason, even though everyone already knows what happened between the two best friends. A lunch with Sara and Mitch a week ago started off normal and pleasant as always, but had ended with Mitch bringing up Harry and me leaving abruptly.

"He's a mess. Hasn't left his house and has been ignoring everyone all week. We don't know what really happened between you two, but it's obvious that you haven't been the same as well."

The mention was enough to irk me. "Can we not right now?"

"Look even though we care about you, it's still non of our business to get involved. But it's still our jobs to see that when someone we care about is bothered by something, we make sure they are aware of it. Both of you aren't happy and should simply talk about it."

"It's not that simple Sara, he's too stubborn."

"It doesn't have to be now, but eventually. You yourself know that what you two have is way too special to just walk away from."

"Yeah well what if it's not? What if it's just not what everyone expects it to be? That even if we somehow make it work throughout everything, he's just going to run off to someone else again who'll just be better in so many ways."

"He's not the type of person to do that and you know it."

"I thought I did."

With my head rested on my hand, I feel my eyes droop. The instrumental of the song played on repeat on the program as I try to come up with words. Heartbreak and insecurities are the only topics that come to mind with the upbeat sound. I close my eyes for bit, letting the first stage of sleep take it's toll while my brain works overtime producing lines of rhymes.

But my ringtone drives me out of it. I only force my eyes open when I pick up my phone and answer the call, not thinking of who could be the only possible human being to call me at this hour. I sighed, pausing the recording and saving it. "Hello?"

"Hiiiii love! Karl told me I should call someone because I've had too much apparently. Can you please tell him that I'm a grown man that can handle my alcohol?" Shit.

"Harry- wait hold on, you're drunk now? Don't you have... who are you with?" My voice was tired and already raspy. It took longer than needed to process what was actually happening.

"Oh just all by my lonesome self at first... imagined you here a few times but I know that wasn't true, but Karl the bartender is here now!" His voice was muffled and almost drowned out by the sound of a pub. His words were slurred and I can only rub my temples at the situation he's already put me in.

"Why did you call me for this."

"Well my phone's dead and you're the number I memorized." He said softly after hearing my tone. I shouldn't, but he's drunk and alone.

"I'll call Mitch-"

"Only want you. Please?" I can imagine him pouting and I was too tired to argue with him.

"I can't do this right now..."  

"Bubs, my head is starting to hurt and everyone is not being nice. Except Karl, Karl is a nice dude."

Maybe if I wasn't overworked and sleep deprived at the moment, I would of been in the righter state of mind. But the other half of me that worried about his state took the opportunity to see him once again.

"Where are you, Harry?"

***

It was easy to find a drunk Harry Styles at a pub. A small local one that we've been too once or twice in the past, enjoying each other's company over a glass after studio hours. And there he was again, sat at the stools we'd sit on and wallowing to Karl the bartender.

"Hey." I placed a hand on his shoulder after making my way through the small crowd that gathered around him that's been listening into his conversation. His eyes light up when he turns around and sees me, while I take in how disheveled he looks. His curls are messy and his bloodshot baggy eyes tells me he's been crying for a while.

"You're here." He mutters softly after he takes a moment to register that it's actually me. I only give him a small nod in confirmation, feeling that heart ache as he pulls me into a hug. "I'm sorry." I hear when he nuzzles into my neck, most likely apologizing when he sees how tired and unwell i am as he does.

"It's okay, come on let's get you home." I managed to let out, pulling away, guiding him out of his seat and away from the bar. "Oh okay, bye Karl! Keep the change." I send the bartender a grateful smile to which he returns with a pity look on his face.

"Just hold my hand Harry okay?" I tell him when I remember how clingy he gets when intoxicated. He doesn't hesitate to do so as we make our way through the crowd and out of the building.

I managed to get him in the passenger's seat without much interaction, now in the driver's seat and cursing at myself when I realized I didn't have enough gas to take him to his house. I didn't have the energy to go to the gas station this late.

"Are you crying..." He asks, pouting when I placed my face in my hands, taking deep breaths. "Please don't be sad, love." I shook my head, counting in my head as I felt Harry lean over and watch me.

"How many did you have?" I asked when I built up the will not to cry and turned on the ignition.

"Didn't bother counting, didn't matter." I kept my eyes in front of me as I drove while I felt his still on me.

"I would beg to differ. Shouldn't be my responsibility anyways." I quickly countered, noting the sharp tone in my voice and the frown I could imagine on his face.

"I'm sorry...I really wanted to see you."

"Hmm, and getting wasted and being an inconvenience is the way to get my attention." There was a second of silence and I glanced at him to check if he was still conscious, only to see that frown and his head hung in shame. My eyes trailed to the pearl necklace tucked into his sweater, as well as a yellow ribbon tied where it clasps together.

The grip I had on the wheel loosened but I sighed as I hated how guilty I felt after, aware how difficult it was to be mad when he was hurt. "That was harsh..."

"Nooo, I deserve it. I really do because I was mean to you and I don't ever want to be mean to you. Because it hurts me too ya know? More than it did when you walked away...I'm sorry that I hurt you."

I didn't say anything after that, spending the rest of the car ride back to my place in silence.

***

"You don't have to be rich, to be my giiirl. You don't have to be cool to rule my wooorld..."

My annoyance conflicted with the flutters my heart was feeling as Harry was softly singing all the way from my car to my sofa, hand held and clinging to my side the whole time. He plopped down, immediately taking a pillow. "Ain't no particular sign, I'm more compatible wiiith- hey you have that record right? Can you put it on pretty please?"

"It's 2AM, I'm not putting on a record right now." I took off my shoes and coat, graciously doing the same for him when he pouts and rests his head back on the couch. "Aw, you used to not care about that before. Is it because of your neighbors terrible taste of music to blast so late at night?"

"What?" I rubbed my eyes, standing up and going to the kitchen. I couldn't hear his mumbled response, but I returned with a glass of water to see him humming with his eyes closed. He cuddled the pillow close to him and I rolled my eyes, almost laughing at how he was tapping his foot along with the song he was playing in his head.

"Here..." He holds his hand out expectantly and I gave it to him. He takes a drink while I place his coat over the coffee table and go to get him an extra pillow and blanket.

"Oh everything hurts." He whines as I place the pillow down on the end of the couch. "My heart mostly, but that's so cheesy of me isn't it? Yours probably hurts more m' sorry...wish I could take it away."

It wasn't just his naïve words that had my eyes start welling up with tears, but it was also the realization of how he can easily break me down. I couldn't last a whole month without being there when he needs someone, when I was the one who wanted to leave. It was also probably the realization that I had grabbed the same blanket we used to set that little picnic in the studio.

"Wish I didn't cause it in the first place." He added, which led to me sitting down on the chair next to the couch, holding onto the blanket a little longer as delirium was starting to set in.

"I don't think we should have this conversation now, Harry... this is so unfair." I mumbled, rubbing my eyes.

"It is, but I'm scared I won't get another chance." My silence gave him the answer he was already aware of.

"What exactly do you want another chance of Harry, enlighten me." I closed my eyes for a minute, only to open them to see Harry looking at me in a different way. It's different, but I've noticed it before.

"Loving you." He's hesitant with his next words, most likely having sobered up a little. "I hadn't seen Heather for a few days after you left, told her later on about what happened. Took your advice though, talked to her and everything. It just wouldn't work out in the end...couldn't see myself with her in the future."

"But now you do with me?" I softly muttered, holding myself back from reaching out to him. He only nods, having that guilty look on his face because he's fully aware he doesn't deserve it. My droopy eyes are glued to his and that damn pearl necklace, too many thoughts in my head to come up with one whole response.

"Should of just called Mitch. You're an idiot for giving yourself a hangover on your release day." I finally said after a moment of silence.

"Hmm? Oh that, no that's not happening." He says casually, playing with the embroidery on the pillow he was hugging.

"What do you mean?"

"I've postponed the album thingy indefinitely or something."

"Aren't you finished with it?"

"I mean it's got 12 songs and everything but I don't know if it's really finished, I don't know." He shrugs and I'm almost annoyed by how calm nonchalant he is about it.

"You never know things Harry."

"And I hate it, I knooow! I don't know why I can't just figure it out and I hate that I'm hurting you because of it." He frowns, rubbing his eyes. "But I do know now that I love you. Really love you. Maybe if I figured that out sooner, you wouldn't hate me bubs."

I fiddle with my fingers, given up on trying to collect all my thoughts together a long time ago as I can only allow myself to take in his words and listen. He was right, in any other situation where I wasn't tired and delirious, I probably wouldn't even be in the same room as him. So here I was again, allowing myself to hurt in order to make sure he's taken care of.

Maybe it's what I deserve though. He left Heather because of me. I caved into myself at the though that I ruined the relationship of two people who loved each other simply because I didn't get the memo. She is everything in his eyes, he's proven that, so why didn't I just leave them be?

"Ugh, you probably hate me calling you that now but you know I won't stop cause you are my bubs! Like how I'm you're H. Oh... well, you stopped calling me that so...maybe not anymore but I want to be. Can I be your H again please, I miss that too." My thoughts were cut off  when he continued, finding him now lying down with his eyes closed.

"Maybe one day." I reassured him hesitantly. We would of stayed friends, we wouldn't of had to fall apart, if I had just left him alone.

"Was a weird nickname anyways, just a letter." He mumbles as I stood up, laying the blanket over him while he still holds onto the pillow.

"You sort of gave it to yourself though, get some sleep Harry."  I managed to get out, facing away from him to hide the tear that fell. He should be trying to fix his relationship with her and not me.

"Yeah, but you just started calling me it and I fell in love with it." I take one more look at him before I shut my door, seeing his face nuzzled into the pillow and the glint of a small smile on his face as he drifts off to sleep.

***

8:23. I slept around 2 and woke up 7 hours later to faint piano keys. I took in the soft melody, not recognizing it but enjoying it for a second before I forced myself to sit up and rub my eyes, realizing how dry my skin was from crying. It was definitely a sad song made up of only four chords and a fitting way to start the day as I remember the person who is most likely playing it.

I didn't want to face him, my head feeling too mushed to deal with anything else other than work. It was a weird situation to realize, the man I fell in love with and broke my heart is playing piano after I took him in when he was drunk. He tells me he officially breaks up with Heather after realizing he loves me.

He loves me?

No he doesn't. He should still love her, should be trying to get back to her now that I'm out of the picture. But he hasn't been trying too for the past month, focused on me this whole time. But why?

I snapped myself out of those thoughts quickly, knowing how terrible the following ones would be. I didn't want to think about it anymore, wanting to forget and move on. And as I quietly open my door and peaked out onto my apartment, I see his mess of curls sat on my keyboard with the blanket wrapped around him. He was considerate enough to lower the volume at least.

I took a deep breath and walked out quietly, leaning against the door frame as I continue to listen. "Part of the album, has some of your lyrics in it." He says when he notices my presence.

"Hmm. You told me that you've postponed it." I crossed my arms as he finishes the song with a long note. I see him nod, now looking down at his hands on his lap before adjusting the blanket to fully encase him.

"Yeah I did. It didn't feel right, putting something out there that I should be proud of, but you not being there to be happy with. You not wanting too in there first place, when you put your heart and soul into it, all because of me."

I frown, looking away from him when his intense eyes met mine. "It's too early Harry..."

"You told me it wasn't a good time last night too, so when is?" He huffs and I roll my eyes.

"I don't know after I have my fucking coffee?" I scoffed, uncrossing my arms and heading towards the kitchen. I hear him sigh, not saying anything else as I prepare a cup for myself, already annoyed and stressed out. I felt him staring at me while I avoided making eye contact, rubbing my temples.

"I'm sorry if I was trouble." He says, still sat down on the keyboard with the blanket wrapped around him.

"You're sorry for a lot of things." I sighed, pouring coffee into my cup.

"I am. But I don't know how to really apologize to you when you won't even let me talk to you."

I placed my cup down, suddenly forgetting about my coffee and finally looked at him. "Well what do you expect Harry? After everything you think I'm just going to trust you again? I told you I was done, I wanted to walk out of your life."

"But you picked me up. You still care, that still has to means something." He's frustrated now, desperate even and it only frustrates me more.

"Ah yes, decent morality to not leave an A list celebrity drunk in room full of strangers. That really dumb of you to do by the way, without any bodygaurds- what were you thinking?" I said, noticing how he was fiddling with the pearls that hung around his neck.

"The past month has been hell for me and all I wanted to do was see you. I feel so fucking guilty and sad and it's eating me up because I know I don't deserve any sort of reassurance from you. But at the same time, I so badly just want you back and I'm sorry for how selfish and arrogant I am." He was crying and I soften a little because of it. He tries holding it in, looking down as he quickly wipes away the tears that fall. I don't bother hiding mine anymore, having gotten used to it by now and I was tired of it.

"I've been in pain since December. Four months that you put me through so can blame me when I just want it to stop? I am so exhausted because no matter how much I throw myself into work, all I can think about is you and loving you."

"But I love you too, shouldn't that be enough to try again?" It should of been and he knows. Maybe if he realized it sooner, during his birthday, things would be different.

"You've proven that it's not." I say disappointingly, willing myself to walk over and sat down next to him, looking ahead at my piano in front of me. "I don't know what to do anymore Harry. Why can't you let me have this? Let me move on."

"Cause you and I both know we can't leave each other, too emotionally attached. I need you in my life bubs, everything sucks when you're not in it." I laugh a little at that, because it was true in a fucked up way.

"That's so unfair, why did you have to hurt me?" I hesitantly lay my head on his shoulder before he droops the other end of the blanket around me.

"I know most of my relationships don't last. Deep down I've always loved you but I couldn't let myself fall for you because I didn't want to ruin us. The thought of us breaking up and never seeing each other again just terrified me because I never wanted to lose you, ever. But I fucked up and managed to do so anyways, and I hate myself every day as much as you do." He starts playing the song again as he speaks, but it plays it down a key and slower.

"I don't hate you, can't bring myself too, but you shouldn't of been afraid to talk to me. You know who I am, we would of worked through it no matter what." He nods, followed by only the sounds of the piano melody.

"I'm in love with you." I hear him say softly after a little while out of the blue. It catches me off guard, finding it so foreign to hear those words come from him.

I let out a soft self deprecating chuckle. "No you don't. You care about me, but you don't love me. Probably saying this out of guilt or spur of the moment type thing and I can understand that, but you love Heather. She's good for you, perfect even."

"But I fell in love with you. She's not you." His brows are furrowed together as he frowns.

"Yeah, I'm not her." The small glint of my smile quickly fades and he notices it.

"What I did during my speech was very shitty. Gemma pointed it out to me right away and it's one of the biggest things I ever regret doing." He stops playing when he sees me deep in thought, slowly taking my hand to test the waters. "But I need you to understand what I said was true, that you are such an important person to me. You are beautiful, and kind, patience, and just so fucking good to me, love. I want to cherish you because it's what you deserve and I will deal with as much rejection for you to forgive me and give me another chance. It's worth every heartbreak if it means I get to love you again."

I find myself in an intimate situation, looking into his eyes at such a close proximity, our faces only inches away from each other. I was pleading to him with my eyes, begging him not to hurt me again while the look on his face was one I used to be familiar with. He was frozen while the fear that it would only just happen again held me back from moving. His eyes fluttered down to my lips, as if asking for permission and my head was refusing it. But every other part of me wanted to feel those lips again. I looked down at his, my hand taking hold of his and placing it on my chest to where my heart is before he made the move to finally press our lips together in a small kiss.

I wanted to sob because it felt right. I felt the butterflies again and the complete state of satisfaction. This time was gentle as well, but Harry put so much love into the kiss, cupping my cheek with his other hand when he feels how fast my heart was beating.

It only took a second more before I slowly pulled away, still tightly holding his hand against my heart as he could sense my doubt. "It's going to take some time okay? Probably a long time but you caused me a lot of heartbreak. But I never stopped loving you H, as much as I didn't want too anymore." I said seriously, and his eyes lits up with hope. Holding back his smile as much as he could while he nods because he heard that little nickname again.

"I'll give you as much time and space as you need, thank you. I love you so much bubs." He pulls me into a hug, nuzzling his face into my neck and I feel instantly calmer because of it. I rest my head on his shoulder while he mumbles sweet words into my skin.

"Promise I'll be good to you."

______________________________________________

A/N: :o it’s complete. I finished it yay! I’m so proud with how this series came out and I genuinely hope you guys do as well. I’ve started my semester and it’s going to be hectic so writing will take longer to come out, but there will be future stories that I’m really looking forward to writing and sharing :)

taglist: @big-galaxy-chaos​

[us-ugay]

Ugh sorry I’m late to this topic but your office au thing, as a mid-20s office worker, has me losing it. No one hates sales like the ppl who have to execute all the things sales sells that don’t exist yet. I can’t think of anything more infuriating than when sales sells smth and everyone else has to go “cool, we don’t offer that, but I guess we do now.”

Al is the kinda guy who believes in the ppl around him’s ability to make things happen (and also wants his commission check bc that’s how you like. Make rent). He would be GREAT at selling shit to high profile clients and earning the scorn of his coworkers bc he sold smth in the “technically-possible-but-oh-my-god-please-no” category. Arthur doing any sort of implementation work and being a perfectionist who HATES the idea of flopping? He would keep getting stuck w these awful assignments, just the worst clients. The real weirdos who scream at you over Microsoft teams calls. BUT he looks good bc he always deals w it anyway. He gets called a rockstar on slack by his manager. He does NOT get a raise. Everyone says that he and alfred are a great team. They both hate it bc Alfred sells shit they can’t do and Arthur is a pain and keeps making passive aggressive announcements during the sales/implementation sync about how to frame product capabilities to future clients.

They eventually go to a company happy hour and both take FULL advantage of their boss paying. They take the same train line back to their respective homes and talk MAD shit about how it’s so bullshit that HR told them no new hires till next year bc they’re already understaffed. And can you believe that at Brent’s farewell party all ppl were able to say he contributed was “bromance” and yet he’s going to a job where he’s gonna make 6 figures?? He left his projects in a total state of disarray and didn’t even document them properly and now everyone else has to clean up his mess while he and his family take a trip to Disney before he starts at his new cushy salaried job.” I feel like after a few rounds of regular shit-talking they’re screenshotting slack messages and sending them to each other like “WHY did Brenda react to Marc’s announcement that he’s leaving the company w the party emoji, read the room, Marc is the only one on the customer service team who knows ANYTHING and he’s gonna be impossible to replace” and “i just walked by Mikayla’s desk and for some reason she just has a Google images tab open and is just looking at pics of the Kardashian’s. Why.”

Am I projecting? Yes. But also, these scenarios are based on real convos and experiences I’ve had and real office crushes I’ve witnessed. I’ve worked a few office jobs now and I feel qualified. I’m at work now even. I’m an expert in the stupidity of office work.

bro BROOOOO 😭 brooooooooooo i hate this so much but only because i can absolutely see this exact same shit happening at my office

my office always has a yearly christmas party where the higher ups rent out a bar nearby and expect everyone to go even tho its always on a fucking week day from like 4-10 in the afternoon and they get pissed when folks dont go and half of everyone gets shit faced and anyways i wanna join in on this perfect projection so those two? hating each other and getting shit faced at the christmas party but then they both find themselves going the same way home and realize that they can bond over hating everyone else? oh you know those two would go home and bone and then wake up to ww3 when the texts they were forwarding to each other just so happened to be sent to other people as well 👀👀👀

i work compliance and dealing with all the messy bullshit my companys versions of sales reps do is an absolute fucking nightmare and im not even the one dealing with customers or anything like that 😭 i know arthurs a dick but jesus christ he still must have the patience of an absolute saint to where passive aggressive remarks are the worst he does

[prophecy-is-inevitable]

Would you be willing to do a Michael x Plus Size Reader? I feel insecure sometimes, especially thinking of how perfect he looks and I worry I would be too needy for him considering he called Gallant out for his neediness. I also feel like I would call him out for his neediness too since he wants someone who understands him, assuming we knew each other well enough. Can you do something with all this? 👉🏻👈🏻

Ooph. This one is really hard for me since it’s very far out of my comfort zone, but you don’t get better without practice, right? I hope that this has turned out in a way that you like! 100% yelled at Michael when I saw that shit, too. Like, YOU KNOW ALL ABOUT NEEDINESS DON’T YOU MICHAEL LANGDON?! HUH?! Anyway...fully agree. I think it might have been a little hard for him to see his neediness mirrored in someone else and that set him off. He can be the ONLY needy one. Disclaimer: Please don’t drink antifreeze to experience Michael Langdon. Thank you!

The Two Instances of Neediness

He’d promised you safety. Above all else, he had promised that he would keep you safe and make sure you were cared for when he couldn’t be with you. It seemed only half of that promise came through.

For the last year and a half, you’d been diligently waiting for him to retrieve you from Outpost 3. Safety had been provided, as promised. The white stone and dark wood walls were kept warm for the dozen or so people that resided inside the structure. There were enough rooms and beds for everyone to have their own space. A small mercy in the grand scheme of things.

When you finally saw Michael Langdon again, he had certainly changed. The way he carried himself, the exquisiteness of his clothes, the length of his hair… Everything looked and felt different. He looked and felt like everything he was meant to be. Divine yet deadly, comforting yet cruel. He was the sweet taste of antifreeze coating your tongue, euphoric and paralyzing all at once as he snuck into your system and shut you down from the inside out.

You watched him with a wondrous smile as he strode into the library. Your teeth sank gently into your lip in an attempt to keep from crying out his name. Surely he would still remember you. He surveyed the room with a self-satisfied smirk upon seeing the entirety of the Outpost gathered for him. When he spotted you, though, the smirk morphed into a painfully familiar look.

Eighteen months ago, you stood inside of Outpost 3 clad in nothing but your underwear following the mandatory decontamination process all new survivors had to undergo. A redhead with a pinched, strict face stared at you with a sneer, her eyes taking in every extra curve and flaw of your body. You stared right back at her with a smirk, daring her to make a single comment, when you both knew why you were there. Michael’s own people had brought you here on his behalf. Whatever this woman thought of you? It mattered for nothing in comparison to him.

Now, Michael stood at the center of the main library floor below you, gazing at you with the same sneer and furrowed brow that Venable bestowed upon you that first day. Your grey dress was plain and ill-fitting; at least if you’d been able to fashion some sort of belt or tie it could have almost looked appealing. The high bun was ridiculous and hurt your scalp something awful. Every night you let your hair out felt like a thousand bees stinging the follicles. Any alterations to the servant uniform you had been given were strictly forbidden. As was everything else.

You had been given safety, yes, but cared for? No. And now you stood there, eyes brimming with unshed tears, as he scowled hatefully at you and you could feel your heart crumbling piece by piece. Maybe he’d sent you here as a way to get rid of you. Maybe he’d found someone else, someone smarter, stronger, more conventionally beautiful. Perhaps his gaze would have been different if you had been granted the elegant drapery of the Purples. The corsets that cinched their waists and lifted their breasts gave them the perfect hourglass shape of a goddess. Your full figure would have been the very image of voluptuous and desirable then. There was no way you could bear to look at him now.

Days went by without seeing Michael. Between your work around the Outpost, your blatant avoidance of him, and his nonexistent attempts to reconnect, the opportunities were--thankfully--sparse. Conflict raged inside of you. Part of you wanted to confront him, to see what the fuck he thought he was playing at with your life and your feelings. The other part was happy to live in the questionable bliss of ignorance. You didn’t want to hear of whatever new love he’d found that superseded the love he’d claimed to have for you.

While it was easy to avoid his person, it was much, much harder to avoid his name.

“Langdon” was all anyone could talk about. How handsome he was, how skillful he must be in the bedroom. Gallant was certain that Langdon had his gorgeous blue eyes on him, and you’d never hated the hairdresser more. You hoped he choked on his cube. When his grandmother revealed that she had seen him having sex with someone, you resigned yourself to the fact that you had lost Michael for good. If he was interested in lean blond men, he certainly wasn’t interested in you anymore.

Venable assigned you to keep tabs on Gallant while he was strung up awaiting punishment. Once a day, you would throw a bucket of water over him to keep him clean. He still received his daily rations that you had to feed to him yourself since his hands were chained up. All you would have to do was shove the fork a liiiittle bit too far down his throat, and all the disparaging words he’d whispered just loud enough for you to hear behind your back, all of the times he’d tried to make you doubt your worth would all be over. There was only one man that you allowed to sow seeds of doubt in your mind. You froze mid step when that man’s voice drifted under the closed door of Gallant’s “cell”.

“I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last man on Earth,” his sweet voice dripped with contempt, “and you almost are.” The slow drawl of Michael Langdon’s voice continued inside of the room, bouncing tauntingly around the circular walls. “It’s not because you’re not physically attractive. It’s your neediness.” His tone of voice shifted dramatically from dulcet and slow to cutting and cold. It made you shiver, even as you felt the anger burning inside of your skin. It wasn’t for Gallant. Oh no, he could mock that shallow, conceited man all he wanted. “You’re desperation to be seen and loved. The hole you need filled isn’t in your face or your ass--it’s in your heart.”

No, your anger wasn’t on behalf of Gallant. You couldn’t help feeling he was also talking about you. How you’d often sought reassurance in him, and hoped to feel loved to validate the feelings that you felt for him, too. Above all, you were angry because you knew his words would have cut himself deeper than any other before he’s become this...this creature. Where was the man you knew and loved before the bombs fell?

“You’re pathetic.” Your lips trembled and tears burned in your eyes. The words, while not directed at you, punched the air from your lungs. Is that how he felt about you? Was that why he was avoiding you as if you had radiation sickness? The footsteps and the opening of the door didn’t register through your self-imposed turmoil. Before you knew it, the man that had been on your thoughts stood before you.

“No.” The word left your mouth before you could stop it. Your eyes narrowed at his and you stepped up, toe to toe, with his immaculately polished shoes. “You’re pathetic, Michael Langdon.” For the briefest moment, his glacial eyes melted and looked from your tears to the anger and hurt in your eyes. “You forget that I know you, Michael. Or at least I did once. No one needed love more than you, and now you weaponize that fact against someone else? Is that how you feel about everyone?” You bit into your lip as your entire body shook, the water you carried in your arms sloshing against the sides and mimicking the raging sea of emotions tearing you apart. “Is that how you feel about me?”

The answer never came. His arms remained, as always, clasped behind his back. Wide eyes narrowed dangerously to scan the surrounding halls to see if anyone was there to witness your outburst. His head bowed to yours, forehead to forehead and nose to nose, before he spoke.

“I will be conducting your interview this evening. Ms. Venable is already aware that you will not be attending dinner.”

With that, he turned on his heel and made his way down the hall in perfect, casual strides. You turned and let your back thud against the wall. The stone was cold against your back as you slid, shaking, to the floor

“What the fuck was I thinking?” You muttered to yourself several hours later when it came time to make the journey to Langdon’s office. You dreaded hearing whatever he had to say. Now he would be in the privacy of his own rooms and be able to rage against you however he saw fit.

“Come in.” Michael’s voice beckoned you before you could even lift your hand to knock. You opened the door slowly, heart heavy with dread, and kept your eyes down. Movement from his desk let you know where he was. “Now, now. No need to look so shy.” He approached you slowly, a smirk on his lips, and reached out a hand to cup your chin. “You forget that I know you, too,” he threw your words back at you.

You finally managed to lift your gaze to his and found it resting on your lips. The hardened ice of his gaze dissipated with an inquisitive tilt of his head, and your heart skipped at the familiar gesture. His warm hand on your skin, gently holding your face, brought back so many memories. The next thing you knew, he was stepping back from you and scanning your form from head to toe. The same glare and curl of his lips appeared as the first night he had arrived. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around yourself and attempted to shrink away as much as possible. He exhaled in a heavy, aggravated sigh. So he did think of you that way, too, then.

“She is going to pay for this,” he growled. Your head shot up in confusion. She who? Pay for what? Michael pressed his lips into a thin line of displeasure. “I specifically ordered that your position within the Outpost be among the elite. This is a blatant disregard for my commands. If I had known sooner… Take it off.” Mind still muddled in confusion, you simply blinked up at him. Michael gestured with his elegant, jeweled fingers curling into his upturned palm. “That ridiculous uniform. Take it off. And let down your hair. I can only imagine how uncomfortable that must be for you.”

This had to be some form of trick. You were supposed to have been a purple all along? He’d promised that you would be safe and cared for... No, he was using any trust that you had left in him against you--just like he had toyed with everyone else in the Outpost. The realization made you quickly shake your head. You were not going to expose yourself to him just so he could mock you and hurt you any further. His face fell at your refusal, and his brow furrowed.

“Please. It’s been so long. Knowing you’ve been right here with me the last few days without being able to truly speak to you has been excruciating. Please let me see you.” Oh, how you wanted to believe him. How badly you wanted to think he had missed you and desired you. When you still didn’t move, he came towards you again and forced you to back up against the door. “Perhaps you need a bit of help.”

Michael stooped down and gently captured your ankle in his grasp. He removed your shoe with the effortless tug of his hand to toss it behind him and repeated the process on the other. Next, his hands ran up the sides of your legs. Gentleness was a foreign display from this new Michael, but it was one that your Michael had used often in ascertaining his feelings for you. A soft whimper slipped past your lips from the way he carefully gathered the fabric of your plain dress.

“Look at me, my love.” The command was a gentle one that you couldn’t help but to obey. His eyes mirrored the soft, passionate pleading of his words, and the feeling in the room shifted to something much more in your favor. “How I have missed you.” Several silent tears dripped down your cheeks. It would only be a matter of time before things came crashing down. You could feel it. “Now, take your dress off for me.”

He sat back on his heels and waited, smirking up at you quite happily. Every bit of you screamed no, to remain still, not to become so vulnerable in front of him. Yet, you could still see a part of the man you knew in those glistening blue eyes. A renewed determination filled you, and you removed his hands from your dress to tug it over your head. You tossed the dress into the corner and held your arms out to him in a show of exposure so against your usual nature it was painful. If you were lucky, a pit to hell would open up beneath you and save you from the tragedy. Or perhaps you were already there.

“Is this what you wanted to see? So you could mock me for my appearance, for my neediness to be appreciated and loved for more than what everyone sees? Fuck you, Michael. There was a time that you needed to be loved more than anything. That you wanted to be loved more than anything.” Your legs shook slightly from the willpower it took not to crumple in on yourself.

“Yes.” The words came from Michael as a hiss. Still it seduced you to him like the snake of the Forbidden Tree. His eyes appraised you as he stood, wide and remembering, taking in every curve and dip of your body that made you so scared and so uncertain of anyone’s affection. “This is what I wanted to see. To see you.” Michael’s smirk grew and he placed his hands on your waist. “There are only two occasions in which neediness is not a thing to be mocked, but to be adored.” The hands on your waist pulled you against him. Another whimper blended into a moan at the feel of his warm body against you.

“The first instance is the neediness for me that drips off of you. The second,” he pushed to sigh, “is how badly I need you. To see the image of perfection that I have dreamt of every day for the last 18 months. The warmth that has been absent from the bed beside me for too long.” The gentle pressure of his hands on your sides softly moved upwards over your breasts, along the tops of your shoulders, fingers dancing along your throat, the final destination being your cheeks. Love spread over every inch of your body. His words to you were nothing but the truth. A slight tremble to his lips broke the calm composure of the man the outpost knew as Langdon, Cooperative Agent. In his place stood Michael Langdon, your Michael Langdon, and he very eagerly captured your lips in his.

Everything was conveyed in that one embrace. He still needed you as much as you needed him. It would be your little secret.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Welcome to Backwater ch.14 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Hey, Stretch might hate to see Edge leaving, but he sure does love to watch him walk away.

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Read ‘All In The Jeans’ on AO3

or

Read it here!

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Stretch let Edge lead him outside, towards the winding front walkway. But instead of heading down the stone path to where Stretch’s bike was sitting there like a steampunk nightmare invading their gingerbread fairytale, he drew Stretch down to sit on the front steps of the porch. The bricks were soothingly cool beneath him in the waning heat of the day and Edge sat next to him, his knee bumping lightly against Stretch’s.

“You don’t have to rush off just yet,” Edge told him quietly. “There’s still some time before sunset.” He still had a hold on Stretch’s hand and a bony thumb rubbed gently across the backs of his knuckles. “But you looked like you needed some air.”

“yeah,” Stretch agreed, numbly. He stared down at yard in front of him, the riotously colorful flowerbeds amidst rocky outcroppings that led their way up the little hill to the house. It was a little cooler here in the woods out of the stark sun overhead in town, closer to another season than summer or so it felt to him. It was all so inviting, welcoming, and his first thought upon seeing it that this was a trap of some sort seemed a little insulting now that he’d been fed and released. He’d eaten Red’s food, hell, moved right into his home without a qualm, and a well-kept cabin in the woods was where he drew the line?

But then, it wasn’t the house where the real problems lay, was it, it was the people living in it.

Monsters and a Human from another multiverse, again, and not just any Monsters, but another set of mirror images here in the Aboveground. He’d been worried about a Stephen King effect around this place and it turned out he should’ve been more concerned with Isaac Asimov, ‘cause the shift from gothic horror to sci-fi was not one he’d been braced for, with a ‘little invasion of the body snatchers’ vibe tossed in for extra flavor.

Only, that wasn’t fair, was it. Doppelgängers, Edge had mentioned earlier almost like it was a joke, but it was true, just like Sans and Papyrus were and he’d adjusted to them okay. It hadn’t been easy hanging out with someone who wore his brother’s face, but he’d adjusted. And despite the somewhat otherworldly location, these guys had been nothing but kind to Stretch, kinder than the Humans who’d greeted them when they’d popped out from the mountain, for sure.

Hell, Red took him in like a mama dog adopting a stray kitten. The glossy veneer of Stretch’s knowledge-dump panic was cracking and with it his weird sense of numbness, the void it left behind filling with dawning horror.

They were the only three who got out, Frisk said, they’d lost everything and everyone, and fled all the way here, and Stretch was the one about to have a panic attack about it. Exactly what kind of asshole was he trying to be here?

When Sans and Papyrus showed up under similar circumstances, he and Blue opened their lives and homes to them, all tea and sympathy. Well, mostly the tea was from Blue, but still. He was out here in Backwater crying in his soup over a breakup and he couldn’t even dredge up some compassion for versions 2.0?

“i’m sorry,” Stretch blurted thoughtlessly. He turned his hand in Edge’s, shifting to grip his slender fingers tightly. Bare bones against bare bones, weirdly intimate for all that they were only holding hands. He didn’t think he’d ever touched another skeleton like this except his own brother, back when he was little and Stretch was still trying to keep him from running off after every other damn shiny thing he ever saw.

Holding Edge’s hand was a lot different than trying to hang on to his squirmy wormy little brother. Edge only held on just as tight, his brow bone furrowing. “You don’t need to apologize, it’s a lot to take in. You’re honestly taking this all much better than I expected. Theorizing about a multiverse is a great deal different than being confronted with living specimens.”

“no, not that. i get that. i mean—i’m sorry.” Stretch waved his free hand around them vaguely, trying to indicate the entire world with one helpless gesture, “for everything. it must’ve been rough.”

Yeah, nice to see that Stretch’s gift for understatement hadn’t been affected by his personal traumas. Rough was a really great way of describing being the only survivors of their entire world. Next, he’d describe water as slightly damp, maybe fire could be ‘a little burny’.

Edge’s expression cleared, a certain tightness forming around his sockets. “Ah.” He looked away, eye lights rising to the sky where scattered pools of blue showed through the leafy branches. His eye lights were the orangey-red glow of a banked campfire, the crack running through his left socket lent him a sort of strangely thoughtful look. “It’s all right, it was a long time ago for us.”

“about ten years, right?” Stretch winced inwardly, yeah, sure, keep on talking about his painful past, that was a great payback for a yummy dinner. “i mean, that’s what i got from the book you gave me.”

“Yes,” Edge agreed. He didn’t seem to mind talking about it, maybe time really did pad on the emotional distance; Stretch’d have to check back on his own history in a couple years, give his memories a poke and see what bruises came back. “A third of my lifetime.”

Huh. If the math was right, that actually put Edge as a little older than him, who would’ve thunk it, the little brother mythos tipped on its axis, just for him.

Edge slanted a considering glance his way. “We knew other Monsters came to the surface. I kept tabs on the news from the world outside Backwater, just in case—” he hesitated and whatever awful scenario he was thinking about got lost in a shrug. “Well. Just in case. We saw you and your brother on the news with the other Human, and realized you were from a different Underground. They referred to you as Papyrus and Sans then and before you ask, we’d already changed our names before you came to the surface. When we came to this town, actually, and if you ask me why, I wouldn’t be able to tell you. Sometimes in Backwater, certain things simply make sense. One day, everyone started calling me Edge and that’s who I’ve been since.”

He stretched his long legs out in front of him, his slim, bare feet next to Stretch’s grubby sneakers. Edge’d changed out of his grimy gardening clothes before dinner into a fresh t-shirt, still only plain black but the way it clung to his ribcage and along the line of his broad shoulders was worth a second look. His jeans, too, and Stretch was hyper aware of his own baggie shorts and t-shirt that declared he was the taco king of Minnesota, of the differences between them.

“so you already knew about me,” Stretch said, “i mean, before i got here.” There was an unfair advantage if he’d ever heard one.

“In the abstract, yes,” Edge shrugged. “It didn’t seem very important until you showed up in my brother’s living room and tried to hit me with a lamp.”

Fair. Stretch looked back at their feet, at the visibly healed cracks in Edge’s metatarsals, nothing at all like his own undamaged bones. He understood the multiverse theory, wasn’t exactly that complicated. In theory, he and Edge were different version of the same person, each another facet to a complex jewel; that was the theory, anyway. After hanging out with Sans and Papyrus, Stretch had a few theories of his own and the most important one was one he wanted to be sure Edge understood.

“you aren’t really me, you know that, right? not me me.” It seemed important to him that Edge knew that or maybe Stretch had it backwards, maybe it should be that he wasn’t Edge, since Edge was here first by several years. He sort of had dibs, didn’t he.

For some reason, that statement made one corner of Edge’s mouth curled up in a smirk. “That seems rather obvious,” Edge said dryly. “For one, as fascinating as you seem to find my jeans, you wouldn’t fit in them very well.”

“no!” Stretch sputtered, holy shit, abort, abort, do not look at his hips right now, do not do it, “i mean in the context of the multiverse! like how chara and frisk are alike, right? they look alike, but believe you me, chara ain’t like frisk. you and me, we might’ve had the same names once, but we aren’t the same, not really.”

“Chara and Frisk have some ten years of distance between their ages that might account for that,” Edge pointed out, “but I’m no scientist, not even on the weekends. It isn’t me you should be discussing this with.”

Then who…? “i’ve got some data to back it up, i’ve met someone else from another multiverse, you know. two someones, other versions of…well…us.”

Well, now, looked like it was Edge’s turn for a shock, how about that, nice to see it on someone else’s face for a change. “You have?”

“yeah. another set of Sans-and-Papyrus skeleton brothers ended up with us before we ever got the surface. they wanted to stay out of the news and the queen let ‘em.” Stretch shrugged, “i don’t know all their story, they don’t like to talk about it. but it’s been a couple years since they showed up and we definitely aren’t very similar past being skeletons and having brothers.” For one, Blue might not cook as well as Edge, but at least his spaghetti never landed anyone in the hospital with acute food poisoning like some other skeletons who would not be named coughpapyruscough.

But Edge didn’t seem interested in another set of skeleton brothers to add to the collection, not even in the interest of making a full six-pack. He’d shifted to his knees and faced Stretch, his sockets wide, “There’s another Human that fell, then? Into their Underground?” Edge asked, urgently.

“probably, but not that came with them,” Stretch shook his head, “i. uh. i get the feeling their story is a little like yours, only more so and a lot more recent.”

That urgency faded. “Ah.” Edge settled back to sit on the step again. “I see.”

Stretch didn’t ask why Edge was so interested in there being another Human kid, that was a surefire way to wander off the path, but he made a mental note about it. “what i’m getting at is, you knew who i was when you first saw me. what i was.”

“I’m hardly going to mistake the framework of my own face.”

Yeah, see, that was another mark in the column of the differences between the ‘verses not simply being nature vs nurture, but them being different people entirely despite the whole names-and-also-skeleton thing, ‘cause Stretch had been looking at his own face in the mirror for a long damn time and he didn’t look like Edge, fuck no, he’d be the first person to know if he was that gorgeous.

Probably better not to bring that up. “and you guys have been here on the surface for ten years now, taking care of the town, and you never tried to contact anyone?”

Edge only shrugged. “What was the point? It isn’t as if we actually knew any of you. I expected that more Monsters would find us eventually and you did.”

“yeah, by accident.”

Edge slanted him another look, coolly raising a browbone, “You’ve been in Backwater a little while now. Do you truly believe you’re here completely by accident?”

Yeah, okay, that was a pretty good point. “but if you were expecting other monsters to show up eventually, then why didn’t you want me to stay?”

“Maybe because my brother was very quick to adopt a person who is wearing something like my face?” That stung and Stretch looked away, his fingers going helplessly stiff in their shared grip. “Or maybe because the longer you stay, the less likely you’ll be able to leave,” Edge sighed. “That’s how Backwater is.”

“wait.” Hold on, back that up. “you can’t leave?”

“I didn’t say that.” Yeah, and that was a backpedal if Stretch ever heard one. “Frisk has willingly tied their life to this town, and I’m sworn to protect them. I can hardly do that from another city.”

“but nothing is physically stopping you from leaving.” Because if the corn was gonna sprout little legs and come after him if he drank the water here too long, that would be important information to have.

“Where would I go?” Edge countered. “Back to Ebott? Unlike my brother and I, you have ties there. We do not and I’ve very little interest in revisiting the mountain ten years away from it. I have everything I’ve ever needed right here and as for wants, I’ve long since accepted the truth.”

There was a certain bitterness there and Stretch should let it go, he’d already poked that wound enough. He should, but he still ended up asking, softly, “what truth?”

“That sometimes people don’t get what’s coming to them.” The words were so loaded that Stretch winced and hunched down, almost expecting to hear a gunshot. Instead, Edge sighed, let his anger go on an exhaled breath and he sounded calmer as he asked, “Now you’ve heard my secrets. What about you?”

“me?” Stretch snorted. He kept his gaze on the flowerbeds, tracing the flat round stones of the path, and did not meet Edge’s crimson gaze. “heh, you guys are determined to ferret something out, aren’t you. i keep telling you, i don’t have any secrets. my boyfriend dumped me, and it brought me down, couldn’t get past it, so i left town. ended up here…i should be writing this down, it’s like the start of a country song. shame i don’t have a truck.”

“You’d look terrible in a cowboy hat. And your soul?” Edge asked, gentle but implacable.

“that’s not a secret,” Stretch muttered, “i just don’t want to talk about it.” He’d talked about it plenty back in Ebott, for all the good it did him, and he’d hoped to leave those chats behind when he got on the bus.

“Fair enough,” Edge tugged on his hand suddenly, pulling Stretch to his feet, “Come on.”

He barely gave Stretch a minute to catch his balance before he started to run, heedless of his bare feet as Stretch stumbling on after him. His brief, absurd surge of fear that they were, ‘oh, fuck, running from something,’ faded as Edge laughed aloud, pulling him past trees and through flowerbeds, around the corner of the house into the backyard again. Off to the side of the garden beneath a large tree was a massive pile of fallen leaves in a messy sprawl of browns and golds, and Stretch only realized what Edge intended when it was too late to stop him, barely stuttering out a “wait--!” before he leapt and yanked Stretch along with him.

They landed together in a cacophony of brittle crunching and the blinding, whispering surge of leaves launching into the air. Stretch sputtered and flailed, wallowing in the pile that was somehow soft and weirdly crisp at the same time, billowing around him as he floundered.

Somehow, he managed to find out which way was upright again and burst out on the surface, swimming through leaves, and through the madness, he could hear Edge laughing, that deep, rich voice sharing out happiness. For the first time in what felt like an endless dry spell, his soul felt like it was full, joy pouring into it, filling up the empty space in his chest.

“you’re crazy,” Stretch laughed, spitting out a leaf, and watched as Edge flopped back in the leaves, arms and legs moving and sending up another wild swirl of crunchy browns and golds.

“Perhaps,” Edge called, raising his voice over the cronch. “But I made you smile.”

“the technique could use work, but i can’t argue with the results.” He looked up and for the first time, Stretch noticed that not all the trees here were loaded with green. His grin slowly faded. “the leaves are falling.”

“Yes,” Edge’s smile eased down, understanding dawning, and he shuffled through the leaves to Stretch, reaching for him, “It’s a late summer heat right now, but yes. The corn is ripe, autumn is coming and soon.”

Autumn was coming, too fast, and there was nothing Stretch could do to stop it, but that didn’t mean he had to let it go. He was a little sick of letting things just happen around him and Backwater was getting him into the habit of doing something about it. “i want to see edgar allen again. you think if i went back to the field, the corn would give me a pass?”

“I think that a visit can be arranged without that being an issue.” Between the two of them, they managed to wade out of the pile onto solid ground, both of them shedding leaves as Edge headed back into the garden. He skirted the wall of sunflowers, leading Stretch deeper into the rows. Right into a small patch of corn, the tips of the leaves already yellowed and curling.

Stretch stopped abruptly, his sneakers sinking into the soft soil as he stared, “is that…?” In the middle of the little field there was a scarecrow hanging from a crossbar. It looked exactly like Edgar Allen, from the greasepaint face down to the plaid shirt, only now, there was a scarf looped around his neck, the very same one Stretch left in offering.

“It is,” Edge agreed softly. “He is every scarecrow. They awaken when needed or summoned.” He gave Stretch a nudge, hard enough for him to stumble forward a step deeper into the field. “Talk to him. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Talk to him. Right. Stretch swallowed hard, trying to shuffle aside his sudden misgivings. His voice creaked like a rusty hinge as he managed a weak, “edgar?

Then he watched, fascinated. He could nearly see the life filling those limp limbs, the burlap sack of his head lifting as he raised it, and he knew the exact moment Edgar caught sight of Stretch in front of him.

“Well, hey pal! Good ta see ya!” That croaky voice was the same as Stretch remembered and he smiled helplessly, watching Edgar unwind an arm from the bar that held him up to touch the bandana around his neck, “Wanted ta thank ya for the new gear!”

“it looks good on you,” Stretch managed. The turkey-red fabric was bright against the faded plaid of his shirt and Stretch wondered how long it would take for the sun to bleach it out. Would there even be time before Edgar…ended? Did his clothes vanish with him or was he left out in the field to rot after his seasonal duty? He didn’t know and found he didn’t want to ask. For fuck’s sake, Stretch barely even knew the guy, if he was a guy, and still his soul heavy with sorrow.

“Corn thought so, too,” Edgar Allen said gleefully. “Nattered on ‘bout it for hours. Kept me awake for an age, I tell ya.” For all that his face never changed from that greasepaint sneer, Stretch could almost feel the sudden surge of sleepiness rising in the air, the way Edgar took hold of his support again, and slumped back down, “Still restin’ up from it. Thanks, again. See ya around, pal, give me a call if ya need me?”

“i will,” Stretch said and as he watched, that animation faded, life seeping away and leaving behind a nothing but straw-filled bundle of clothes.

A gentle hand settled on his shoulder and Stretch turned to look at Edge, trying to swallow down the thickness of absurd grief in his throat. He’d met Edgar Allen for a total of ten minutes, tops, and it still hurt.

“It’s difficult for him to stay awake when he isn’t needed,” Edge told him softly.

“yeah,” Stretch managed, blinking hard, his sockets aching. “he’ll be dying in a few weeks.”

“Yes, for the season,” Edge agreed, “It’s not really a death, but it is something like it.”

“that sucks, big time.” He understood it, sure, the whole ghost of gyftmas present sort of visit. Didn’t make it suck any less.

“He’s earned his rest and his spirit will return. Perhaps in the spring you can came back to Backwater and meet his recreation.” Edge held out a hand and after swiping angrily at his sockets, Stretch took it, folding their fingers together again. “Come on, it’s starting to get dark.”

It was, Stretch saw dismally, the sunlight creeping through the trees faded and soft with oncoming dusk. He’d already been here a helluva lot longer than he’d meant and it might be an interesting trip back to Red’s if he didn’t hurry; he’d be wandering off the path simply because he couldn’t see the damn thing and he really didn’t feel up to testing the monster bear theory, not today.

The two of them hurried their way back around front. He’d left his bike on the side of the driveway and before Stretch could reach it, the hand in his that had been faithfully leading him all afternoon betrayed him. Suddenly, Stretch found himself yanked around, a tree trunk hard beneath his back.

He looked up with wide sockets and all he could see Edge looming in front of him, stark crimson eye lights boring into his own and arms braced against the tree on either side of him. They weren’t touching, not quite, but he was close, so close Stretch could feel the warmth pouring off of him and it was ridiculous that it made him shiver in the waning heat of the day, an uneasy trill tickling its way up his spine. Something that was not fear was swelling inside him, not fear at all.

“What is it about you?” Edge said abruptly. His eye lights were burning, bright coals in his dark, narrowed sockets.

“what do you—” Stretch started, too weak and a little lost.

He broke off on a confused sound as Edge leaned in suddenly, tried to jerk back but there was nowhere to go as Edge murmured close to Stretch’s audial canal, his breath damp, nearly as solid as a physical touch, “If you think I haven’t noticed your attraction to me, you may wish to redefine the word subtle.”

“uhhhh.” Not that it wasn’t true but getting called out on it right now was a little unexpected, hell, he hadn’t even been looking at Edge’s ass this time. Any reasonable answer slipped away from his fumbling reach. “that’s…i mean…”

“It’s not that you’re unappealing, but as you’ve said several times, you’re getting over a breakup.” A gentle thumb slid along his cheekbone in defiance of what Edge was saying, making Stretch suck in a sharp gasp of breath.

‘Not unappealing.’ Wasn’t exactly a glowing endorsement but eh, reviews didn’t always match the product.

“yeah,” Stretch said inanely. “yeah, i am.” As if that meant anything, as if he could even think of anything outside this singular moment. Edge was so close to him, the lines of their bodies separated by bare inches as Stretch breathed out a faint, “sorry.”

He didn’t even know what he was apologizing for.

“I’m not. You aren’t alone in this,” Edge exhaled a soft half-laugh. “I’ve felt an attraction to you since the moment you tried to hit me with that damn lamp. But that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.”

“yeah, uh,” Stretch swallowed hard, trying to add some starch to his voice, but it was so damned hard (fuck, don’t think that, don’t, shuffle that pun right to the end of the queue). Edge was so close, and the bark of the tree was rough through the back of his t-shirt, lighting digging into his ribcage like a goad, urging him to move, to step forward, to complete that circuit. Stretch didn’t move. “i mean, the way the multiverse theory goes, i’m sort of you. or you’re me. something like that.”

A low chuckle filled the air between them and Stretch closed his sockets, holy fuck, that voice rumbled through him like a miniature earthquake, “That isn’t what I meant at all. You don’t want to talk about your past and that’s fine. But that doesn’t mean the effects don’t linger.” The very tip of Edge’s nasal nodule brushed the side of Stretch’s skull as he sniffed delicately, his warm breath gusting.

Slim fingertips came to rest on his sternum over his damage soul and that single light touch affected him more than the entire groping session in the library. “I can smell your pain, such a deep hurt in your soul. I don’t want to make it worse.”

“edge,” Stretch whispered, closed his sockets against the answering whisper of his own name. There was the slightest pressure of a knee against his own and the temptation was there to spread his legs, to give it a place to rest, and he shouldn’t, they shouldn’t, but that warning voice was getting softer, distant, caught by a shepherd’s hook and hauled off the stage. He’d gone through half a dozen shocks since he woke up this morning, added them to the pile he'd gotten since he’d stepped off that bus. What was one more?

“I know all of that. I know it. So why am I so drawn to you?” Edge murmured distractedly, “What is it about you? Why can’t I leave you alone?” He reeled back, shaking his head as if to clear it, then, nearly pleading, “Don’t let me hurt you.”

A warning, a plea tangled together as one, and Stretch lurched after him, arms reaching with purely reckless intent, “you won’t, you aren’t, don’t go—"

The sudden klaxon of a horn made them jerk apart, Edge stumbling back and putting space between them. Stretch looked up see a rusty old pickup truck making its bumpy way down the path, coming to a stop with a wheezy squeal of brakes.

They watched it together, Edge with tight annoyance creasing his face and Stretch with panting confusion, struggling to get his breathing under control. It turned out to be a hell of a lot easier when the window rolled down the window and Red poked his head out, like getting doused with a bucket of ice water as he called with deliberate cheer, “hey, you two.”

“Brother,” Edge said, the greeting coming from between clenched teeth.

“you have a car?” Stretch asked, outraged. Shame was taking a hasty backseat because holy shit, he’d spent all afternoon on that bike when Red already had a set of wheels?

Red only grinned, a slash of a smile with his golden tooth winking in the dwindling light. “nah, i got a truck.”

“you never said!”

“you never asked,” Red countered. “it was gettin’ late and i got worried. didn’t want ya trying to scooter your way home in the dark, ya didn’t add a headlight to that rustbucket. toss the bike in the back and hop in.”

It wasn’t a question and yeah, somehow, he didn’t think Red was gonna buy that he and Edge were only talking, not this time.

Stretch felt a guilty flush heat his cheekbones, meekly obeying. It was for the best, he told himself, holy shit, yes, he should be grateful that Red showed up when he did, no matter what kind of protest his crotch was currently bleating up at him. The last thing he needed right now was any other attachments and not only because he felt like getting into another relationship right around never, (yeah, never worked for him) and rebound sex with the boss’s little brother was supposed to be off the table.

Getting into anything past friendship with Edge was a Bad Idea all the way around, ‘cause when it came down to it, Edgar Allen wasn’t the only person leaving, now was he. Stretch didn’t want to think about it, kept trying to avoid it, but the knowledge still came up in the back of his head, readying itself to bite him in the ass.

Eventually, Stretch was gonna have to find his own way home.

~~*~~

tbc

[wolfcha1k]

It’s Our Nature

["You know, Grug. Eventually, Eep and Guy, they're going to want to start their own pack. Just like we did, it's our nature."] Grug is confused about when his little girl stopped being so little, perhaps its time Gran and Ugga tried reminding him it wasn't too long ago he was just like Guy and Eep are now. [Pre!A New Age, contains Guy/Eep and Grug/Ugga fluff/One-Shot]

You can read it here on Fanfiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13785964/1/It-s-Our-Nature

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28525908

Please leave a read and a review ~ Thank you ~It was really hard sometimes for Grug to accept his little girl wasn't so little anymore. She'd always been stuck like tar to his side and would demand stories as a young child. The old cave walls were filled with tiny hand prints he never realized had grown bigger until Guy came along and forced him to be reminded Eep was indeed a woman. She was nineteen summers old and the fact wasn't lost on anyone who had functioning eyes in their head. 

Fathers only saw with their hearts though and inside Grug's his daughter was still that rambunctious sweet little girl who needed him to protect her. That also included suitors.

"Grug you're brooding again," he heard Ugga say from behind him.

"This is just my face." Grug shifted his weight from where he sat lounging against his favorite rock. 

"Trust me, I can see them just as clearly as you can." 

Grug couldn't help but stiffen at her call out of his snooping. Was it really spying though if the two were out in the open? They were together by the beach with Chunky playing third wheel. The demanding feline squeezed his way between them when he felt they were being too touchy. Or maybe it was just Grug self projecting, his cat generally liked being the center of attention. Guy and Eep were fishing by hand in the water but it soon turned into a game of seeing who could out run the tide first whilst trying to knock the other down. Chunky kept getting confused by this activity as he shook droplets off his wet paws. 

Eep was in the lead by at least seven points, it wasn't like Grug was keeping track though. "Why didn't you tell me sooner Eep was all grown up?" Grug side eyed his mate who just laughed at him. 

"She's up to your shoulder and gives you a hard time like every teenager, I thought it was obvious." Ugga nudged him with her elbow, her small hands were busy threading a bone needle with sinew as she sewed new clothes for her family. 

"Well… she was always a stubborn girl and big for her age," he quipped as he crossed his arms.

"And then she got that doe-eyed look when mister-you-know-who showed up." Ugga batted her eyelashes playfully in emphasis and folded her hands beneath her chin a moment. It was hard to keep a straight face, Ugga quickly laughed it off. Grug set his jaw in a very uncharacteristic pout.

"Never should have stuffed him in the log," Grug said with less heart than he actually felt. Sure, he enjoyed roughing the kid up sometimes and making a big show of being upset seeing Eep with Guy but in truth he was fond of the… guy. It was still his job as a dad to scare Guy a little. 

"Oh don't say that, he's practically our son now."

"Does that mean I need to protect him from Eep then?" He kept the edge of hope out of his voice the best he could as he faced his mate.

Ugga rested her chin on her fist thoughtfully, she put the needle safely away as she watched the two lovebirds chase one another on the beach. "You might, honestly," Ugga said with a warm voice. "She's a handful."

He heard a startled yelp from the shore and got to enjoy the sight of Guy yet again face planting in the sand. Eep pounced over his toppled form, he was spitting sand from his mouth.

"Gotta be faster than that!" She shouted with a victorious smile. 

Guy mustered the energy to mockingly look at her like he was bothered but the toothy grin that spread on his face afterward said otherwise. 

"Lovesick idiots," remarked Gran as she hobbled over to join them. She watched Eep and Guy fondly despite her toughness. "What I wouldn't give to be their age again. Especially with a boy like him, where was he fifty summers ago?"

"Ugh, I don't need that mental image," Grug mumbled with a shudder, his face surly. 

"Aw Grug. Don't you remember what it was like to be young and in love?"

"I do, and that's why I'm worried!" Grug jutted a thumb behind him and caught the confused blank stare Guy gave the group at catching their gossip. "Young and hot blooded, Ugga."

Eep went over to haul Guy back up by the scruff of his neck. She shot Grug an embarrassed and irritated look that was muffled by her wild mane of red hair. "Ugh… Dad, we can hear you!"

"Good! So keep your hands to yourselves! You don't want little Eeps!" Grug paused. "I don't want more little Eeps, one of you is plenty!"

Guy gaped at them like a suffocating fish, Gran guffawed and shook her head. "Let them be, lunkhead. Not like they'll do anything in front of us, eh?" The two younger children of the Croods clan, Sandy and Thunk, looked up in confusion from where they were busy playing with Douglas a short distance away.

Eep pulled the curtain of hair over her eyes and wished for the ground to swallow her. Guy rubbed the back of his neck at the narrow eyed look Grug shot him. 

Ugga rolled her eyes and began to try shooing the old woman off. "Mom, please."

"Come now, it's my generational right to tease the youngsters." Gran reached forward with her staff to hook it under the back of Grug's pelt shirt. She jerked it up with more speed than a lady her age should have, causing Grug to choke a moment as he grabbed for the shirt collar. "See? Like that! Sides, I got plenty of blackmail about you two turtledoves too. Grug was pathetic."

Grug eyed her with a pointed glare once he was free of her pesky walking stick. Gran was unbothered, only grinned a toothy smile as she flopped comfortably onto the sand. She glanced towards Eep who perked at the potential to embarrass her father for once. It was hard to miss the mischievous wink she sent her granddaughter. Grug didn't like the curious glint in those green eyes as his spunky daughter practically skidded to seat herself near Gran. Guy followed clumsily as she had a vice grip on his hand. How Eep hadn't pulled his shoulder out along the way, Grug would never know.

It wasn't long until the entire family were seated in front of Gran. Thunk had Douglas in his lap and Sandy was curled around Belt who cooed at the attention. Ugga gave her mate a look that was screaming 'you brought this on yourself', Grug resigned himself to his fate out of pride. Real men didn't run from such things and as the patriarch he refused to be cowed by silly stories of when he was courting Ugga. 

"What was dad like with mom?" Eep asked as she leaned forward, grinning. She looked at Grug who just huffed. 

"Like I said, utter mushy rotten fruit. You think Guy is tooth rotting, you should have seen your father in his day." Guy pouted at being the butt of the joke as usual, he cast his dark eyes at Grug. He smirked as if to boast at the boy, smug that he wasn't going down alone in this evening razzing. "I wanted to chuck a rock at him every time he came to see Ugga."

Some of Guy's pride was built back up again though when Eep fondly rubbed shoulders with him. Grug began to wonder if it really was self-projecting this time when Chunky nosed his way between the young couple for a snuggle. Guy looked startled whilst Eep just scratched the Macawnivore between the ears.

Ugga decided to play traitor this night. "Mom how about you tell the kids about that time when Grug went on that big errand you gave him."

Grug couldn't help but wince and gave Ugga a scowl. The little minx had the nerve to grin innocently at him despite the betrayal. 

"Big errand?" Guy echoed, he was barely visible from under Chunky's massive form.

"That story is my favorite," Gran cackled with a devious gleam in her eye. "And see Guy, back in our day if you wanted to court a woman you had to do something for the head of the family! Gramp was dead so I got to pick the task. Bless that heart attack he had."

Eep and Guy shared a look before both teenagers gazed questionably at Grug. He fidgeted before rolling his eyes. "That was Yesterday stuff. Besides, Guy saved us from The End with all his weird ideas so… consider the tab paid off."

"That brain thing of yours is really useful," Eep agreed with a girlish tone. 

Guy blushed red at the compliment but didn't shy away from it. If anything it just made him glow proudly. "There's more where that came from," he quipped and knocked his knuckles lightly against his temple.

Grug almost wished he'd missed the bright, lovesick smiles the two shared despite Chunky barring them apart to the best of his ability. The desire for his daughter's happiness won out though, luckily for Guy who beamed. Even protective fathers and clingy Macawnivores weren't enough to stop true love it seemed.

"Anyway… it's no secret I didn't like your dad. So I came up with the most impossible task ever to earn Ugga." Gran licked her dry lips as she grunted, "Of course Grug had to go and actually do it."

"What did you make dad do?" 

"Told him to go get a hair off a naked molephant."

Guy blinked. "But naked molephants don't have hair."

"Well, this is Grug so of course the nincompoop found the one blasted molephant that had hair." Grug let himself puff his chest out like a peacock preening its feathers. 

"Yeah, well, you should have known better when you set me out on a job, Gran." He gave his mother-in-law a catty grin, for now he could relish in a past victory that smarted her way back when.

Eep looked at her grandmother mischievously. "So… when does the story get good?"

Ugga snickered, by now she had abandoned her sewing to sit between Thunk and Sandy. Thunk leaned against his mother as the woman combed her fingers through his scruffy mop of hair. "When he came back with his tunic ripped apart by a tusk," Ugga interjected.

"Wow," Thunk said in awe, turning his eyes to stare at Grug. Grug appreciated at least one Crood wasn't laughing at him. "How'd you do that?"

Gran cocked an eyebrow with a chuckle. "Yeah Grug, tell them."

Grug crossed his arms moodily. "Just for the record, it was a real life or death battle getting that stupid hair."

"Ugga was sewing his left buttocks for weeks," Gran said with a slap to her knee, the memory made her lifetime, really. She lifted her bony hands up to gesture with those old curled fingers of hers a measurement. "He's got a scar like this—"

"—ANYWAY! Like I was saying," Grug grumbled. He turned his attention back to his family. He scooped up a clump of sand and clay from the ground below and drew a vaguely person-like shape into the rock he had been lounging on. Then he drew a beast with tusks and a long nose next to him. "It was a battle of life and death, there I was, twenty two summers old—"

It was pure spite that kept him going hours after setting forth into the desert. Gran was convinced he couldn't win her daughter as his mate, and so when the old lizard raised the stakes he was determined to prove her wrong. He would get Ugga, she was something special and worth more than daylight itself.

He loved her and if it took getting a stupid molephant hair to be with her then so be it. Gran had been making him jump through hurdles since the day he'd met Ugga, it was no secret they shared a mutual loathing for each other. It also came from the same selfless affection the two had for Ugga, though Grug would have thought knowing he made her daughter happy was enough for her. Growling under his breath, he wiped the sweat from his brow. 

There was still a good five knuckles before the sun would set, he'd find it before then. Either that or he was going to face the dangers night brought—

“You? Staying outside at night?” Eep sounded doubtful.

“...yes,” Grug huffed. 

“See? Big mush,” Gran interrupted.

"Can I finish? Nobody interrupted this much back in the cave," he grumbled moodily.

—He was sure the beast was around here somewhere as he took a cautionary sniff of the dry, dusty air. Grug could see footprints inbedded in the barren and broken ground that sand didn't cover yet. Running onwards, he pressed his knuckles into the ground as he paced himself. 

Grug crossed the desert quickly and ignored the aching in his palms and feet from the hot tough earth. He was built strong and a little pain wouldn't stop his pride. He paused when the scent grew stronger, flaring his nostrils he climbed up a nearby tree to survey what was around. The sun was strong against his eyes and Grug strained through the bright rays of light to see a dark speck in the distance. In a nearby canyon below, Grug finally found what he was looking for—

"What about never being afraid?" Thunk asked his father.

Grug looked at Thunk before settling his dark eyes on his beloved Ugga. "I was afraid," he admitted with a chuckle. "But I wanted to impress your mother more. Being stubborn and hormonal is a terrible mix."

"You stubborn? No!" Eep exclaimed with a teasing grin. Guy gave her a playful look from where he was walled by Chunky.

Grug made a vague gesture with his hand and he relished in the confused faces Eep and Guy made when Chunky pressed his full weight against both of them. Guy yelped for mercy as Eep tugged on the cheeky feline that was crushing him into the sand.

"Grug! Please call him off!" A large paw cuffed his head, Guy's words quickly muffled.

"Dad!"

Grug suppressed a grin as he went back to his story. "I found the molephant so what was next was getting the hair—"

Grug couldn't say how long it took climbing down that cliff wall to reach the level the molephant was at. It was risky and went against what Grug practiced in his beliefs. Caution and fear kept him alive this long, yet here he was about to go harass an molephant for some hair it might or might not have. Dread pooled in his belly and made him cold, going after more beasts was not how he wanted this to go. Breathing heavily through his gritted teeth, Grug crept as quietly as he could across the canyon. There were many tall and small rocks around that would provide cover should he need to hide.

Grug didn't have a brain, cavemen didn't use those. At least he didn't and it showed when he found himself running full speed away from a rampaging molephant. He relied on his gut instinct to weave and dodge its massive tusks that were swung at him. Grug scrambled and whenever he managed to get close, the creature stomped it's way towards him with a vengeance.

He bit back a curse when a tusk just barely ripped part of his tunic at his chest—

"—so this is when the story gets to the best part," Eep interrupted with a cheeky hum. She'd since rescued Guy from the weight of Chunky and had him cuddled protectively in her arms. She rested her chin on his mused up brown hair. Guy idly stroked one of her hands that were interlocked at his neck and chest.

"I thought it was always at the best part," Thunk quipped in a confused voice to his sister.

"If I say anything else I'm worried I'll become Macawnivore food," Guy said and tipped his head to the side with a huff. 

Ugga smiled at her children as Grug shot them a look to be silent. "Look if you want to laugh at me can I finish this up then first?"

Gran reached her staff out to bop Eep over the head, her bushy red hair cushioned the blow. "Yeah, hush your tongue." 

Eep huffed when she felt Guy trying to muffle his grin into her arm. Grug shook his head at the sight, feeling a fond nostalgia swell within him despite the protective instinct. He looked at Ugga and she just arched a brow at her mate. Grug turned back to telling the story, large fingers drawing more on the rock.

"The molephant was putting up a good fight but your old dad was better—"

—He was swearing aloud and screaming as he hung onto the tusk by his shirt. Grug was glad he didn't feel wounded but this was just a disaster waiting to happen. Even the molephant seemed dismayed at the fact he now had the man stuck on his face. It kept rampaging and Grug strained against the beast in order to sink his feet forcibly into the hard earth. Dust filled the air and with his innate strength, Grug managed to swing his body around to grab it by its tusk. The molephant slowed and leaned back to buck, swinging Grug off after a lot of effort. 

He was thrown through the air and scrambled to find his feet as he rolled like a big boulder. Dazed, Grug just barely got out of the way of the molephant as it charged him. Panting, Grug finally saw the hair on its angrily swishing tail. It groaned in frustration and Grug realized the molephant had gotten its massive body stuck between two rocks. Panicked and running strictly on adrenaline, Grug reached forward to yank off a clump of hair from its tail. It trumpeted its distress, Grug began to rush away but there was the sound movement. He dared to look behind him, yelling out he did all he could to escape the incredibly pissed off beast.

It only took one stupid stumble to find that in that split moment he was thrown into the air. Pain flowered under his back and rump. The last seconds felt like they were slow motion as he landed harshly into a patch of huge, prickly brambles. Everything went blurry and before he knew it, there was nothing...

He'd awoken to darkness and the scent of blood in his nose. He was tangled upside down in a bramble bush and covered in an uncomfortable amount of burrs. There was also pain in his rear end and back, Grug noted with a groan. However the panic he felt for that hair won out his concern for his current state. He couldn't go back without that blasted hair!

He froze his struggling at a sound in the distance and cowardly he hunkered down the best he could whilst suspended in the air head facing down. However, it soon turned into a voice. "...Grug! Grug?!'

"Ugga?!" He whispered harshly and in the moonlight he saw the cavewoman trotting cautiously on all fours. "I'm over here!"

Ugga hurried towards him and gave him a worried once over. Grug grinned at her concern until she scowled, harshly tugging on his ear like he was an impudent child. "Are you asking for a death wish, Grug?! Look at you! I can't believe you took mom seriously!"

"...it's good to see you too, Ugga," he grunted, pressing a hand to his ear to drown out the headache she gave him.

Ugga circled him with careful gray eyes as she tried to figure out how to get him down. "You are lucky no hungry predators sniffed you out first before I did," Ugga continued to scold.

Grug stiffened at the mention of such a risk and reached an arm to grab her shoulder as if it would protect her. "You shouldn't even be out here," he grumbled back.

"I know but after hearing mom laughing it up with the tribe about this stupid errand I needed to find you," Ugga hissed, pulling away to give him another stink eye. "I'm so mad at you right now."

"Yeah well once I find where that dumb hair went I'll be the one laughing at her!" Grug exclaimed, wiggling in an attempt to dislodge himself. 

"Would you hold still? You're just going to make yourself worse," she complained and began to tear at the thicket with her strong, calloused hands.

Grug, being the stubborn man he was, continued to squirm this way and that. "I can get down myself," he huffed.

Ugga threw her hands up in frustration before yanking at a cord of bramble. "You have a head made of rocks, Grug."

Grug opened his mouth to argue back before suddenly falling. He cried out when his head hit the ground, grabbing at his neck in pain of the impact. Nursing a bump that felt like some giant goose egg, Ugga examined his tunic.

She made a noise through her teeth in fret. "How are you not dead right now?"

"I don't know!" He said with a growl, shuffling to sit up. Everything hurt from his skull to his toes that spread out in the pulse of his blood. "But between you, your mom and that molephant, all of you are really trying to bury me!"

Ugga rolled her eyes and spun him around, she pulled up his shirt before Grug could even protest. "You're lucky," she sighed, relief warming her voice. "That molephant tusk missed a major arterie. Really ruined your tunic though."

He softened and reached a hand out to touch her arm. "I got other shirts."

"It's probably going to scar. Can you walk?" Ugga faced him once again, he couldn't help but frown as he watched her wipe her bloody palm in the sand. My blood, Grug thought with a pained wince.

The adrenaline of the moment and even beyond it was wearing off, Grug really wanted to go back to his cave to nurse his wounds and ego. "I think so. Um… help balance me?" 

A smile lit up her face and Grug wondered if it was the blood loss or her that made him sway breathlessly. "Sure." Ugga offered her arm to him which he took.

However, he stopped with a groan. "Ugh… wait. The hair, I'm not going back without that hair!"

"Forget the hair, Grug. Mom will get over it."

"Oh no! Ugga, I'll never hear the end of it if I don't give her that stupid hair!" Grug let go of Ugga to try peering through the darkness on the ground, crouching on his knuckles.

Ugga put her hands on her hips. "What is so important about getting my mom this hair? Naked molephants don't even have hair."

Grug just stuck a finger at her triumphantly. "Yes, yes they do and I swear to the sun it's not just me getting loopy from all this blood loss."

"Grug, you're scaring me," Ugga said in a deadpanned tone, brows arched.

"That old lizard can't keep us apart anymore after this," he continued to ramble on and on.

"Grug…"

"If it's a hair that ancient fossil wants in order to get her out of mine for good then so be it," he continued.

"Grug!" 

"What?!"

"If you want to be my mate so bad why don't you just ask me yourself?"

Grug stopped his frantic search and stiffened up like a ribbit being hunted by a liyote. He turned to face her and saw she looked disappointed, arms crossed over her muscular chest. "Um… excuse me?" He wanted to kick himself for stuttering, he wasn't a boy anymore.

"I'm not something to trade for, and the fact you actually went through with it astounds me." Ugga shook her head with a sigh. 

Grug shuffled his weight uncomfortably, he'd never been good at addressing his feelings out in the open like that. Even if it was for Ugga whom he loved dearly. "I know you're not an object, Ugga."

"Then why ask mom?"

"I… I don't know. I guess… I got tired of her talking badly about, you know… us." Grug looked at her with a frown, uncharacteristically vulnerable. 

Ugga reached out to cup his cheek in her hand as she stood in front of him. "Mom says a lot of things, you really need to tune her out."

He turned his head to brush his nose against her palm in a fond gesture, slouching. "She always says I'm no good for you, Ugga."

"Well, lucky for us mom isn't the one you have to court. It's me." She leaned back on her heels, still stroking his face with a gentle touch for a woman as fierce as Ugga. 

"I'm just saying, getting her to shut up would be a win win to this mess." Grug shrugged his shoulders in a dismissive way, a small grin on his face.

Ugga rolled her eyes at him. "You and your manly pride are going to get you into trouble."

"If I'm already in trouble I might as well finish up," he quipped. Grug found his molephant hair amongst the broken debris the molephant had left in its rampaging wake, he’d lifted it up triumphantly in the moonlight. Ugga shook her head. “Okay, now, we can go back!”

When they returned, the sun had started to rise over the desert as dawn chased off the night. Gran had stood outside the dwelling she shared with Ugga, her scowl etched deep into her wrinkled features. The other families were creeping out of their dens in preparation of the morning hunt and foraging, their curious eyes were shocked to see Grug limping back into the canyon with Ugga supporting his hulking mass.

Grug shoved the wad of hair into Gran's face with a low growl, "Here's your stupid hair!" The old woman took it with muted shock for once, gaping mouth wide as she looked between Grug and Ugga. With a burst of adrenaline and pride, he looped his massive arm around Ugga's waist to haul her over his shoulder.

She gave a startled laugh, lightly smacking her fists into his back. "We're going back to this tradition, are we?"

"I gotta make sure your mom doesn't try anything again, you're as good as mine now," Grug huffed, limping with his Ugga secured in his grasp like she weighed light as a feather.

"You're too much, Grug."

"You've never complained before," he shot back with a grin.

"C'mon big guy, I think all that blood loss is affecting your head. Let me patch you up."

Grug headed for his cave, merry that he'd gotten Ugga and at the same time shut that awful lizard of a mother-in-law up. It costed him his pride, he noted, it was hard to ignore the snickering of the families around them. He only bared his teeth at them which seemed to work for the moment. Once his back was turned the whispering and giggling continued.

Ugga merely pressed her forehead into the back of his neck and it made everything better… least until Gran moved in but that was a different story for another tomorrow. 

Grug finished his story with flourish, loosely drawing what seemed to be a lopsided circle around the two images presenting Ugga and himself. 

"I like that story," Eep said, a bit dreamily as she looked at the pictures. "It wasn't really embarrassing though."

"It was if you were there," Grug scoffed as he wiped his clay covered hands on his pelt.

"Well, it still makes me laugh at least," Gran said from where she sat, cackling. 

"You laugh at anything that has me getting beat up," he pointed out, surprisingly with a much more amiable tone.

"Not true, now that you learned some jokes I laugh at other things too."

Ugga smiled fondly at her mate, letting Thunk sit up so she could go wrap her arms around his bicep in a hug. "Thank you," Ugga said, rubbing her nose into his cheek. 

Grug softened and felt his ears burn, giving her a small smile. His eyes fell to his audience and he couldn't help lingering on Eep who still had Guy draped in her lap. They were gazing at one another like nobody else existed around them for the moment, Guy lifting a finger to fondly boop her nose.

Ugga shook her head. "Let them be, you remember what it was like still." She patted his arm fondly with a knowing smile.

Grug huffed but said nothing, just reluctantly looked away from the two lovestruck teenagers. "I've been lounging around too much anyway." He tried shrugging off the blatant teenage romance going on right in front of him. "Since they're busy, dinner duty is on me now." The plan had been fish but he knew that failed disastrously from the word go. 

He grabbed Thunk by the shoulder and the boy protested a moment, Douglas scampered between their legs as Grug lead the way towards the woodland hugging the beachfront. Ugga watched Grug go, sighing like she was a girl of twenty summers old again. She reached down to grab Sandy who wiggled in her arms, Ugga tucked her under her elbow without batting an eye over the feral snarling. She cast one last look at Eep and Guy before walking off herself, intending to put Sandy down for a nap.

"C'mon you little scamp," Ugga told her daughter. "You need all the rest you can get for when Dada comes back with food."

"Hey… where did everybody go?" Eep found a moment to look away from Guy to realize the clearing had been well… cleared out. Only one that remained was Gran, the old battle ax of a woman rolled her eyes.

Guy lingered his gaze on her still. "I don't know but you are still here so it's not a problem yet for me."

She fought off a smile best she could but failed at his widening one.

"About time the two of you joined us back in this world," she grunted in a teasing tone, her joints creaking as she pushed herself to her feet.

"Oh, hey Gran." Guy waved a hand idly in her direction. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Eep inquired, huffing.

"Oh, you know very well what I mean," Gran replied, stretching a kink out of her back. She gave a satisfied sigh at the pop, leaning comfortably against her stick. "Anyway lovebirds… I want my afternoon nap now. Laughing at Grug really wipes an old lady out."

"Hold on a second!" Eep exclaimed, springing up to her feet. She unceremoniously hefted Guy up in her arms as she did so, his dark eyes only startled for a second. "Why is that story your favorite, really?" Eep asked with a squint.

She put Guy back on his own two feet though clung to his bicep. He leaned against her solid form without a thought, it came as easy as breathing air. "You and Grug didn't seem to have the best relationship," Guy added thoughtfully as he looked at her.

Gran huffed through what was left of her teeth, shaking her head. "It reminds me of how foolishly in love you two are," she chuckled at the matching blushes on their faces. "Being so devoted that you go and do something stupid to prove it. I'd watch your back Guy, Grug knows he can get you to climb in Chunky's mouth if it means Eep is your reward for it."

"Eep isn't a thing," he sputtered.

Eep couldn't help but playfully jab his ribs. "I'm not a catch then?"

"Of course you are!" Even at her most gentle, Eep knocked the wind out of him and he was wheezing.

"See! That is what I mean," Gran cackled as she reached out to pat Guy fondly on the shoulder. "Lovesick idiot. Eep has you down pat. That's okay though, us ladies like a man who's easy to boss around." She winked at Eep and Guy.

She heard Eep's disgruntled scoff as she turned away, a mischievous grin tugging her old lips. "Do try to behave yourselves. Well, I'll say ta-ta for now, loves." Leaving the two to their own devices at last, Gran began to hobble off after the direction her daughter Ugga had gone.

Guy stared at the pathway until Gran was a mere speck and turned to look at Eep. "Am I easy to boss around?"

"Behave ourselves," Eep said, pouting. "She's acting like we have no restraint!"

Guy chuckled with a teasing grin, leaning down to brush his lips against the hinge of her jaw. She immediately melted. "Maybe she's kinda right about that, at least," he mumbled against her chin. 

Eep nuzzled herself closer to him, feeling his breath fan her neck. “We probably shouldn’t prove her right, you know how Gran is.”

Guy just huffed and began to pepper her neck and face in kisses, Eep had no complaints despite her playful refusal. Rebellion just came with being young, even if the old codger would relish in teasing them later for it.

[baku-no-alt]

sriracha sauce | 8

bakugou x reader; in which Bakugou and some other students from UA are doing a work -study abroad in NYC. also Bakugou is nice to you for once

cw: like, so many swears; a little sexual tension; some angst

Bakugou says he doesn’t like sweet things, but you force him to pick out an ice cream flavor anyways, so he chooses honey-rhubarb. 

“Okay, fancy pants,” you grumble as the employee behind the counter hands you your plain chocolate ice cream cone. 

After you pay and leave the shop, you walk side by side, heading back home. You’re telling Bakugou a story about your hero school when your fingers brush the back of his hand. You keeping talking but you cautiously hook your pinky finger around his, and, to your relief, he doesn’t pull away. 

When you reach the steps in front of your apartment building, you stop. It was strange; usually this meant a date was over, but you two live together. 

“You wanna come up?” you joke, waggling your eyebrows. 

He chuckles, eyes you up and down. “Don’t tempt me.” 

A shiver makes its way down your spine and you can feel your cheeks heating up. You open the door and make your way up the stairs, Bakugou following behind you. 

The apartment is dark when you both walk in, but you’re more aware of his presence now than you ever have been. He shuts the door and you can feel the heat radiating from his body on your back. 

You turn on your heels, come face to face with him. He’s inches away from you, but you can still barely see him in the dark. 

“Thank you for the date... Katsuki.” You try out his given name; the sounds feel foreign on your lips. “I had a wonderful time.” 

You realize how tall he is now that you’re so close to him; he’s got at least six inches on you. He lowers his face towards yours, and a sliver of moonlight shining from the window illuminates his eyes. The red in his irises takes your breath away. 

“Say my name again,” he mumbles.

You reach your arms up, wrap them around his neck. “Katsu...” you whisper, before closing the distance between the two of you and brushing your lips against his. 

Time freezes for a second, and then he pushes forward, pressing harder against your lips. Your heart hammers in your chest. 

His hands come up to grip your sides and he deepens the kiss. You weave your fingers into his hair - it’s soft. 

He opens his mouth and you taste him, still sweet from the ice cream but you swear there’s something burnt there too. Images of him in his hero costume, using his quirk, flash through your mind in a supercut. 

He’s so powerful, and it makes you lightheaded. 

There is something so undeniably masculine that draws you closer to him. It’s not just his hero work - his unwavering honesty makes you feel safe, taken care of, as much the part of you with a penchant for independence hates to admit it. 

Overwhelmed, you press your hands against his chest (oh god, his pecs) and push your upper body away, your lips the last to part from him. His hands remain at your waist. You look up, touching your forehead to his. 

“Was that alright?” He swallows. The lack of sureness in his voice is almost cute, but you’d never tell him that to his face. 

You have to stifle a giggle. “I, uh - yeah. Yeah, do you want me to leave a review on Yelp or something?” 

“Tch.” He ruffles your hair with one hand, leans down, and you give him another light peck on the lips. 

You take a deep breath, swallow it down. “We don’t have to talk about it, I just wanna take things slow until we have a plan.”

“Alright,” he says, in a voice more gentle than you’ve ever heard from him.

It’s awkward, because there’s no leaving - you’re both just here now, in the apartment. Things feel normal and not normal at the same time. 

Then his phone rings. 

“Shit,” he says, looking down at the caller ID. “Emergency in Brooklyn. I gotta go.” He brushes past you to his room, shrugging off his clothes in the process. 

You stand in the kitchen, motionless, still feeling the buzz your lips from his searing kisses. You don’t want him to leave, but at the same time, having some time alone to process would be nice. 

A few minutes later, he walks past you again, hero costume on. You want to reach out, run your fingers down the outlines of his muscles, but he looks stressed. 

“Good luck.” You reach out, squeeze his arm. 

“I don’t need luck.” He gives you the cockiest grin you’ve ever seen, and then he leaves. Once he’s out of the building, you hear him use his quirk to take off, and then he’s sailing through the air away from you. 

You get changed, peeling yourself out of the tight dress, and put on your comfiest sweatpants and a tanktop. You pile your hair in a bun, take off your makeup, brush your teeth, and then settle down in your bed, snuggled up in the covers. 

You have your laptop set up with you. You browse the internet with your TV on in the background so that you could keep tabs on the news. You glance up every now and then, seeing images of Brooklyn flashing across the screen. It was a villain with some sort of telekinesis power; it should be an easy job for Katsuki and his friends. They’d battled much worse before. 

You scroll through Facebook, and then Instagram, and then Reddit, and then put on a few YouTube videos before you start to get sleepy.  You yawn and close your laptop and feel around your sheets for the remote to turn of your TV. 

When you feel your hand brush against it, you lift it up and glance at the TV, just in time to watch the villain strike Katsuki with a steel beam from a nearby construction site. He flies through the air, slams into the side of a building, and falls to the ground. 

---

masterlist

@shareyourfandomfaves, @awkward-tamaki, @ha-tep, @reyna-avila-ramirez-alreanaldo, @ayeputita, @lookslikeleese, @alinakaisato, @loxbbg, @micheladakenzo, @bnhaismylife, @aurorahoneybuns, @anything-and-everything-here69, @overkill-is-underrated, @sizzlingbarbarianglitter, @squeaky-ducky, @hallothankmas, @rubilacxe-rose

if I forgot to tag you please let me know! I was unable to tag those in italics

[antivirus-mh-au]

Antivirus - Chapter 4

First Chapter Previous Chapter Ao3 Link TW: None Note: I am completely exhausted and working on a laggy computer. I will add these links when I’m not a zombie trying to use a zombie laptop. Thank you for your patience.

Click the link. Let the page load, the old laptop whirring as it opened. A YouTube video, like so many others. Opening shot, an abandoned building in the middle of the night, muffled voices talking.

Shrieking, screaming. The camera lowered as the one holding it ducks for cover. Four voices yelling at once. Suddenly, laughter. Relieved laughter.

"Fucking bats!" A man called out. The camera raising, focusing on the dark shapes fluttering out the window.

"We need to be careful," a woman said, voice light-hearted. "Those things carry rabies."

Laughter breaking through the group again, a logo of a camera appearing on the screen.

He paused the video and glanced down at the title. "OUR GREATEST HITS, VOLUME ONE." 

He sent a text to his friend.

Phoenix: who are these assholes?

The reply was immediate.

Skully: they're my assholes. College kids I made friends with on Twitter. Really cool. I don't remember being that cool when I was twenty.

He grunted aloud. Lucky him, remembering anything about his twenties. Not everyone was so fortunate.

Skully: They’re part of the MH fandom. They actually live in Alabama and were able to track down some of the locations in the videos.

He rolled his eyes.

Phoenix: Find any bodies?

Skully: Just blood.

He shuddered, pulling his hooded jacket closer to his body.

Phoenix: Cool. Morbid, but cool.

He was such a liar.

Skully: Anyway, not what I was sending them to you about. They just made a new video today and I think you might be interested in it

He grimaced.

Phoenix: This is about your crazy boyfriend, isn’t it?

Skully: He’s not my boyfriend!! I don’t know him!!!

Skully: And you know my partner doesn't share.

Phoenix: But it’s still about him. The prophet guy.

Skully: … Yeah. But you should still watch this! I think you’ll find it interesting

He leaned back against the wall and huffed.

Phoenix: Why?

Skully: … the kids talk about Tim, alright?

Skully: They talk about him a lot.

His fingers hesitated over the keys. He lingered, reading the words again and again. Tim…?

Phoenix: Fine.

Phoenix: Send me the video.

The video, almost thirty minutes long, took its sweet time to load. First thing on screen was the same logo as before, a camera with a generic full face mask behind it. The name of the channel followed, MH Unlocked. He shook his head.

The name faded out, replaced by three people on a couch. Two women, one man. A second man sat on top of an end table on the right side of the couch. The lamp that probably belonged in that spot sat on the floor at his dangling feet.

The woman on the left, a bushy haired brunette with deep tan skin, a high ponytail and golden brown eyes, gave the camera a grin.

"Hey investigators!" She waved. "We're back with another video."

"And this one's a doozy," the woman beside her said, raising her mug, which proudly bore a pride flag. If he had to guess, it was the lesbian one. Her hair was dyed orange, peachy skin flushed by makeup or a light sunburn, it was hard to tell.

"Before we start," the first woman said, "be sure to leave a like and give us your thoughts and theories in the comments! I promise, we read all of them."

"Eventually," said the man on the end table with a grin. He was the palest white guy ever, with curly black hair, glasses, and about a thousand freckles on his face. The man next to him gave him a shove, and the first man burst into laughter. 

The other man, with skin several shades darker than the brunette and a suit far too good looking for this kind of environment, rolled his eyes. He waved a hand, with a silver ring on his index finger, at the camera.

"You already know us," he said. "I'm Mix."

"I'm Holly!" The brunette on the other end said.

"I'm Wren," the orange haired woman said.

"And I'm Steve!" The freckled man grinned wide, his green eyes practically glowing with excitement. "We've got a big story for you guys today."

"Oh, very big," Wren said, before taking a drink from her mug.

"Big like the worst headache you've ever had," Mix said with a smiling roll of his eyes. Wren smacked him on the shoulder without looking away from her drink.

"So." Holly reached up from the floor and pulled up a laptop. The brand logo was covered up with a pineapple sticker. Her eyes scanned the screen as she fiddled with the touchpad, Wren leaning over to see what she was doing.

"Last night," Holly said. "Something weird happened over on the Neophyte_Calling YouTube channel."

"Weirder than normal," Wren said.

"Yeah," Holly said. She glanced over towards Steve, who swiped at the screen of his phone. He looked up.

"We'd show the footage but people don’t seem to like when we do that," Steve said. "Something something spreading the sickness." He shrugged with a smile. "But we've all watched it and we can give you a play by play of what happened."

"It might not seem that dramatic," Wren said, "but the implications are pretty intense."

"I'll say," Mix said. 

"Last night, at around ten pm," Holly started, "in the middle of his usual stream, the Neophyte went quiet. The way he does when whatever he's supposedly channeling is trying to talk through him. After about thirty seconds of silence, he started bleeding onto the table from his head, which remember, is mostly off screen. He said, "he's coming," and fell over as the screen glitched out. For another hour there was complete silence before the stream randomly ended."

"Weird shit," Steve said.

Holly nodded. "Very weird shit - but in character for him."

"Now, for those of you that don't know who the Neophyte is," Mix said, "he's the guy you see people calling 'the Prophet' in this fandom. Talks like a drug addict on a high, but many people believe there are secret messages in his words that can be decoded. They say those messages predict the future."

"Not everyone believes this," Holly said.

"I don't," Steve said, hunched over and watching his friends. "But there's definitely something funny-weird about the guy. Very… uncanny valley."

"Sometimes, unprompted, he'll stop talking and do this creepy voice." Holly cleared her throat, and when she spoke again, she lowered her voice, taking on an odd pitch to her words. "Grains of sand in the hourglass of time. Your existence is irrelevant." She shuddered, and let her voice go back to normal. "Something like that."

"That's an awful impression but it gets the job done," Mix said.

"You try doing one better," Holly said.

"The one thing all of these coherent messages have in common," Wren said, "is that they're all addressed to the same person. Someone called Tim."

Steve nodded. "And you can guess who most people think that 'Tim' is."

"It's been ten years since Marble Hornets ended," Mix said. "But it would make sense if it were Tim Wright the Neophyte was talking to. He was the only survivor, after all."

"But that would imply that Tim is watching the Neophyte streams," Wren said.

"And if he's watching the streams, he could be aware of us, too," Holly said.

The four went quiet. Mix looked at the floor. Steve traded a look of discomfort with Holly. Wren took a sip of her mug. She pulled it away from her lips with a sigh.

"If he does know about us," Wren said, "why not come forward and tell his side of the story? He could change the whole game by revealing himself."

"Probably because he's a fucking murderer," Steve said. Mix glared at him, but Steve only shrugged. "You know I'm right!"

"He did kill two people," Holly said, looking at her laptop. "Just because Kralie killed Jay doesn't make what Tim did right."

"But what other choice did he have?" Mix said. "Alex wouldn't have stopped trying to kill Tim. One of them needed to die."

"That doesn't matter to the legal system," Holly said.

"We're getting off topic," Wren said, raising a hand. "It doesn't matter if the Neophyte was talking about Tim from Marble Hornets or not. What matters is that someone is going somewhere and that's apparently good news for the Neophyte or whatever he's channeling."

"You can say the Operator, it's okay," Steve said.

Holly glared at him from over Wren's head.

"It does matter, though, if he's talking about Tim in particular," Mix said. "What if Tim is heading back to Alabama? Maybe he left after the end of the series."

"It's possible," Holly said, "but that's pure speculation. We don't know that."

"Isn't speculation all we do?" Steve said, swinging his legs gently. "Come on, let's give the audience something to chew on. What do you guys think the Neophyte was talking about? The crazier the theory, the better."

Mix frowned. "Well…"

With a shake of his head, the viewer closed the tab. He'd seen enough. Enough to make his eyes burn and hands shake. He took a deep breath, and shuddered, pulling his jacket around himself. It was a warm day beyond the safe confines of this abandoned house, but that didn't stop the chills shooting through him.

Was he afraid? Or was he angry? 

With a growl he thrust the laptop away from him and reached for his sketchbook. The pen he'd been using before still rested inside. Forcing his thoughts away from the video, he focused everything in his mind onto his art.

He wasn't a great artist, but his memory was good, and with nothing else to do most days, his skill was getting better. With proper art tools, he could've even gotten great at it. But there was no need for greatness right now. Art was supposed to be healing, and that more than anything was what he needed.

In his mind he captured the image, something he'd seen so many times before. Grinding his teeth, he let the image flow onto the page once more. His favorite thing to draw, the one thing that really made him smile.

Losing track of time was part of the appeal. With the light from his laptop, he could see the whole page, or at least enough of it to work. The ink bled into the paper, the lines assembling into a rough image that soon became a face. He could see it so well in his mind's eye. As if the man he pictured was right in front of him. But he wasn't. And if the man knew what was good for him, he'd stay that way.

The sound of a new message on Discord got his attention. He glanced at the time instead. An hour, flown by, his mind lost in an ink-based daydream. Exhaling hard, he looked back at the art on the page. It wasn't finished. It would probably never be finished. But as it was… it was perfect.

Tim Wright made a very good model, unaware of that as he was.

Running his hand over the page, feeling the indents where his pen dug deep into the paper, he shook his head, and smiled.

"Better not be coming back, Tim," the man, the Maniac, said. "If you do… I'll have to kill you.”

[thoseofgreatambition]

NLT pt 2 || ash

pointing out the truth resulted in you being pushed away in one of your more desperate hours. you learned that people often disliked honesty despite their protests otherwise. you refused to shrink from the truth and its consequences, even if it meant the boy you used to think you’d marry ran off again. for now, he seemed to be standing firm. 

genre: romance, angst

warnings: alchohol, smoking, family troubles

pt 1 

a/n: hello loves! glad to be back. the idea for this hit me and i had to take it. let me know what you think!

Your bar was grungy, had several holes in the wall from drunken duels, and often smelled like cigarettes. It was absolutely your favorite place in the world. This was the place you had carved for yourself through blood, sweat and tears. You’d been cursed at by your mother for such a disgraceful career, your father had withdrawn all love, but this was your place. The tables had been made by your hands. 

To you, it was as sacred as holy ground. 

Which made you all the more protective of it. You dumped out the ash in the ashtray at the bar, annoyed at the late night drunks who’d stumbled in. They always seemed to be the worst amount of trouble. “Oi! If you lot don’t settle down I’ll drag you out of this place by the ear.” 

One of the more drunken ones piped up from the back, “Anyway you can drag me back to your flat instead?” 

He dropped one of your pint glasses. Magic could fix it, but that felt beside the point. With a flick of your wand their drinks flew behind the bar, and you walked over to the table, back straight. “Out. All of you, get out.” 

Draco watched from the bar with an expression of dry interest as he sipped on his drink. If he was more of a gentleman, he would have kicked them out for you. 

You always had a handle on these things though. Nothing ever seemed to phase you. You seemed impervious to any sort of comment that came your way. Impervious to his apologies, even. 

It was odd. As much as Draco was trying to make himself better and stronger man, he could not figure out how to crack you open again. It was his fault you were closed off. He was shocked however to find out that you were not closed off to everyone. 

It seemed impossible to get back to the point of friendship. Much less love. 

With much moaning and groaning you’d kicked out your rowdy customers and wandered back to behind the bar. “Why’re you looking at me like that, Draco?” 

“You’re nice to your friends.” 

“Ah, I can see how that’d be shocking to you. A new concept I’m sure.” you grinned at one of your regulars as they came up to pay off their tab, making small talk before wishing them a good night. 

There was a frown on the blond man’s lips. He hadn’t expected to be mocked this much. His mouth opened to speak, and instead was interrupted by you. “Why are you here?”

“I came to make amends.” 

“Paying me money and being a customer isn’t making amends. Small talk isn’t friends.” You lit up a cigarette with the tip of your wand and took a drag. “Things aren’t that easy, Draco. I stopped associating with the ‘pureblood’ lot years ago.” 

“I’m not part of ‘that lot’ anymore.” At your disbelieving look he picked up his voice to defend himself. “I changed. I was wrong. I’ve made amends.” 

“It’s more than just changing your mind, Draco. You ought to know that. You treat muggleborns and squibs now don’t you? Half-bloods too. Do they forgive you? Do they trust you?” 

His whiskey burned as he took another sip. The smell of your cigarette was terrible. He struggled to understand why this wasn’t working out like he thought it would. “I don’t talk to my patients about that. I just treat them and stay respectful and empathetic.” 

You seemed unimpressed, and suddenly Draco found himself just as unimpressed with himself. 

“I’m doing my best, Y/N.” 

It was hard to drum up any sympathy for the man who was still on good term with his parents after switching career paths, when you’d been disowned for the same. 

“Doing your best doesn’t mean results come the next day.” 

Draco stood up, put his payment down on the bar top before polishing off his drink. “Maybe you’re right about that. But I won’t stop trying.” 

Your brow twitched upwards at that comment, it sounded surprisingly sincere, coming from him. “Very brave of you to say that.” 

There was a sad smile on his face, “I can be brave, you know. Don’t need to seem shocked about it.” 

You hummed in response, and watched as he walked out the door. Maybe you were going to be surprised about this. 

In the cold London night you wandered the streets, only lit up by the lamp-posts you walked underneath. A bus whizzed past you, and you let out a puff of air. You wanted to smoke at the moment, after breaking things off with your muggle lover, but you’d been informed that muggles took smoking in public especially bad. 

A very good reason to get back to the wizarding section of London. Not to mention the unfortunate fact that your family’s home was only a few blocks away. They’d gone the way of another notable pureblood family and charmed a house that didn’t appear to muggles. 

It was all a farce really, you never understood why your parents wanted to live near people they hated. 

Prats. Fools. Idiots. Prideful bastards who cared more for wealth than anything else. For image. For the ‘bloodline’. 

You’d been screamed at when things with Draco ended. They’d been sympathetic at first, their child’s first broken heart and all that. Then you’d told them it was because he was a death eater. That it was a despicable thing. 

Your parents, who were providing monetary support and time to that cause did not take kindly to it. 

The last year of your education had been spent homeless. 

It was worth it. That was what you told yourself at least. 

You’d never gotten on with Potter’s lot. You fell into an odd sort of crevice. A neutral niche, where you had good ideals and morals, but lacked the courage to fight for them. 

Standing your ground had been the bravest thing you’d been able to do. 

Your cheeks stung for some reason, and you realized that you were crying. 

Maybe you weren’t that brave after all. 

You set course back to your flat, opting to take it on foot. 

It gave you more time to think. 

You glanced to your left and watched a blue car roll past you, a young man with blond hair at the wheel. 

Naturally, your thoughts drifted back to Draco. 

Even you weren’t entirely sure why you said you’d forgiven him, and then roundly rejected any attempts on his part to reconnect. Was it because he said he still loved you?

You didn’t think so. That just made you feel bad for the poor bastard. You’d held on to your feelings for him for over a year, convinced things would change and your heart had been roundly broken. 

Holding onto that emotion for five years sounded terrible. 

There was a part of you, a terrible part of you that was hell bent on the truth, no matter who it hurt. Typically, others were the ones to suffer because of that side of you. 

This time, you were bearing the brunt of it. 

You related too much to him. It was far too hard to look back at someone making the same journey you had so long ago. It tugged at your heart in an odd way, and strummed at the strings of your empathy. 

It was an awful thing really. 

This was far more easy when you could put him out of your mind. 

You’d told him you would give him a chance at friendship. It seemed you weren’t doing that yet. 

Ducking into an alleyway you gritted your teeth. You damned yourself, and your need to be truthful and honoring your word. It was the most annoying thing about yourself. 

With a pop, you found yourself in front of a black apartment door. Safely out of the muggle quarter, you took out a cigarette and was in the process of lighting it up when the door opened before you, revealing a surprised looking Draco. 

“Y/N?” 

You brushed past him and strolled into his apartment. “Tell me why you became a healer. Not just that you wanted to help or not follow your father, why healing?” 

He stared at you without comprehending for a moment, as you sat down on his couch and transfigured a coaster into an ash tray. “What?” 

“You said you wanted friendship. Small talk doesn’t make friendship. Real conversation does.” You mustered the best smile you could. This felt oddly vulnerable, even though he would be the one to do the talking. “So are you going to tell me or not?” 

There were a few more beats of silence before a look of comfort came over Draco. “I will. But first, want something to drink?” 

“Of course. And don’t think I won’t know what the good stuff is, Draco.” 

[allmightyneed]

Villain!All Might (Smite)x reader. part 2/20

link to part 1  

You pass weeks in a distracted, miserable state. Two, three, a month. Longer. At first, you chalk it up to the huge secret you now have to keep. A secret that feels as big as All Might himself. By a complete accident of time and place, you’ve come into possession of valuable intel on the most wanted criminal in Japan, possibly the world. Every day, you consider spilling the details to your best friend, who you also happen to work with. But how would you possibly bring it up?

“Oh, hey Kiko, guess what, I met a guy! Yeah… he’s super hot, tall, bit of a dark side. His name? I’m not sure, but professionally he goes by All Might.”

You can only imagine the confusion and disgust that would elicit. Even from Kiko, who usually tries to support your decisions, no matter how bad. The knowledge itself needles at you too, day after day. This information about his quirk could be the key to capturing him or bringing him down— forget using it to advance your own career. You could go to the police with this, you could go to Endeavor’s hero agency. You could change things. You could save lives. To your shame, that guilt isn’t strong enough to betray All Might’s confidence. He had trusted you. The number one villain trusted you with his secret identity, and apparently still does, because he hasn’t hunted you down and executed you. (Yet.)

Maybe he can’t. Your analytical mind spins theories in the absence of more definitive information. Maybe that muscle form takes a lot out of him, energy-wise. Maybe it’s too hard to maintain for long, and that’s why he sometimes disappears for days and weeks on end. And what about that whole coughing up blood thing?

By the third week, you’re using what little spare time you can find at work cobbling together a timeline of every documented All Might incident, closing in on a thousand entries in a hidden spreadsheet on your computer, and you’re only up to what most subject matter experts would consider the midway point of his active period. You haven’t found any patterns yet, nothing definitive, though as a foreigner yourself, his mysterious stint in America raises so many questions. 

“Hey!” A chipper voice and a knock-knock on your cubicle divider make you close the spreadsheet. You turn and see Kiko there, smiling and curious. 

“Hey!” 

“Whatcha working on?” 

“Oh, you know.” You wave your hand airily. “Nothing, really, just some busywork for Mr. Shimada.”

“Well, come on! It’s team lunch today.”

“Aw, really?”

“Yes. And you can’t skip. You’re looking too skinny.” That couldn’t be true, but the accusation reminds you of All Might, how he looked like he never got enough to eat. At least, one version of him. Kiko is sweet to be worried about you. She’s always so kind and considerate, always making sure you don’t bury yourself in your work, inviting you to lunch and for midday walks to get some sunlight. 

“Okay, okay. I’m not trying to get out of it.” You lock your computer screen and collect your jacket from the back of your chair. It will be nice to get a break outside of the office for sure. Given the sensitive nature of your work, your building is a secure one, with no windows and checkpoints to get in and out. Other than a few cultural holdouts, the workplace bears little resemblance to a traditional Japanese office, having adopted some more western practices, like cubicles and excessive use of PowerPoint. “Have you heard back from the Licensing Bureau?”

Kiko heaves a big sigh, which tells you that she hasn’t. “I thought I would last week at the latest, but nothing.”

You follow her into the elevator. “That’s weird. Don’t they usually send confirmation or denial pretty promptly?”

“Most petitioners receive the news right after their test.” She shrugs, throwing you a little smile as she precedes you into the lobby. “Guess I’m special.”

“Of course you are,” you laugh, rolling your eyes a little, but you mean it. She has pure hearted intentions about becoming a part-time volunteer hero. Discussion about the intricacies of Licensing Bureau policies and mailing schedules continues all the way to the barbecue restaurant where together you conclude, that her unusual quirk must be holding up their decision. It makes sense. Reanimation, her ability to create a zombie from a dead body, is dangerous and powerful, and is rightfully quite closely controlled. It’s also very much at odds with her sunny, happy personality. She rarely brings it up, but you know she regrets not having a more standard type of quirk. She’s also one of the few people who know about your quirk and has been a steadfast guardian of the secret.

Nothing much happens at the team lunch. Office gossip, rehashing the latest news, etc. Though, you do find out from Mr. Kawada, your supervisor, that you are one of two analysts who have been selected to support and consult on a new account the firm is taking on. So exclusive that you aren’t even allowed to know who the client is yet. You act grateful, mustering as much enthusiasm as you can— it’s a great opportunity— but inwardly, you’re daydreaming about All Might. That’s been happening more and more. 

When you get back to the office after lunch, you’re roped into a meeting with Mr. Kawada, and Mr. Shimada and the rest of the team leads. You know you should be paying attention but you zone out through most of it, replaying that fateful night in your head. 

A couple days later, the obsession reaches a critical level. You have to find him. Not as an analyst, not to bring him to justice. You just have to see him, and you don’t quite understand why, but it’s a need, a hunger that grows sharper and more potent each day. 

Riding the train to work, you start searching in your web browser. ‘All Might’. Too much noise. News articles from twenty different sources all about the same recent attacks clog the entire first page of results. When you get into the office, you go through the motions, sitting down at your workstation, logging in, all on autopilot. 

The only thing you can think about is All Might. As time has passed, you try harder and harder to keep fresh that image in your mind of how he looked in his other form. The skinny one, with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. He hadn’t been any less intense like that. 

You refine your searches, hitting wall after wall of no results or way too many. A passing coworker’s idol-themed lanyard catches your eye; you finally hit on an idea: ‘All Might fan club’. That gets you something. You navigate to the first result, an outdated page with a garish background and little animated pixel version of All Might in the corner of the screen. Dancing. you have to admit it’s kind of cute. Suddenly, loud sound plays through your computer’s speakers. 

“I am on a website! I am on a website!” It’s All Might’s voice— his villain voice, which has people in other cubicles peeking over the dividers at you to find the source of the noise. Panicking, you close the tab. Then, after making sure your computer’s volume is muted, you find your way back to that same page. Sure enough, there’s a link at the top titled I LOVE TO MEET MY FANS. Following it brings you to a listing of a mailing address and… yes. A phone number. 

Heart racing, you copy it down on a sticky note, tuck it in your purse and, before it can register in your mind as a bad idea, slip out of the office. 

The train back to your home stop is nearly empty in the middle of the day. A few tourists, old people, some kids playing hooky. 

You turn your phone over and over. It said he loves to meet his fans… what fans? Doesn’t everyone hate him? Maybe that’s how you should open the conversation. Hey Mr. All Might, I know you’re universally reviled but I thought I’d hit you up anyway. The idea makes you snort-laugh. No. Just keep it simple.

You: hi.

A few seconds later, during which you stare at your phone, the three ‘typing’ dots appear. Then go away, with no message coming through. Could this really be him? Or is it just some weirdo’s phone number? Some otaku impersonating All Might on the internet. Not like you are in any position to be accusing someone of obsession.

You: this is the girl you met in the alley. You pause for a second, thinking of how you could signal to him who you are. He might meet a lot of girls in alleys. 

You: I saw you shrink.

A moment later, he replies with your name. Shock hits you; you click the screen off, black then click it on again. Your name is still there.

Him: I tHOUT I told =you to standstill and bee silent. 

It’s him. With lots of typos, but it’s him.

Oh, god. What are you doing? 

You don’t reply again until you get inside your apartment. Standing just inside the front door, with your shoes still on, you write out three versions of a witty retort, and erase each one. Stupid. What are you even trying to get out of this? 

You: I think people deserve to know who you really are. 

Nothing. Nothing for an unbearable minute that feels like another week gone by.

You: I’m going to the media. 

You’re not. You don’t know why you just told him that.

The three dots appear and disappear, again, with no new text. You watch the screen for what seems like an eternity, still standing in your entryway with your purse on your shoulder. 

And then there’s a thundering knock on the door.

Link to part 3

[gumnut-logic]

Let me introduce you to my poison dart froggy :D Officially he is a Phantasmal Poison Dart Frog.

I drew this guy as my first exploration into Derwent Inktense pencils back in February 2012. He was just a practise sketch I had no intention of selling and I kept him. He currently sits in my loungeroom. As I am and always will be an avid blogger of my art and writing, here is the blog entry for this piece of artwork.

I’ve been watching the recent art theft in this fandom with sadness ::hugs to all of you who have been affected:: Many thanks to those of you who have stuck up for us all and gone into battle for us. I hate conflict, I’m crap at it, and to be honest at this point I’m rather jaded.

Why?

This guy has been with me for quite some time and he is a good example to work with because frogs are popular and I know exactly where the original currently sits. All of the images of this artwork come directly from whatever I put online. Froggy has been posted to social media, in particular Pinterest and he has been around for eight years.

Every now and then, I check on this guy in Google, to see who has appropriated him now. Because yes, he gets stolen all the time. He’s pretty, he’s vibrant and no one really gives a shit who owns him, they just steal him.

So prompted by our group’s recent issues, I thought I’d have another look.

I really shouldn’t have.

Look at this adorably awful piece of graphic design. But do you know what is worse? It is a book for sale on Amazon. ::waves at author:: Hi, I’m your cover artist, thanks for letting me know. Look there is my signature in the bottom right corner, my little stylised Gumnut.

Of course, this is one of the worst and I’m toying with the idea of actually raising a ruckus, but there are always the other sites who love to run off with my stuff.

Blacktown Youth College

Oooh, look, someone threw him onto a Pokemon card

Randomly slapped up on Quora

Oooh, look, he’s now a video star (he appears at 13.11, but he also gets to be on the front cover

Here he is helping to actually sell dart frogs - and this guy steals artwork from everyone.

Now he is helping to teach Hindi

Aaargh, and there are so many more. He is all over the web and none of them link back to my desperately poor little self.

Why am I babbling about this? It sucks. It really, really sucks. I dread to look up my more recent artwork and to be honest, I have much better things to do with my time. With an online culture that just assumes it has the right to anything and everything it finds online, both the artistic and photographic communities take a massive hit. There is no appreciation for the work that has gone into a piece, no recognistion of ownership, much less credit.

Am I going to stop arting because of this?

No.

Why should I ruin my life because of them? Why should my fun be spoiled?

Can I stop them?

No.

People are going to do it anyway. Most of them don’t make any money off it, most of them are just ignorant. The book author, now that I might chase up. She’s making money off my stuff.

It royally sucks. I have no money. I’m not some big mega corporation with lots of lawyers and yes, they are royally shafting me. And most of all, I don’t have time to chase up every single piece of art I have ever created, I have better things to do with my life.

So what can you do to prevent this from happening to your artwork?

Sign your work, in a difficult position for it to be removed. Not like I did with my little gumnut above. But be aware, if anyone is really determined to break the law, they will. Photoshop is a thing. Heh, in some of my artwork I actually included my website address www.gumnut.net

Only upload smaller image files. I used to stick with around 700px. This is still printable, but only at small sizes. I don’t tend to go smaller because I like to have my art looking nice on my website.

Watermarks - I hate them, they ruin the artwork, but they are an option if you really want to use them. An appropriately placed signature may do a better job.

You can search for your images like I do using Google.

Go to your image on your website or blog and right click to get the image address. It might be easier to first open the image in a new tab all by itself, then get its address. The address should end in an image format like jpeg, jpg, png or gif.

Go to http://www.google.com and paste the image address into the search bar.

When the results list comes up you will also see an option at the top of the list ‘Search by image’. Click on it.

It will give you three search types as a result.Scroll down the page to see all three search types.

The first one at the top will have a thumbnail of your image and will offer image sizes. Click on All Sizes to bring up a list of images across the web.

The second search is visually similar images which can be interesting, but is not as useful for what we are trying to do.

The third search, if you scroll down further lists ‘Pages that include matching images’. This is where you will find interesting stuff and where I found all those links above.

These searches rely on Google finding the images. if your image was posted yesterday, you are unlikely to find anything. But then if you are lucky then you won’t find anything anyway. I just checked a dragon painting of mine and the only images on the web are mine, yay! (And incidentatlly, Small Change Dragon was sold and currently resides in the UK :D)

But anyway, this rabble, whatever it is, cos I woke up at 3am with this on my brain and it is now 5.45am, please don’t let these people ruin it for you. It’s sad, its wrong and it sucks, but please don’t stop arting because of it. If I did, I wouldn’t have any of the art or writing I have today. Are people still taking advantage of me, yes, can I do much about it, no, but why should a few a-holes ruin it for everyone else? Sure, we can deny the world our talents, and they won’t get our stuff. But then no one else will either.

Do I adore my fellow fans’ fanworks and fanfiction? God, yes! Please don’t stop creating because of a few nasty people. Don’t let them ruin it.

::lots and lots of hugs::

Nutty

(who loves this fandom like crazy)

[sommerstessa]

at tessa’s home ft. @samuel-dryden (kind of)

─── saturday morning, around 3:30 am.

She couldn’t sleep, yet again, and by now, it didn’t come as a surprise. Since the shooting, Tessa had been unable to rest peacefully, her thoughts becoming infected by fragmented memories of that day. The images came in brief flashes, a gun here, some blood there, but all of it was enough to have her shooting straight up in bed, her body covered in a cold sweat. Glancing around her room, Tessa’s heartrate only began to settle when she was assured that nobody else was in the room, a new anxiety that had settled as well. It was strange, given that she hadn’t suffered a home invasion like Naomi did or an attack by anyone she knew personally. This was random, and, as the police were saying, an accident. Just some frightened guy who was way out of his league. Logically, Tessa knew the chances of it happening again were slim to none, but that didn’t turn off her mind. Logic had no place in nightmares.

Unfortunately, Tessa’s inability to sleep was compounded by the burdensome feeling of guilt she’d held onto since breaking up with Sam. They hadn’t spoken in a little over a week, the longest either of them had gone without one another since they reconnected in the coffee shop three months ago. She felt terrible, and was thoroughly convinced the blonde man hated her (rightfully so) for breaking his heart. There was much she wanted to say, but she wasn’t sure it would be appropriate to reach out to him. Really, she wasn’t sure she’d actually say any of it even if she did reach out to him. She was scared of making things worse, saying something she couldn’t take back, something that set him farther away from her than she intended. Deep down, she just wanted to apologize, maybe see if there was a possibility for a future friendship. But how awful would that be? He was no doubt in love with her, and she couldn’t offer him anything but friendship.

As these thoughts consumed her brain, Tessa leaned over the side of her bed, feeling for the cold, rectangular object she had tucked beneath her bed the night before. Grabbing the laptop, she leaned back against her headboard and opened it up, immediately going to her safe space: her blog. It was a place where she allowed her mind to unleash itself, feelings transposing into words on a screen. It was a place where she felt most connected to and honest with herself.

Beginning a new post, Tessa sucked in a deep breath of air and began typing.

To the man who offered me the world, I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I shut you out without explaining myself. I wasn’t ready then, and I’m still not, but you deserve the truth.

This wasn’t your fault. The only thing you’re guilty of is loving me for everything I am and you have no idea how much I appreciate that. It’s what every little girl dreams of - growing up and finding their Prince Charming, the man who can fix anything, the man who can turn even the darkest of days into the brightest ones. You were that for me, but the problem is, I was never one of those little girls. I never dreamed of having a man who loved me as strongly as you do. My dreams never revolved around being loved. My dreams were more selfish, revolving around my ambition and accomplishments, traveling the world, building a following, and making a difference in the world. And while the two aren’t mutually exclusive, I never learned how to have both at the same time. I know you would never hold me back from my dreams, but deep down, I also know I could never be the woman you wanted to spend your life with. I would never put our relationship first, like you deserve.

I thought I could do it. I convinced myself you were the person, the person I could have a future with, the person I could settle down with, but it never felt right, even though I wanted it to. God, you have no idea how badly I wanted it. When I was younger, I had the biggest crush on you. I mean, who couldn’t? You’re attractive, intelligent, dedicated, generous. You give yourself so willingly. When we ran into each other that day, I thought, well, isn’t this nice. And then you kissed me, and it was like everything was falling into place. I was beginning to envision what my life could be like with you.

I thought you could fix it. I thought you could fix me.

When I told you what I learned about myself, you had no hesitancy in committing anyway, no matter what the future brought. It was so selfless, and I didn’t think anybody could love me like that. But you did. You didn’t care what my body would look like or what it would or wouldn’t be capable of doing in the future. You dove in headfirst, and I latched onto it. You gave me hope, hope that I’d have a real family one day, a husband and kids, whether they were genetically ours or not.

But I was wrong. I was wrong for putting all of that on you. I was wrong for seeing you as a band-aid, as someone who could fix me. I was wrong for quieting the small piece of my brain that contained doubts. I was wrong for letting you believe we were on the same page for the past three months. I was wrong for letting you fall deeper and deeper, while I felt like I was still getting to know you.

That’s not to say I never cared about you, or that our relationship was a lie, because it wasn’t. On the contrary, I care deeply about you. I want you to be happy. I want you to have everything you’ve ever dreamed of with a woman who dreams of those things, too. But I was never that woman. No matter how happy we were together, no matter how right we felt together, I could sense that we were only fooling ourselves. I could sense that there was something missing, something deep down at our cores that kept us from clicking just right. I don’t know if you felt it, too, but it wasn’t the type of thing that could go unnoticed. I tried to quiet it, I tried to ignore it, but I learned very quickly that I will never be the type of person to ignore feelings, as vague as they may be. I’ve always been incredibly connected to myself and in tune with my emotions. I knew we weren’t right together, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.

I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry for worrying you. I’m sorry I still can’t say it to your face. But please know that you are an amazing person, boyfriend, son, brother, boss, and everything in between, and one day, you’re going to make an amazing husband and father to a family who’s perfect for you.

And I’m going to be right there in your corner, cheering you on every step of the way.

My hope for the future is this - I hope that one day, you can see me as Tessa Sommers, the woman who set you free so you could accomplish your destiny. So you could find the right woman, the woman whose butterflies survive the initial honeymoon stage of the relationship, the woman who continues to swoon even after the first few dates. I hope that one day, you’ll see me in town and you’ll smile and wave, and think of me as someone who gave you freedom rather than heartache. I hope that one day, we can be friends, and we can reflect back on these three months as something we both needed for different reasons, a time during which we both learned valuable lessons about ourselves, even though it didn’t work out in the end.

You will always hold a piece of my heart, and I will always be grateful for the pure generosity and selflessness you gave me. Please don’t ever change.

Chewing on her lower lip, Tessa’s finger hovered above the ‘post’ button for much longer than usual. Despite never using Sam’s name, it would be easy for others to intuitively determine who the post was about, especially others living in Wilmington. Sam didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve to have his romantic life available on the internet for anyone to read. Although Tessa had made a life decision to lay her personal life out there for the world, he didn’t.

Releasing her lip, Tessa’s finger moved the cursor towards the drop-down menu, where she very carefully selected the ‘post privately’ option, after which she made sure to copy the link and open up a new tab. Pasting the link into an email, Tessa then entered Sam’s email address in the ‘to’ line. The subject read ‘Please read.’ There was a final moment of hesitation during which Tessa pondered the negative aspects of going through with this. Of course, everything she said had the potential to make things worse between her and Sam. But she hoped he’d understand the gesture, understand where she was coming from, and maybe it would give them both some sort of closure.

Exhaling, Tessa clicked send on the email and subsequently closed her laptop, setting it on the mattress beside her and grabbing the remote for the television. There was no chance Sam would be checking his emails at 3:30 AM, but there was even less of a chance of Tessa going back to sleep now.

[devnny]

CHAPTER EIGHT.

JTRM — THE “R” STANDS FOR RECOVERING!

PREVIOUSLY.

lots of plot development in this chapter blaugh, i hope it’s not too fast. oh well. ONWARD TO DOMESTIC BLISS!

[•/•/•• :

This is… stupid. This is so, so stupid. What am I doing?

Johnny’s still killing people. And here I thought we were making progress in ridding him of that fourth voice of his.

He doesn’t tell me much about ‘Reverend Meat’. I hoped that had meant it was quieting down, but I bet it’s fucking not. Nny just hides things from me that he knows will piss me off. BASTARD.

I brought up him… moving in. To the apartment. With me.

I have to be going insane again. I’m not AFRAID of him anymore, but does that mean I want him living in my house? No.

But I don’t know how else to control him. He said they were spur of the moment attacks, so does that mean I have to constantly keep tabs on him? I have to know everywhere he goes, and what he’s doing there, and when he’s going, and when he’ll be back? I don’t CARE about any of that.

…Well, I guess I do. But only because I’m trying to keep him from getting crazier. Fuck, this sucks.

I haven’t lived with someone else since community college…]

--

The dry, patchy grass crumpled under Johnny’s shoes while he strode across his lawn, only the dull light of the lopsided moon available to guild him through the dark. He didn’t mind – after all, his eyes were fairly well-adjusted to lurking around at night. He came to a stop at the first story window of his next-door neighbor’s house, and climbed up onto the windowsill. He used that as a makeshift stepstool, and settled himself down before springing up the additional six feet or so, his thin fingers quickly latching onto the window directly above it. Johnny pushed the pane open as he crawled upwards, propping himself up and half-inside the home as he moved forward.

“Hey Squee!” His teeth gleamed in the dark. The little lump in the bed to his right stirred, and a pair of eyes peeked out at him.

“Oh, hello.” Todd mumbled. He wasn’t having any luck sleeping as it was, and his scary neighbor man never made that any easier.

“How’ve you been? It’s been a busy couple of months for me – I’m home now, by the way. Sorry, I forgot to stop in. One of my old friends is, er, back in my life, for the time being.” Johnny admitted, and hauled himself up over the sill to lay more easily on his ribs.

Todd’s curiosity was peaked from that comment, and he pushed his comforter down to properly greet his uninvited visitor. He wiggled down off the rather steep drop that his bed had for a Squee-sized child, and moved cautiously toward the window, Schmee hugged close to his collar.

“A friend?” His lower lip tucked out. “Is he living with you? Is he… scary?”

Johnny blanched, and quickly chuckled the comments away with some embarrassment.

“No, she’s not at the house with me.” He said, then paused. The talk he had with Devi the previous day about potentially moving into her apartment was still very much on his mind. It was one of the reasons he had stopped by tonight, having felt the need to disclose that to Todd, since that would mean he would again be unavailable if the boy needed help.

“Err, I might be… living with her soon, though. It’s kinda up in the air right now.” He confessed. Todd’s mouth opened slightly in surprise, but he only continued to stare at Johnny, unwilling to pry.

Johnny felt some heat crawl up from his cheeks to his forehead as he watched Todd’s inquisitive, almost accusatory, face. He was a little kid! He didn’t want to be a bad example – children should have good examples from the adults in their lives, especially Todd, who was severely lacking upstanding role models with his parents being such lousy people.

From what he gathered, most children had the understanding that a man and woman lived together when they were, well, married! The situation happening otherwise was booed by old people as being devious in nature – he shivered a little.

“Don’t worry – we’re just friends. Promise.” Johnny squeezed an anxious smile out. “It’d just be a roommates sort of situation.”

Todd looked surprised that Johnny had guessed what his curiosity was about, and thinned his mouth into a flat line, tiny teeth poking out while he tried to find something else to look at besides the man flopped over his windowsill.

“ANYWAYS.” Johnny cut in. “She’s been helping me with drawing stuff, and uh, some… other stuff. So I won’t be cramming anymore corpses in the tunnel between our houses. Shouldn’t take more than a couple years for the ones in there to either degrade into bones, or mummify. It is kinda musty down there…”

He failed to notice Todd’s horrified expression.

“—They’re probably already halfway there. It has been almost six months since I was last down there… maybe I’ll go check it out.” Johnny mused with a set of scratches to his jaw. “Aw well, point is, if I do move out, you could use the passage to sneak out at night! Wouldn’t that be cool?”

Todd only continued to stare in shock.

“I’ll keep ya updated. Things are changing so fast these days.” Johnny smiled, then adjusted to slither back out the window. Before he dropped down, he offered a blaring, “GOODNIGHT, SQUEE!”, only startling Todd further.

Todd hurried back to bed and burrowed into his sheets, trying with all his might to unimagine the spooky images of mummies living below his house.

--

WITHIN THE WEEK:

A trial run, that’s what this was.

She and Johnny talked it over, and then she talked it over again with Tenna, and then once more with much more yelling, and then cursed God with every foul word she knew, and then yielded to her hideous fate.

Johnny would stay at her apartment, for now.

Just until he didn’t need to be monitored like the horrible, man-baby he was, Devi told herself.

Her neck lowered further and further, until the crown of her head was almost level with her shoulders. She hated this so much.

Johnny was only going to take two boxes worth of clothes and crap with him, seeing as his new living situation was temporary, but he needed her slightly larger car for the only piece of furniture he intended to bring to her apartment with him; his drafting table.

The desk was old-fashioned, mostly metal, with a heavy wooden surface, and was very, very difficult to lift. Devi leaned against her car door and watched with a sour expression as Johnny attempted to move the table down the driveway with little success, swearing all the way. She grumbled a sigh, and made her way over to help him.

With much less difficulty, the two wobbled down his driveway, screeching the desk’s metal legs along the concrete every so often when their grip slacked too much. They heaved it up over bumper of Devi’s sedan, and the car shuddered under the added weight as the table thudded into its trunk.

“I don’t think we’ll be getting that closed.” Johnny commented, in regard to the trunk door. Devi grunted.

She instructed him to get her some rope, or something, to tie the back shut with, since she outright refused to enter the house herself. Johnny returned with a myriad of different bindings, ranging from thin twine to chains, and Devi did her best not to think too hard about why he had so many options.

“Those are… unused, right?” She pointed to the chains that he was winding around the desk, but got distracted by the rolling sound of plastic wheels a small ways down the sidewalk. A little boy with black hair slowed his trike to a stop beside the car.

“You’re moving after all, Mister Nny?” Todd asked with a wobbly smile. He still didn’t really know how to address Johnny.  

“AH.” Johnny stumbled back from the task at hand with an excited smile. “Hey, Squee-gee!”

Devi watched with a befuddled expression as Johnny trotted around her and to the curb. He squatted down to Todd’s eyelevel, still smiling wide.

“Yeah, but I’ll be back in a little while. I’m just staying with Devi until I’m, uh… feeling better!”

“You’re sick?” Todd asked. Johnny looked off and laughed at nothing as a response.

Todd’s mouth squirmed, and he turned his attention to Devi’s towering figure – from the point of view of a little Squee – a few steps away. She had such an intimidating presence, even though she was mostly just staring incredulously at the scene in front of her, but Todd still got the feeling that she was more anchored than his crazy neighbor was.

“You’re Mister Nny’s friend?” He asked. Devi’s mouth slanted; she wasn’t great with children.

“Uh, yes.” She responded as casually as she could. They way this kid said it, Johnny must have mentioned her to him before. She wasn’t sure if that made her uncomfortable or not.

“I’m glad you stopped by, Squeeg’!” Johnny piped up again. “I was going to leave you a note otherwise – I never know what you’re up to during the day.”

He stood up and tucked his hands behind his back politely.

“You be a good Squee while I’m gone, okay?” His sharp shoulders perked up in a shrug. Todd nodded, and Johnny returned to his work of securing his ever-valuable drafting table to Devi’s car.

Devi watched Todd’s smile inch wider, then watched him peddle his tricycle in a circle and back toward his house. He didn’t seem too broken up that Johnny was leaving, she noted, but they certainly seemed to have some kind of relationship – bizarre.

“You’re friends with that little kid?” She asked.

“Yeah, I kinda took him under my wing.” Johnny answered from the bowels of the trunk. “He needs someone to watch out for him – he’s such a scared-y, tiny kind of Squee, and his parents are… uninvolved. That’s putting it nicely.”

Devi’s mouth pinched up into a small frown. The topic of inattentive parents wasn’t unfamiliar to her – not in reference to her dear old dad, of course, but rather to her perpetually absent mother, who never made even the most minute of efforts to stay in contact with Devi after so-kindly giving birth to her. Her titas warmly referred to her as a ‘crackwhore’.

As heavy as that was, Devi hadn’t been bothered by it much after her hormonal pre-teen years passed, but it still left her with a rare soft spot for sad, neglected children. Or maybe it was a hard, angry spot for shitty parents – yeah, that suited her better.

“How uncharacteristically kind of you, Nny.” She teased dryly, and Johnny responded with a tittering set of giggles.

“HEY, I’m kind!” He popped up and set his foot on the edge of the car’s bumper for leverage as he pulled the bindings tight. He tied the rope and chains together with a gnarled looking bow, and inched back to review his handiwork with Devi.

“If this thing falls out while I’m driving, I’m not stopping.” She said.

“That’s fine, it’ll just go through my windshield and I’ll drive it the rest of the way.”

Both burst into a quick fit of hysterical laughter at the image. As it tapered off into chuckling sighs, Devi gave Johnny a jostling shove on the shoulder to urge him into the last leg of today’s endeavor.

“Alright. You ready to go?” She asked, moving to look at the house with him. Johnny regarded his residence of the past four years with a distant expression for a moment, but not nearly long enough to shrug off all its hellish nightmares and everything it represented for him as casually as he did.

“Yep!” He grinned at her. “Let me lock up, and we can leave.”

Devi held in the urge to scowl at the domesticity of it all.

--

SOME NIGHTS LATER:

It was really starting to hit him that he lives with Devi.

The first night had disoriented that fact, with the majority of the day and evening spent unpacking his things and trying to find places for them to go amongst all of Devi’s things. She was kind enough to empty one section of drawers in her art room as a makeshift dresser for his clothes, which was functional enough for him. He was going to spend most of his time in there anyway, and it wasn’t like he needed a bedroom, and he was not going to ask to mix his clothes in with hers. He had still only been in her bedroom once, and that was because the only bathroom in the apartment was connected to it.

After Johnny had finished unpacking, they drew for a while, and then ate and watched TV, and after that Devi bid him an awkward goodnight. It wasn’t very different from the one night he had spent over before, so it didn’t settle in how different things were going to feel now.

When she got up, and he was… still there, it still felt the same. But then he spent all day watching her paint while he drew, in her art room, which was now sort-of their art room, and he was there every time she left to get a drink or scrounge up something to eat. And he was there when she took breaks, and had dinner, and watched a movie.

Johnny couldn’t remember the last time he had spent a full 24-hours with someone; not even any of the poor bastards he’d strung up in his basement were ‘company’ for him for that long in one sitting.

It was… strange, but nice… so very nice.

Every time Devi left the room they were in, there was a comfortable, unconscious knowledge that she would be back. Whether it was in a few minutes, or in a few hours, he would be in her presence again shortly, and that made him feel a little safer, for whatever reason. There would be no more waiting for days to pass until he could see her in person again, just a mild handful of hours.

And it made him completely manic!

He wanted to draw more now than he ever had in his entire memory of his life. It was compulsive, uncontrollable. Every time Devi left him to sleep, Johnny would take up the same sketchbook and draw, and draw. Fast-paced, frantic swirling and squiggling of ink that dried up his pens and cramped his hands – but he persevered with the kind of persistence he hoped would make Devi proud, ushering forward whatever it was exactly that his brain demanded his fingers create.

So far, it just looked like a mass of churning, scratchy lines, but he was confident that there was a something meaningful there somewhere in-between the rows of indecipherable nonsense. The lines would look wrong here or there, and he would tear away strips of the paper and continue on to the next page, letting the ruined part lay atop it as though they were one singular piece, revealing new and different shapes as the mix-matched directions of the lines tried to work together.

It had been a week’s worth of nights that Johnny had committed to this ‘personal’ project so far, and he felt as if tonight he may actually bring it to its much-desired finish. He was excited about that, seeing as he had so far refused to share any of its progress with Devi – or its existence, for that matter. Each time he would hear her rouse from slumber, he tucked the sketchbook away into one of his designated drawers, and lied about how he’d preoccupied himself while she slept. Devi was not one to be so easily fooled, but she had allowed him to keep whatever he was working on a ‘secret’ from her, curious to see the end result if it was that rigorous of an exercise for him.

--

ONE SLEEP AFTERWARDS:

Devi rustled her hair with a yawn, still sitting in bed. After a couple of passes with her fingers to ‘comb’ it, she tied it back into one sloppy ponytail. She would do it up in her semi-usual pigtail style after breakfast.

The first few days of waking up and knowing that Johnny was in some unknown part of her apartment was very odd, and a little unnerving, but now she was forlorn to say she was getting used to it. Soon she feared she would be accustomed to sharing a space with him, or God forbid, content with it. The thought made her spine shudder.

She undid the lock on her bedroom door, and poked her head out to survey the area. Usually Johnny was on her couch by this time in the day, eating chips or something. He sure ate a lot of her food for a guy that didn’t ‘eat much’ – fucking freeloader.

This morning, however, he was unusually absent from his preferred sofa cushion. Devi’s mouth curved down suspiciously, and she ventured further out into her apartment. She didn’t hear anything besides the casual passing of cars outside, which only made her more wary. Johnny was very rarely quiet. She moved towards her drawing room, her first guess on where he might be.  

Devi was shocked to find him asleep on his drafting table.

She would have sooner thought he was dead, if it wasn’t for the slow rising and falling of his chest, and the intermediate twitching of a finger now and again. Johnny had boasted that he hadn’t slept in months, and she certainly believed it after a week of waking up to find him still up and about.

She stood and watched him a while, unsure of how to approach the situation – it was the same apprehension one might feel in waking a dog that they don’t know the temperament of well, fearful it might snap at them. She had no intention of waking him up, but she was very interested in the tattered looking notebook lying under his forearms.

With a push of stubborn bravery, she grabbed the sketchpad and slid it away from Johnny’s sleeping form, with no resistance on his part. The metaphor about him being akin to a vicious, snoozing guard dog was inaccurate, apparently. Her pilfered goods in hand, Devi retreated to her living room to inspect Johnny’s ‘work’.

From what she could see, it just looked like a torn-up mess. The open page, the one he had assumingly been working on last night, was the only one that wasn’t ripped. The rest all had pieces missing, some of them off to the sides, the other’s random chunks out of the middle. The first one was hollowed out, making it look like the discarded crust of a sandwich.

Devi frowned, uncertain what to make of this massacre of paper and pen marks. Maybe it was just some vent art, and she was expecting some grand project out of this molehill.

She flipped the pages carefully into their ordered places, and began the motion of closing the book’s cover when her eyes caught the vague shape of something amidst the tattered pages. She opened the cover fully again, and pulled one of the dangling pages more to the left. It was eerie how the lines seemed to shift and take form of something different as she did so – kind of cool, she admitted, if it was meant to be an interactive piece. Devi adjusted another loose page, and sucked in a sharp gasp at what she saw.

It was the figure of a person. All of this chaos was made to overlay and frame something, and that something was… Devi, it seemed. The figure showing amongst the damaged and chaotic penwork was her. She could certainly make out her scythe-like pigtails that protruded from the top of the slim subject’s head, however vaguely.

Devi’s chest clenched. There was such an uneasy feeling that came with seeing herself in Johnny’s work. Her brain immediately imagined that this was the result of some unhealthy obsession, maybe infatuation, with her, and that made her nauseous. Johnny couldn’t be living with her and dreaming up weird, neurotic, pseudo-romantic crap about her! Next he’ll be writing her poetry and other delusional bullshit, and that would not be acceptable in the slightest.

She stopped herself, letting the trail of disgusting thoughts leave her for a moment. Perhaps she was being too hasty in assuming that this was a symbol of his desire for her, or something equally gross. Devi wasn’t exactly narcissistic, but she absolutely credited herself and her efforts for guiding Johnny into a better state of being, and she knew Johnny did too. Maybe he put his gratitude toward his creative muse, and this was what popped out.

The shadowed eyes of her paper-self stared at something off the page, unknown to her, and Devi’s mouth twitched at how calm she looked. Sullen, but unbothered by the tumultuous nothingness around her.

Ugh. There better not be some kind of meaning behind this.

Devi closed the sketchbook and returned it to its sleeping owner, who only snorted a bit at having his arm prodded. She chuckled at the response, and shook her head fondly in disbelief of her situation. At least as far as art went, it was a pretty damn good piece from a one, maniacal, Johnny C.

She’d give him an ‘A’ for effort, this time. And maybe interrogate him later about his intentions. Yeah.

--

NEXT.

[why-i-love-comics]

so like how does one upload comic scans without them looking super blurry and awful...

idk I don’t feel like I do anything special, obviously the source material is important you want high quality stuff from the get go, then I do the pictures as big as I can (full screen and then zoom in until the panel/panels fill the whole screen) and I use snagit rather than just print screen to capture the image, tumblr is a stupid and fickle god tho so sometimes if it doesn’t like the aspect ratio it just destroys it, if you want you can look up what aspect ratios it likes but honestly I only really see it on full pages and I’m assuming people are opening those in a new tab or clicking to enlarge them anyways and then they look fine, I saw some of the stuff you’ve uploaded and it doesn’t look blurry to me tho