#haven’t drawn in it much in the past 3 months

[forecast0ctopus]

yeehaw!

[miviaceleste]

A Blackrock Story: A Boy with Turquoise Eyes

Happy 12th Anniversary to Blackrock Chronicle!

This comic ended up being 47 pages long (when I first sketched it, it was only 20 pages long). Since I can only upload 30 images in a post, I had to combine 2 pages into 1 image so hopefully it's still visually fine and not annoying to scroll through!

I wrote this mini-story more than 10 years ago, so I figured it was time to finally make it into a comic (after editing the writing a lot because I became a much better writer since lol).

Be aware of the TWs, and I hope you enjoy this comic!

TW: Violence || Blood || Injuries/Scars/Burn Marks || Kidnapping || (Temporary) Death || Loss of Limb / Amputation

Thank you all for reading one of my most insane projects ever!

Now, here’s another long story:

About 8 years ago, my life became so busy that to stay on top of my studies and activities, I stopped watching a lot of YouTubers, including the Yogscast.

I’ve grown up throughout the years. I had to stop acting like a kid to figure out what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. I’m still an artist today, but I haven’t drawn in this way for about 3 years to pursue my real passion. I love to draw, but I didn’t have the time or inspiration to make something grand.

About 3 months ago, I suddenly got curious about how all those YouTubers I stopped watching were doing, so I checked out their channels and watched a video or two before moving on. When I got to the Yogscast channel, on the other hand, I quickly fell in love with the new content and with everyone again.

It was insane to see how immediately my love for them came back. In 3 months, I’ve watched so many videos and streams/VODs. It’s all so comforting, funny, and uplifting. Clearly, I missed so much content in the past 8 years, but at least I don’t have to worry about running out of things to watch for a while.

What made me most happy was that despite changing a lot, I never stopped being that kid who laughed at the Yogscast’s shenanigans. It just goes to show that no matter how much the world tries to push you around, you never lose that sense of joy you had as a child.

Now, about Rythian:

Since I started watching the Yogscast in 2011, Rythian has always been my favorite. I loved his series so much, especially with how he got into character to give us an immersive experience. It was an escape for me as a kid. When difficult moments were thrown at me, I watched Rythian’s series to find a sense of comfort.

So when I started watching his and Zoey’s Blackrock series, my mind was blown. The storytelling, acting, humor, and drama of the series were so immersive and touching that my creativity exploded.

I mainly use art to express myself and my interests because I struggle to talk about it. But funny enough, Blackrock was the only interest of mine that got me to not draw, but to write. I wrote a lot of short stories about the series—even how I envisioned the series would end. I was so inspired to create all the time from this series.

And what’s crazy is that at the beginning of this summer, I found all of those written drafts and notes from when I was a kid. I kept them all for 10+ years and found a very loose (and not that good) draft of this comic and I felt really inspired to finish it.

It was roughly when I was first watching Blackrock too when I realized that I can be creative in the future. The Yogscast helped me understand that I can do whatever I want for the rest of my life. If they could do it, then why can’t I?

What’s also wonderful is that even after so many years, Rythian never stopped being my favorite. When I started watching the main channel again a few months ago, I immediately found myself rooting for him whenever he was in the group videos. I just remembered how much happiness he brought me when I was younger and it makes me so happy that I still get so much joy whenever I hear his voice.

While working on this comic, I watched all of Kirbycraft and caught up on Kirby Farm. I can’t help but smile the whole time Rythian, Briony, and Kirsty interact with one another. The dynamic of these three brings me so much laughter and comfort. A part of me is upset that I didn’t get back to watching everyone when Kirbycraft was still live, but better late than never, right?

I also originally started this comic without the intention of posting it. But then I figured, Hey, it’d be great to share it with everyone who’s also been impacted by this series and the Yogscast in general, so I made this blog to post it here. Honestly, I’m not sure when the next time I’ll be able to draw is (who knew building a career takes away a lot of your energy and time?). But I think that’s what’s so wonderful about my love for Yogscast and particularly Blackrock: I didn’t make this comic for the likes or views. It was just because I wanted to, and I’m so happy to see there are so many people on here who feel the same love for them as I do.

This series and the people who made it, along with the people who supported it and loved it and continued to love it, impacted me for the better. I learned so many years ago that I can be creative for a living, and have been working hard towards doing that since.

Happy 12th Anniversary to the Blackrock Chronicle. To Rythian and Zoey who put a smile on this kid’s face even during the toughest of times.

And to the Yogscast, thank you for being there for me when I needed you all the most and for still being here when I came back. Your ability to inspire me and make me laugh never disappeared throughout the years I was gone, and I’m ready to laugh some more.

[its-all-stardust]

Sugar || 3

Masterlist || Part Two || Part Four

Steven Grant/Sugar Mommy!Reader

Word count: 3.9k

Series Summary: You meet Steven in a museum gift shop and feel an instant connection. Before you walk out the door you decide, perhaps against your better judgment, that you need him to be your sugar baby. Now you just need him to let you treat him right.

A week goes by without a word from Steven. You told him to take his time; you expected him to. But that doesn’t stop you from thinking about him every day.

If he was going to say no, wouldn’t he have done it by now? Or he might not answer you at all. That, you think, is worse. You would rather know for sure than guess what the silence means.

You try not to feel disappointment for something that hasn’t even happened—technically, he hasn’t rejected you—but it still prowls in the back of your mind. You haven’t been this worried about something since your company got off the ground when everything was still uncertain, with no guarantee you could make a living.

You especially never felt this way about your other babies. The situations are entirely different. You didn’t have to worry about a referral rejecting you, not right out of the gate anyway. And all the ones you met through specific apps were the same: saying yes and figuring out if things worked as time went on. You at least had a couple of months with all your previous babies, each of you getting a feel for the other before mutually deciding to part ways for one reason or another.

And yet none of them were quite as unforgettable to you as Steven is. Try as you might, you still don’t understand how you’re so drawn to him. Maybe you see enough of yourself in him that you can’t help but want to take care of him, like how you wished someone had cared for you before you broke out and started making what would lead to your fortune.

But it means nothing if he says no. So, as much as you dislike it, you try to put him from your mind. You go about your days as usual, attending meetings, fielding phone calls from heads of different departments, approving the latest marketing budget, and finalizing every move your company makes to ensure you know exactly what is happening at all times. Technically, you don’t need to be as hands-on as you are. There are certainly other people in a similar position who aren’t. You could be on a beach somewhere, signing documents someone else has already read and approved for you. You could be the kind of CEO who never reads a thing and just puts your signature wherever you’re told. You would effectively be retired while still earning an ungodly amount of money. 

But you can’t do that; you can’t stand not knowing what’s happening with something that is your responsibility. You don’t want to rest easy, and you like working. While you have plenty—more than enough, really—saved away in investments, trusts, and more than a few bank accounts, you know how easily everything can be taken away. It almost happened once in the beginning, and ever since, you’ve been trying to ensure it never happens again.

And for all your worries about the state of your business, you don’t let it cross over into your after-work hours. You would, quite frankly, go insane if you didn’t clock out promptly at five. If nothing is on fire, it can wait until the next business day. The meeting you had the day of your dinner with Steven was a rare exception, but even then it only ran a few minutes past before you shut it down. The rest of the time was spent traveling from your office building to the restaurant.

You never understood people who worked later than they needed to. You’d much rather spend your evenings on things you enjoy, which, when you have one, is often your baby.

And you’re thinking of Steven again.

Would he like sitting with you while you were entertained by your other, mainly indoor, hobbies? Some of your other babies grew restless with the inactivity. Or would he be needy, constantly endearingly wanting your attention but never pushing too far?

You picture him looking at you with those beautiful brown eyes, begging for you to take him somewhere, talk to him, lavish him with affection—

Stop it.

Try as you might, it’s impossible to shake him. He’s in skin deep, and you have no clue how to carve him out.

Another week goes by, and still no word from Steven.

You had assumed, after he said he would tell you after he blushed so prettily and didn’t run screaming, that he would at least have the courtesy to tell you he had to turn you down. You’re less upset at this point and more irritated. Annoyed with Steven, sure, but annoyed at yourself for going against your better judgment, hoping that everything would turn out fine. You had to be smart to get where you are; you should have known better than to pick up a random person to try to make your sugar baby.

It’s Saturday night, and you’re cozied up on your couch, watching your favorite movie and enjoying a molten fudge brownie to drown your sorrows and anger. This was how you spent most weekends, in truth. All the money in the world didn’t make you any less of an introvert, uninterested in loud clubs or parties—unless you had a date to show off.

Which you don’t.

You scrape the crumbs from your plate and lick the fudge from your fork before tossing them down on the coffee table with a clatter, the sound making you wince.

Before long, the movie isn’t able to distract you. Still feeling a little spiteful, you grab your phone, letting the movie play for background noise.

You open the app you use to look for new babies—the one everyone has to pay to use. Maybe what you need is a professional, which many who use the app are. At the very least, you’ll have a more timely response from them. The professionals don’t play games. And even if you don’t see one tonight that catches your interest, there’s no harm in looking.

After glancing at a few profiles, you pause on one belonging to a dark-haired man with glasses. He says he lives in New York—you have your settings set internationally since you have the funds to bring someone to you—and you entertain the idea of asking him to relocate. You’ve never had someone move for you, but seeing how devoted a baby could be to you is always an ego boost.

Just as you’re about to send a few coins the man’s way—the paid in-app currency that mommies and daddies use to show interest and initiate contact with prospective babies—your phone chimes, the delicate notes of your ringtone filling the room.

A call. From Steven.

Disbelief fills you, tamping down some of your anger. It doesn’t dissipate entirely, though, and you’re tempted not to answer to teach Steven a lesson. But he’s not your baby, and reacting with anger before you hear him out isn’t fair to him.

Pausing your movie, you swipe to answer just before the call gets sent to voicemail.

“Hello,” you say simply, unwilling to try saying anything witty lest it comes across wrong over the phone. It’s happened before, and it’s never fun to have to backtrack and explain yourself, especially in such a delicate situation as this.

“For a second there, I was afraid you weren’t going to answer,” Steven says, sounding relieved.

“Why would you be afraid?”

“Because…” Steven hesitates. “Because it’s late, and I meant to talk to you sooner, I swear. But something…weird happened, and it was days later, and I could have sworn I left your number on Gus’s tank, but then it wasn’t there. And after everything else, I forgot for a day there and—”

“Steven,” you cut him off, ignoring the “forgetting” thing—for now. “Your answer?”

Steven is quiet for a moment. Then, a soft “Yes.”

“Yes, what? What do you want?” You need to hear him say it.

“Yes, I want to…be your sugar baby.” He whispers the last part as if he’s afraid to say the words out loud. If he doesn’t want to be called that, you won’t force it, but the affirmative response makes you grin.

“But I have some questions first,” he quickly adds.

“Of course. We’ll go over the terms and everything first before we make it official. Are you available tomorrow?”

You had Steven pick the meeting place, wanting him to be somewhere familiar and comfortable to discuss such an unfamiliar topic. The courtyard where you’re to meet Steven is small but lovely. You arrive a few minutes earlier than the set meeting time of ten. Early to ease Steven’s nerves, which you could hear from the other end of the line, and so you weren’t left feeling like you couldn’t do anything for the rest of the day now that you had one thing planned.

You spot Steven sitting on the bench in front of a ground fountain in the middle of the square, shoulder slumped and eyes staring down at the ground. You slowly approach, making sure your heeled boots clack loudly on the bricks. He looks up when you get close and jumps to his feet when he sees you, saying your name. Then he sticks out his hand before abruptly dropping it.

“Sorry. I’m not sure what the proper greeting for…this is.”

Smiling, you ask, “Would it be alright if I hugged you?”

Steven nods, his face flushing. You wonder, the longer you know him if that’ll ever stop. You hope it doesn’t.

Pleased, you step forward, tucking your arms under Steven’s while his come over your shoulders. His hold is light, like he isn’t sure how firmly to hold you. You tuck your chin onto his shoulder and close your eyes, enjoying his warmth. You relish affectionate touches with your babies, and Steven’s arms feel lovely around you.

It’s not a quick hug. You keep your arms around him, giving Steven a chance to relax into it. If he doesn’t, he may be one of the ones you forgo such actions with. Pleasantly, though, he readjusts his arms, settling their weight around you more completely to actually hold you.

He even lets out a pleased hum, and you have to bite your lip to keep your smile from turning into a too-wide grin.

Steven seems a little startled when you eventually pull away.

“So, what would you like to know?” you ask, sitting on the bench, setting your bag beside you on your free side.

“Right, erm…” He sits next to you, close but not too close. “What would I have to…do exactly?”

“Can you be more specific?” What a sugar baby does can encompass a number of things that vary for every mommy and daddy.

Steven looks around at the people passing by, shifting back and forth in his seat. “Would I have to…sleep with you?” he whispers.

It’s a fair question. Usually, one of the first a new baby will ask, and his hesitancy tells you that, for whatever reason, he’s shy about the topic.

“Only if we both want to and sometime in the future when we both know each other better,” you answer honestly.

You don’t sleep with all your babies, and it’s not a requirement for you. Some people don’t like sex with their mommies or daddies, and you’re not going to force someone to sleep with you. You can perfectly enjoy having a baby, being their mommy, without having sex with them.

“Oh,” Steven says evenly. You can’t quite make out what his tone means.

“And if you don’t want me to touch you at all, that’s fine. We don’t have to hug again or anything like that again if it’s uncomfortable for you.” Though you’ll be more than a little disappointed if that’s the case.

“The hug was nice!” Steven quickly assures you. “I just wasn’t sure if-if you’d need that for me to…”

“We don’t have to be sexual with each other for me to enjoy your company, Steven.”

He nods. “Good. That’s…good.”

Sometimes, you have trouble understanding what people mean when they speak. Steven’s an endearing sort of awkward, but you’re starting to learn that makes it hard to tell what he means.

Is he happy that he doesn’t have to have sex with a stranger? Or is he like some other people and disappointed that he doesn’t get to have a very-few-strings-attached relationship?

You’ll probably need to start asking for clarification in the future, but for now, don’t say anything and let the topic drop.

“What else do you have questions about?”

Steven shakes himself from his thoughts and turns back to you, no longer looking uncomfortable.

“Do you want me to quit my job?”

“Do you want to quit your job?” You’ve never asked a baby to quit working—if they even had a job to begin with—unless it was something that did more harm than good. Not to mention, it’s a good way to keep them busy when you’re not around. You can’t exactly be with your baby twenty-four-seven.

You don’t know what Steven goes through on a daily basis, though you can guess based on what his manager is like.

“Well, I don’t exactly love working with Donna,” Steven says, his mouth twisting when he mentions the woman of his apparent nightmares. “But the others aren’t so bad, and I really like it there. I mean, I wish I weren’t stuck in the gift shop, but it’s not all bad.”

“Then keep your job,” you shrug. “Set up a savings or investment account and put every paycheck in there. Then you have it for the future if you ever need it.”

“Are you sure?” Steven presses. “Because some of the things I read said I would have to.”

“If you need me to tell you to quit so it’s easier for you, then quit. But otherwise, I don’t care. I’m more than capable of working around your schedule. This is kind of another job, in a way.” He still looks unsure. You gently place your hand on his jaw, needing him to not just hear you but listen to you. “I want to take care of you, not control you.”

In a manner of speaking, you do control your babies, telling them what to wear and what to do to make you happy. Some even have a sort of persona around you that you find particularly pleasing. But you don’t force them to make life choices like that.

Helping someone quit their shitty job is vastly different than making someone stop doing something they enjoy. You’ve also noticed that it can be hard for new babies to give up the way of life they’re so used to. For them, it’s difficult to actually go through with not working when it’s all they’ve ever known, despite how often they’ve dreamt of never having to work ever again.

Steven doesn’t say anything, though he does seem to lean into your hand a little.

“So what’ll it be?” you prompt.

“I’ll keep my job,” he answers quietly, still mesmerized by your touch. You nod and take your hand away; you need his head clear.

“I just have one question for you before I start going over everything else.”

“Whatever you want to know.”

“Are you in any sort of relationship? Committed, casual?” You carefully watch Steven’s face, looking for any tells. You can’t always tell when people lie, but almost everyone has common cues indicating when they’re being deceitful.

“Oh, no! Nothing to worry about there,” he says with an awkward laugh. When he sees the slightly skeptical look on your face, he continues. “Let’s just say you’re the only one who’s been interested in me.”

His uncontrollable blush is on his face again, and he meets your eye without issue.

You have to bite your tongue to keep from asking Ever? Or recently? That’s something you can ask later if he’s willing to talk about it to sate your curiosity.

“Do people really do that?” Steven asks. “Date someone and be a sugar baby at the same time?”

“Of course, and usually consensually between all parties. It all comes down to what someone needs from their baby. Me, though? I like having them all to myself. It can be hard to try to fit in a third.”

“So I take it you’re not in a relationship?” Steven asks slowly.

You shake your head. “I’m not. It’s why I like having sugar babies.”

With the major questions out of the way, you start going into your expectations.

“There aren’t a lot of events that I attend, but I expect you to come with me,” you start, and Steven pulls out his phone. For a second, you’re confused, but as he starts typing., you see he’s making notes for himself. “Sometimes I like to take overnight trips, and I’d like you to come with me. We’ll have to go around your work schedule, though, so you always need to let me know your hours.

Steven writes it all down, mumbling the words to himself as you say them.

When I call, you answer. When I tell you to call me, you call me. No excuses.

If I ever tell you to do or not do something, you listen. It won’t ever be anything morally objectional. Depending on what it is, I’ll ask if you’re comfortable with it.

I’m your mommy, I expect please and thank you.

I like being affectionate. That means hugging, holding hands, and the like. I’d even like to be able to kiss you on the cheek if that’s alright with you.

I’ll give you a card. When you’re on your own, I expect you to use it. If I don’t see any large purchases on the statement, you’ll get a talking-to.

When we’re together, you ask me to buy things for you. Nothing is too big or too small.

I’ll be paying all your rent and any bills, so we’ll need to take time to get those sorted.

I’m paying you for your time, so you’ll get a payment every time we’re on a date or go out. Feel free to ask for more than I give you. There’s nothing wrong with being playful and saying you’re worth more.

“Also,” you say once you finish your last point. “Most of my babies are fine with informal, verbal agreements, but I can get something written up for you if you’d like.”

Steven is so focused on typing that he doesn’t realize you want his input. It isn’t until he registers what he’s typing that he finally looks up.

“Oh, sorry.” He locks his phone, putting his hands in his lap. “Is one better than the other?”

“Having a written agreement is more for the baby’s benefit. Based on my experience, babies like it because they can have a signed statement for continued payment for some time after the relationship ends. I usually only hear of high rollers doing it; that way, the baby is set up if things sour. And if the mommy or daddy doesn’t want to pay, the baby can threaten legal action, which usually gets settled out of court very quickly. A win-win for the baby.”

“And what would you get out of it?”

“For me personally? It would just be a way to hold you to the agreement enough to keep you from running out without notifying me. It’s fine if you don’t want to be my baby anymore, but I am at least owed a sort of resignation whenever the time comes.”

You remember that one baby you had a couple of years ago. He was new to the game, took his first payment, and left without speaking to you again. You were more annoyed at having to make someone track him down to ensure that nothing had happened to him than upset that he didn’t want to be a baby anymore.

“So, if I don’t want to be your baby anymore, I just say so and walk away?” Steven asks with a hint of skepticism, likely thinking that it surely can’t be that easy.

“Exactly. Like I said, I don’t want to control you or own you, but I think I deserve enough respect to be told you’re no longer interested.”

Steven thinks everything over for a moment.

“I can’t say I see myself wanting to sure you, so I think I’ll be okay without signing anything,” he eventually says.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I mean, this doesn’t have to be as complicated as all that, does it?”

You give a small smile. “It doesn’t. This is supposed to be fun, after all.”

Steven smiles back at you, and you feel a flutter in your chest. Normally, your babies don’t set your heart pounding, but Steven isn’t quite like them. You push it out of your mind; it’s best not to get too attached, not like that anyway.

“Did you set up that account I asked you to?” you ask, ready to get on to the fun part of a new baby’s first arrangement.

Steven unlocks his phone and opens the online banking app you asked him to download last night. It’s the best way to send his payment, and then he can move it around however he likes afterward.

Pulling up the QR code to share his profile, you scan it with your app, adding him to your contacts. Then, you tap to start a transaction.

“This will be for our initial dinner and for today. Go ahead and type any amount you’d like in there,” you say, handing your phone to Steven.

He stares at the screen, frozen, like he’s afraid to move.

“Go on,” you urge him. You had wondered what he’d be like once he was told to start asking for money. Much like your other new babies, he’s hesitant, afraid to name a number, even though this whole arrangement revolves around money.

Steven looks up at you, eyes wide and biting his lip. Finally, looking back down at your phone, you watch as he types a single “1” before thrusting it back toward you.

You don’t take it. “Do you think that’s all you’re worth? Add some zeroes on there.”

Steven types one zero.

“Another,” you command. Very slowly, he types another. “Think you can give me one more?”

“I… That’s just…” Steven flounders, shaking his head.

“Steven.” Just his name, nothing more. Your voice is firm, leaving no room for argument.

This time, he quickly hits a third zero and practically throws the phone back at you.

“Good boy,” you say, quickly hitting the ‘transfer’ button to send the thousand pounds to Steven. You think you see him shiver.

You grin, already loving his reactions. You can’t wait to tease him, give him more.

“Now, what do you say?” you ask, tucking your phone back into your leather handbag.

“Thank you,” Steven says quietly, face once again flushed.

“You’re welcome, baby.” His eyes flit down shyly, but he doesn’t turn away from you.

Then you reach out and tug on the sleeve of his shirt, examining the fit and pattern.

“There’s one more thing I’d like to do today if you have the time,” you say, eyeing up the rest of his outfit.

“What’s that?” Steven asks, sounding nervous and perhaps a little excited.

Your eyes flick to meet his, that predatory look returning to your face.

“I want to take you clothes shopping.”

Series taglist: @multific @uncle-eggy

[0bticeo]

j. sims, e. bouchard | knowledge is a double-edged sword

part two of four. (part one.) (part 3.) (part four.)

summary:

a low hum. there’s something sharp in elias' smile. his gaze feels like it’s cutting you open. you hold your ground, unblinking, watching him and his annoyingly handsome face. 

“you’re wearing a mask, dear.”

“aren’t we all?”

wc. 3k

tw. reader's creeping paranoia, shockinlgy nothing smutty happens in this chapter, manipulation, graphic description of eyes, mild ptsd, nightmares, elias bouchard being a creep.

working in the archives has always been… a little off, for a lack of a better word. you are supposed to research and archive statements regarding “supernatural happenings” in a world where said supernatural has been swiped under the carpet, dismissed with a haughty scoff. still, it pays well. which is why you find yourself clocking in day after day. 

your colleagues… you don’t know what to make of them. not really. sasha’s been… off. you think there’s a void in the shape of her roaming about the place. she’s calm and focused. formal. has trouble logging in her computer - that’s… not right.

martin seems to be taking it well enough for someone who’s spent the past two months sleeping in the archives and then getting attacked by worms. sounds silly. definitely wasn’t. you think there’s much, much more to him than meets the eye and and accept the cups of coffee he hands you with a warm smile. you mean them. you like martin. his poetry a bit less. 

tim… is silent. he’s lost his smile. you haven’t fallen victim to one of his pranks in ages and fear you won’t ever have to worry about a sketchy statement being one of his little jokes. you feel anger bubbling inside of him at the mere mention of having to work in the archives. yet…

yet he’s helping you. 

the library is a quiet affair, the muted sort of silence that hangs like a comforting blanket over your shoulders. dust flutters away in the air, drawn by your steps. tim’s sigh cuts through the silence like a knife.

“why are we doing this again?”

you tuck back a book in its shelf. thankfully, not a leitner. still, nothing to do with architecture.

“because it is our job, tim.”

he scoffs.

“yeah, right. i wasn’t aware it involved risking my life.”

“look, you’re not forced to help me. if it makes you feel better to slack off, then i’m not stopping you.”

he laughs, mocking, almost cruel. the pressure at the back of your neck is near unbearable. you want to scream. you want to tear something apart.

“look at you! acting like everything’s normal! three months ago, you were bleeding out on my lap! how can you-”

“it’s either i focus on something else or i go mad.” you snap a book shut with a sharp intake of air. “you won’t like me mad, tim. now shut up and help me find robert smirke’s books, will you? i’m pretty sure they were there, but-”

his hand clasps around your wrist. 

“hold on. why are you looking for smirke’s books?”

“follow up on a statement involving urbex in the former church of saint james in west hackney. built by, you guessed it, robert smirke himself.”

you watch a flash of… something in his eyes. it looks like guilt in mourning, and you’re itching to pry, pry him open and unearth whatever secrets he keeps buried under a thick layer of good humour turned bitter. 

“it should be around here.”

you end up with three heavy volumes in hand, none of which feel like they’ll help with erin gallagher-nelson’s statement. then, something catches your attention. a small leather volume, tucked away behind the books you’re currently holding. tim’s already on his way out, much to your chagrin. you don’t feel too guilty when you reach for the small little book and tuck away those he’s helped you find, neatly ordered in their rightful place.

the little book in your hand is… not a leitner, which is a relief as you are not wearing gloves. no, it’s bound leather, with no title in sight. you open it, carefully, cradling it against your breast like something fragile, and cast your gaze upon its first page. the juts out in ink far too dark for its age.

the fears that bind us.

turn another page and see the summary. fourteen entries, neatly labelled. the Web. the Dark. the Spiral. the Buried. you pause.

the pinprick pain at your neck sharpens. you’re Watched. there’s nobody but you in the library, but there’s something, watching, always watching, and you can make eyes in the corners of the shelves and they’re peering down at you and they Know you’re starting to suspect something’s terribly wrong with this place and-

thud.

the book falls from your trembling hands. dust rises up, clings to the hem of your trousers. you stare at the dull, unassuming little leather cover and feel its magnetic pull. you Know there’s more to it than it lets on. you pick it up.

(somewhere, the chittering mass of the many-legged mother of puppets spins a chain of events into motion, weaving a pretty plan.)

*

these days, stepping in the institute feels like being strapped down to a vivisection table and having your brain prodded at. it’s oppressive. you become aware of just how many eyes there are in the institute. coworkers from other departments glancing disinterestedly at you. strange motives in the nooks and crannies of the wooden doors and shelves and corridors and floors, eyes half-lidded. pictures and their faded edges, you, tim, martin, jon and sasha (?) huddling close, smiling. portraits - jonah magnus, high and mighty, immortalised in his seat of power. you think his painted lips are curled up a little more than they normally are. you’ve seen that floating smile before.

you take to having your lunch outside of the institute. you find you can breathe easier through the sharp cold of london’s winter air. needle-sharp, it pierces your lungs, scrapes your throat with every mouthful of curry you swallow. you don’t mind. you have jon to huddle close to, no matter how much he rolls his eyes and tells you to take a warmer coat with you. still, he wraps his arm around you and intertwine his fingers with yours.

tim and martin make no comment - you do feel the weight of their gaze on your shoulders as you make your way back to your desk ten minutes sharp after jon comes back to his office. doesn’t matter. by now, you’re used to being watched.

you’re growing tired of it.

going home is no relief - that damned gaze is there, too. you clench your teeth and turn all the mirrors around and tuck away what little pictures you have. your breathing stutters in your throat. there’s a cork board on your wall, now, and you think of the one that lies in jon’s office, red strings stretching and stretching and it still doesn’t make sense. not yet. 

gertrude’s dead - somebody’s murdered her, three bullets, bang, the body falls, bang, bang just to make sure the old bat is dead, a waste of an Archivist. 

jon wants to know who. he tells you, fingers threading through his hair, tape recorder still running, that it could be anyone at that’s been working at the institute since five years. you’ve been hired two years ago, so you’re good, but tim? martin? sasha? elias?

(you’ve pressed your lips to jon’s and sworn to help him, forehead pressed against him in the sweetest oath.)

there are scraps of hastily jotted down notes, pictures faded at the edges. recurring people from statements - gerry keay, michael shelley, simon fairchild, prentiss, salesa. hilltop road. recurring themes, artefacts you took pain to research, asking sasha for help - she did work in artefact storage before, right?

(her smile was sharp when she nodded. too sharp. she laughed as she led you to the basement floor, something like a deadly private joke. you didn’t ask for her help again.)

you take a step back and stare at the board. the strings make no sense, red over red over red, and you have an eye staring back at you, unblinking, thread burned in your retina. 

smirke’s book lies open on your couch. your cat wisely stays away from it. you’ve named him socrates for a reason. you wish you could be blessed with the sage’s foresight.

fears bind you. there’s a classification, Entities that sometimes bleed in the corners of this world, out-of-sight-but-there. you’ll only notice when they strike. when they show themselves, when you realise there’s something terribly wrong with the stranger’s edges peering out of an alleyway, anglerfish luring its prey. poor smoker’s fate. 

a classification. fourteen primal fears straight out of the lovecraftian mythos. the stranger. the Spiral - think of michael, smile curling endlessly in all his sharp edges, laugh like an alarm bell ringing long after he’s gone. the Corruption - jane prentiss and her loving smile and worms burrowing in her flesh and in yours. 

the Eye.

you take in a sharp intake of air and read. 

IT KNOWS YOU.

*

you cannot move. you’re crushed by the sheer magnitude of the structure spreading around you in concentric circles of power. panopticon. he who stands in the centre watches and knows all. is there anyone at all in its centre?

you. you’re kneeling, skin bare and bruised and scraped, the stone harsh and unforgiving, scraping the tender skin of your knee. humidity seeps in through the open pores of your skin. 

you can’t see. it’s too dark, the penumbra stretching and stretching for miles, near corporeal with how thick it is. you think it might be reaching out for your eyes with too long fingers, chipped claws sinking below your eyelid to rip them off. 

you startle.

eyes.

so many eyes, staring at you from the darkness encasing you, with no eyelids so they do not blink. there’s the dreadful suspicion that their optic nerves join, mingle into something you do not want to see. ocular globes, little gelatinous spheres surrounding you, Watching you, Knowing you. you, on your bloody knees, heart stammering under your ribcage like a chased rabbit, your bare flesh cold, cold, cold. 

it’s cutting you open, scalpel gazes making careful, careful incisions in the marrow of your psyche. they’re carving open your head, your skull a neat, organic little box housing the grey matter of your brain. cerebrospinal fluid drips down your cheeks.

you shudder. you can feel them, Watching, Knowing, the mere thought of it a burning streak in your consciousness, they’re picking you apart, they Know what you’ve done, how you break-

you only start screaming when you look up and See.

you startle awake with a shuddering gasp, trembling so badly you can’t even make out the familiarity of your bedroom. breathe in. the darkness isn’t cloying, the street lights worming their way beneath your shutters. breathe out. you can hear the cars running, the nocturnal hustle and bustle of london’s night life. the chatter, the laughter. 

you let out a trembling sigh and run your hand over your face. you find it damp with sweat and tears. a beat of silence. you rest your forehead on your palms, hands gliding down until the heel of your palm is over your socket and you push there until you feel the bone, the gelatinous fragility of your eye. it is not the first time you have these dreams. you wish you could sleep.

you trace the edges of your temples, those you know were left gaping, those you know had been wrenched open- closed. no scar. only those on your thighs, on your forearms, on your hands from these wretched worms.

you close your fingers, nails digging in your bandaged palm and feel a pinprick of pain. the other side of the bed is cold and empty. you glance at the analog clock on your bedside table. the time blares, angry red flashing 5:32 in your retina. three hours left before going to work. 

you get up from the bed and set about changing your sweat-soaked sheets. you’re not going to fall back asleep. might as well get ready for work. you do, body set in autopilot. breakfast. shower. lather hydrating cream over the expanse of you. disinfect the many, many patches of scarred tissues left by the flesh-hive. get dressed - black tailored pants, cream crispy ironed shirt. a spritz of perfume. white flats. a quick glance in the mirror - there you are, the epitome of professional perfection, little miss trust-me-i-have-everything-under-control. 

you don’t.

you’re tired. so, so very tired. exhaustion settles like a heavy weight in your bone marrow, anchors you down until your whole world is clouded. foggy. you don’t remember the last time you’ve pushed the door to the archives without a thin veil clouding your eyes. 

you think of the Narrator, unnamed, bone-deep tired, staring emptily in the camera in a film you can’t say the name of. first rule: you do not talk about it. second rule: you do not, talk about it. everything’s a copy of a copy of a copy.

as it goes, you push the door to the archives, step inside the quiet room, shrug off your coat at your designated desk, and go about making yourself some coffee. nobody’s there to plot your bloody murder as you blankly explain that, to you, tea is nothing but bland leaf juice. not that tim or martin would bother these days.

it’s quiet. nobody’s here to see you climb the stairs to the break room on the second floor. the one used by the human resources department. lucky bastards. bastards, period. refusing to hand over the necessary funds to buy another coffee machine for the archives after the first one broke during prentiss’ infestation. and they say their mission is to foster a safe work environment. such a shame your morning murderous urges are only quelled by your second cup of the day.

you grab a mug and press the button. whirring rises in the dry silence of the room. slowly, slowly, the mug is filled up. you inhale and feel your shoulders relax by half a fraction. the heavenly scent of grounded coffee beans percolating feels the room and you find yourself smiling. it doesn’t ease the fogginess clouding your mind. it will do.

large window panes offer a wide overview of the streets below, the early morning fog clinging to humid asphalt, the rare cars passing by. you let out a slow exhale, your breath clouding the window.

your mug is ready.

“is that one for me?”

you startle.

elias bouchard stands behind you, hands clasped behind his back, picture perfect manager in a crisp suit - too stiff, too out of place in his employee’s break room. he’s wearing a phthalo green suit, the one that brings out the green-grey of his eyes. your favourite. and he’s waiting for your answer, you realise after an embarrassingly long amount of time.

there are two mugs in front of you. you blink.

“oh. oh, yes.”

you hand him the first mug and reach for your own. he thanks you with a floating smile and takes a sip. a low hum. 

“so you do have taste.”

you blink.

he’s reclining on a table, watching you. you and your impeccably ironed shirt, cradling your mug like one would something precious. you and the bags under your eyes, so dark they might be embedded in the preciously thin skin below your eyelids.

you snort. 

“just because i have a massive sweet tooth doesn’t mean i’d put sugar in coffee. i’m french, not a complete barbarian.”

you earn a quiet chuckle. something like satisfaction purrs inside of you - you made him laugh, the sound low and rich and deep.

“one might argue that you are, in the literal sense of the term, a barbarian.”

“one might argue that the etymological definition of a barbarian doesn’t apply to me, as i speak your language.”

you watch him, from over the steaming rim of your mug. something like… elation flashes in his eyes. the thrill of debate, maybe.

“do you, now?”

you tilt your head to the side, eyes narrowing by a fraction as you assess him. the perfect curl of his lips in that damning razor sharp half-smile. the relaxed slope of his shoulders. the soft stillness of his long, gloved fingers on the table. the glint in his green-grey eyes, daring you to take the bait.

you do, crossing your legs at the ankles, leaning back against the window.

“at first glance, yes.” you point an accusatory finger towards him. “but you, monsieur bouchard, don’t like sticking to first glances and faux-semblants, you’re sharper than that.”

a low hum. there’s something sharp in his smile. his gaze feels like it’s cutting you open. you hold your ground, unblinking, watching him and his annoyingly handsome face. 

“you’re wearing a mask, dear.”

“aren’t we all?”

he shakes his head.

“it’s convenient, isn’t it? not to have to bear the weight of your mother tongue.”

your shoulders tense. there’s that pinprick pressure at the back of your neck, standing poised and sharp against your vertebrae. he’s watching you, needle-gaze pinning you like a butterfly to a wall. 

“it’s a pain. english and french bleed into one another too much and it messes up my syntax.”

“you’re deflecting.”

“wasn’t your question rhetorical?”

silence. it feels like a loss. one beat, two beat, unsteady, hammering wildly like your heart, beneath layers of flesh and fabric, all perfectly controlled thank you very much.

he’s before you before you know it, close, close enough for you to smell his cologne - something sharp and cold with a faint hint of ink. you raise your eyes and meet his gaze. you think there’s a faint glow to it, irises flashing green for the briefest moments. 

“you’re hard to pin down, my dear.”

you can feel the heat of him, creeping closer and closer as he leans down ever so slightly, one gloved finger curling under your chin, tilting your head up, up, up until the angle makes you wince.

“coming from you, i’ll take that as a compliment.”

a low hum. the building pressure at your nape has you clenching your teeth. then, finally, he lets go, apparently satisfied with whatever it is he’s found in you.

“thank you for the coffee. it has been most… insightful.”

with that, he leaves, and you stand alone in the break room, coffee mug now cold. even without the unbearable weight of his gaze on you, you feel watched. the only thing remaining in the room with you is the portrait of jonah magnus, peering down at you with storm-grey eyes. somehow, it feels familiar.

you want to scream. you gulp down your coffee and leave an empty mug behind.

[milkytheholy1]

TMNT Masterlist

2003:

Leo:

Third base - Leo x Female Reader

Hey everyone, I currently have two requests left to do but I really want to get some stories that I personally came up with as well. I really want to try writing for different versions of the turts besides 2012 and Rise even if they are my fav versions. Sorry if the character interactions are a bit iffy in this one, I haven't seen much of the 2003 series I'm only up to season 2.

Donnie:

Drawn to you - Donnie x GN Reader

No, the tech-savvy turtle was drawn to you by your persistence, by the way you poured yourself into your work, how you understood the need to complete something no matter how long it took.

Mikey:

Turtle titan to the rescue! - Mikey x Female Reader

Okay so far warning, I haven’t really watched past season 3 of the 2003 series, I have been working my way through it though. So some characters might not sound or act like how they should from the show and I might end up getting some stuff wrong, so sorry in advance. This story will flip between 1st and 3rd person narrative.

2012:

All Turtles:

Turtle Power part 1

What if you included even more turtles in the hit tmnt movie, TMNT:Turtles Forever? This isn't an X Reader fic and takes places in the 2012 universe...well, for the start at least.

Leo:

Dear diary - Leo x GN Reader

Leo practicing how to ask them out with many many scripts for acting in front of a mirror:") or maybe they find out about his diary! You can pick

A confident strut - Leo x GN Reader

Went with the first one since it's been some time since I wrote for my 2012 boy! This is going to be set before the whole sister reveal, but I wanna make it clear that I do not ship Karai and Leo together cause that shit is gross. Enjoy!

I heard you - Leo x Female Reader

The reader,who has a crush on Leo, waits by Leo's side for him to wake up in the farm house and she is so relieved when he wakes up after months

Not traditional - Leo x Male Reader

The reader is giving Leo a whole sexuality crisis so Leo asks April if it's weird for a guy to like another guy and April reassures him that it's perfectly normal, and later that week Leo accidentally slips that he likes (y/n) and in a flash the have this little moment of understanding that they both like each other and want to be more than friends.

Goodbye Leonardo part 1 - Leo x Female Reader

I know what you're thinking, two stories in one night? This is somewhat based on the season four episode: Broken Foot. Also sorry it's so long but I had to fill in some blanks to get to the build-up of the story and sorry for the rushed ending it's currently past midnight where I'm from and I'm very tired.

Goodbye Leonardo part 2 - Leo x Female Reader

Okay, okay, you'll get your stinking part 2. This is probably one of the most requested fics I've ever done, the original intention was to leave it as a standalone fic. But, because you all seem eager for more I eventually broke and decided to do it. This is set a few years after the original and doesn't follow the episode 'Broken Foot' like the original oneshot. In my opinion, it's also waaay more angsty and it might actually be sadder than the first one. So I hope the wait was worth it, enjoy!

Donnie:

Wrong about me - Donnie x Female Reader

Donnie gets cheated on by April and (y/n) finds out and hurts April's feelings then comforts Donnie?

Hot - Donnie x Female Reader

Donnie was talking about some science stuff the last 20 minutes, but reader can't fully pay attention to what he's saying because they're just thinking about his voice, his gestures and everything. They think "don't you realize how hot you are?", but Donnie stops talking and reader realizes they just said that out loud and now they want to die.

Happy birthday - Donnie x GN Reader

it’s the reader’s birthday and the turtles just find out and they have to quickly set up a surprise birthday for the reader.

Well done science boy - Donnie x GN Reader

Had this idea in my head for a few days so thought I'd post it, I wanted to make it a shorter story than what I normally do but I got too lost in it and it ended up being just as long, oops. Hope you enjoy!

Hello nurse - Donnie x Female Reader

Literally did this so I could pull off one reference, that's all. Enjoy!

Raph:

Hots for you - Raph x Female Reader

Raph finds out that his girlfriend is bisexual?

Heard you from a mile away - Raph x GN Reader

not going to lie I had to search up what it meant, decided to do Raph since i've never written for him before in the 2012 version. So if this comes across as out of character, apologies. Anyway, enjoy!

2014/2016: Leo:

Red lips - Leo x Female Reader

“Don’t give me that face, it’s so cute I might not be able to hold back.”

Donnie:

Five years - Donnie x Female Reader

Donnie creates a portal that transports them to 2021.

Five years alt ending - Donnie x Female Reader

It’s weird how many people have asked me for them to have kids, but I guess if that’s what you guys want to see then here is a short version 2, if you will, of five years. Be sure to read the original or it won’t really make much sense, this is just the ending. Enjoy!

Life is a dream part 1 - Donnie x GN Reader

You felt the small vibrations of your phone in your pocket, pulling it out you saw Donnie was once again calling you crap, "H-hey Donnie, I promise I'm on Allen Street. I'm like less than a minute away." you panted into the device. You could hear his sigh through the speaker, "Don't worry about it, I'm just wasting valuable pop tart time." he joked, your laughter was his reward.

Part 2 - Donnie x GN Reader

Speaking of the brothers, Mikey was sat playing some video games while leaning over to slurp his coke, you could hear panting and the sounds of something being destroyed coming from the dojo Raph. Finally taking lighter steps into the lair, you could smell a sweet fragrance waft through the air Leo.

Part 3 - Donnie x GN Reader

"Do you remember that video where the cat plays chopsticks with the chopsticks?" Mikey asked, pushing aside Donnie and getting closer to your face. You flinched at his close proximity, your mind still trying to adjust to your bright surroundings. "Can we focus here?" Leo argued, pulling Mikey away from you, he securely wrapped his arm around his younger brother in case he felt the need to jump at you again.

Final part - Donnie x GN Reader

"What?" he asked, "Can I ask you something?" You pondered why you were willing to tell Raph some of your deep, dark thoughts and not someone like Donatello "It's a free country," he quipped going back to his knitting. "Right," you said, glancing down to avoid making eye contact "It's just that...do you think- feel like something is off?"

Mikey:

Parading in style - Mikey x Male Reader

So I don’t know much about pride parades in NYC but I can only imagine they’re triple the ones from where I’m from, I’m also not going to give you a description of Mikey’s human form as that can be up to you. I’ve learned from experience that everyone has a different view of these characters and it’s unfair to the reader to force them to take my view of what he could look like, so yeah he looks like whatever you want him to. Hope you enjoy!

Raph:

A cold night in new  - Raph x Female Reader

Reader's apartment building's heat went out during a really chilly spring day, so when raph comes over he's all like "why tf does she have the thermostat on 5 degrees", but then he finds her cuddled up with tons of blankets on the couch, watching tv. after turning down the volume, reader explains the situation with the heat while shivering and clutching the blankets. raph has a brilliant plan for this.

Begging - Raph x Female Reader

Bayverse Raph and his S.O get into a huge fight and he hurts her feelings and Raph found her on the rooftop crying and he asks for forgiveness

Seeing you - Raph x Female Reader

The reader feels invisible and lonely, so she confides in Raph and telling him how her current boyfriend is using and abusing her. Then later on Raph confesses his feelings for the reader but her abusive boyfriend catches the reader and raph together.

I promise - Raph x Female Reader

The reader has scars from her mother and she shows Raph while crying about them and Raph listens and comforts her.tumblr

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

No Time This Time 9

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon and other elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You prize order and practicality but your past, and newest client, throw your life into chaos. (older [~50s] reader)

Character: Tony Stark

Notes: Alright. Tony is growing on me but only because he’s a shit stirrer.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like Tony loves his own voice. Take care. 💖

"Please clear the week. Reschedule my meetings," you toss a pair of unworn sandals into your suitcase, your phone on the bed next to it.

"Yes, ma'am," Halton answers from the speaker.

"I did a quick sweep, there shouldn't be anything urgent. As it were, we will not be accepting any new clients until the end of the month."

He acquiesces again as you open a drawer and sift through, searching for a swimsuit. You can barely recall the last time you needed one.

"You can file it as paid vacation," you inform him.

"Thank you," he says, the smile obvious in his tone.

"Well, off you go. I don't want to hear from you again unless it's an emergency," you find a black bikini with the tags still on.

"Got it."

"Great, have a good day," you drop the suit in the bag and tap the screen, ending the call.

Almost as soon as the line is dead, another incoming call pops up. Your morning has been effectively avoiding the series of attempts from both Samia and your mother. You've set your voicemail and your automatic replies, you are out of office and soon to be out of the country.

It's as spontaneous as you've ever been. You're a planner. You don't just hop on the next plane out but that's exactly what you're doing. 

Your father was the same way. When he was practicing, he never took a vacation. And what did that get him? A heart attack. Several, actually. There will never be a better time to get away or a better reason.

No, you won't give Stark that much credit. It's not just him, it's you. You're old enough, you need to start doing things just for you.

Another call. Your mother has never been known as subtle. Or to take a hint. Sometimes even when you spell it out, she refuses to understand.

So be it. You need a moment to breathe before you relent. You need a second wind before you face the task that is your family and your past. More so, you need to be far from New York.

👜

You cannot claim to be unfamiliar with decadence. It is a privilege you treasure but never one you place as requisite. You can still admire luxury and you would define the resort as nothing less than.

Your room has a broad balcony that overlooks the Italian coast, the sun beats down on the sparkling sea, and illuminates the space, shadowing intricate patterns carved in wood. The decor speaks of an old world drawn into the present. Refined and elegant.

You wear a caftan down to the shore and claim your reserved seat among the row of vacationers. You strip off the sheer layer and rub in suncreen before reclining beneath the shade of a broad umbrella. You open your book and dive into the plot, forgetting the hot sands and the stolid air.

You're still not used to it. It's as if you're on a whole new planet. The first day saw you fighting not to check your phone or delve into your work email. You fought the urge to cling to routine and won. Your determination has ever been a talent.

After twelve, you have your first cocktail. A simple gin drink with lime. You let it seep in and ease you back into your fictional escape. An attendant brings you a fruit cocktail and some pastries not long after.

It's paradise and you value it dearly. You hadn't realised how sorely you need this. 

As you pack up, balmy and slightly sleepy from the sun, a speck flits across the sky. You look up but cannot place the phenomenon before it disappears. Your imagination must've been sparked by the mixture of heat and alcohol.

You return to your room and enjoy a dinner of handmade gnocchi and wine sauce. The more you indulge, the harder you know it will be to go back to the city. Your peace is underlined by a strand of wistfulness.

Several days trickle by in the same vein of lethargy. You have no appointments, no calls, no obligations besides the beach, a cocktail, and a book. It’s as if you are an entirely different person, as if you’ve taken on someone else’s life entirely. The stuffy overworked lawyer is still trapped in New York with her leeching family and arrogant clients.

A few too many mojitos have you sprawled on the sofa. The open balcony lets in the warm dusk breeze and lulls you deeper into drowsiness. The weight of the alcohol shrouds your body, sweeping you up in a swirling slumber that makes you dizzy.

The soft whisk of metal doors shut and you look over as a button clicks beneath the push of a finger. You follow the arm, the dark fabric of a tailored jacket, to the familiar face. You sneer and take a step back, the elevator tipping with your movement. You stumble and fall against the wall.

He laughs. A menacing laugh that echoes all around you and adds to the disorienting skew of your subconscious. You brace the metal rail against the wall and suddenly, you’re falling back, plummeting through open air.

Bright flashes of white appear above you as you flail helplessly. The laughter is muffled but deep. You’re scooped up in a hard metal embrace, the red and gold mask taunting you as you’re carried through the open sky.

The metal retracts and reveals your saviour. Not who you expect. It isn’t Tony but Carlisle, mocking you with that slanted grin you once thought was charming. He winks and lets you go, letting you fall like a stone through water.

You spin and face the looming ground, hurtling faster and faster towards you. You let out a shrill scream and jolt awake as it cuts through to reality. You’re out of breath as you sit up, nearly rolling off the couch as the sharp noise continues. It isn’t you, but your phone, shrieking at you.

You stagger to get to your feet. You shiver, still in only your bikini, and the phone goes silent. You search around the dim room, the sounds of the ocean crashing through the open doors.

Your cell lights up again and you snatch it from the wooden tabletop. You drag your finger across the screen, only vaguely reading the name on the display; Samia. You answer with a croak, holding back a hiccup.

“About time!” She sounds like your mother with her abrupt greeting, “I’ve been calling you all day. Don’t you understand it’s a fucking emergency?”

“Samia,” you say dully, bracing your forehead, “shhhhh,” you amble around and sit on the sofa, “why are you yelling?”

“Are you drunk?” She accuses.

“I’m on vacation–”

“Yes, we know, but not all of us just run away from our problems–”

You snort. Loud. You devolve into sardonic laughter and click your tongue loudly.

“Don’t lecture me on running away from responsibility, Sam, don’t,” you warn, “tell me what it is. Let’s cut out the rest.”

She gives a dramatic heave, “mom’s in the hospital.”

“What?” You sit forward.

“She fell. This morning. I… I was looking at venues, I couldn’t be there.”

“Fuck!” You exclaim without filter, “Samia… have you seen her?”

“Mmm, I really wanted to but Carlisle–”

“Oh,” you snarl, “Carlisle!” You growl as you ball your hand to a tight fist, “I’ll get a flight.”

“I’m going in the morning, I prom–”

You hang up and throw your phone onto the narrow table before you. You hang your head, cradling it as you fear it might split in two. Were you really stupid enough to think you could ever catch a break?

👜

The redeye has you back in the city by noon. You fall into the rush of the city naturally, hailing a cab and collecting yourself in the back seat. You tip the driver as he idles outside the hospital and you hop out, rolling suitcase in tow as you march through the front doors.

It takes another hour to be admitted to your mother’s room. You don’t expect a warm welcome. You’re not entirely sure what to expect as you enter her private room. The nurse informs you before she lets you in that your mother is awake. That must be good.

The entire space is decorated in bouquets of flowers. You didn’t know your mother would have that many wellwishers. You leave your bag by the door as you give a long consideration to the red roses nearest you.

“Finally, you decide to show up,” she yaps at you.

“Flights from Italy are not quick,” you reproach, “I came as quickly as I could.”

“You wouldn’t pick up the phone.”

You repress your frustration, “I left it in my room. I’m sorry, mother.”

“Selfish, as always.”

You swallow tightly. Selfish. You cut short your first vacation since your honeymoon to come make sure she was alright. Even after calling and being assured by the staff that it was luckily only a fall. She hadn’t even broken her hip.

“Lovely flowers,” you remark as you walk along the row of vases.

“Oh, isn’t it so pretty? Mr. Stark is so generous–”

“Stark?” You spin on your heel, “what do you mean?”

“Well, of course, he heard that my daughters were both absent and he had to be here. Samia is so busy so she called him just to be sure that I wasn’t alone.”

“She called him. Why would she do that?”

“Oh, he’s been most helpful with the wedding. He’s let her have his Tower for her party and he’s been helping with all sorts of details. He referred her to a wonderful designer for her dress, too. Ah, and he’s invited Carlisle to some tournament? I think, golf or the like–”

“That makes no sense,” you sniff, “why is Tony Stark… doing all that?”

“Perhaps he sees a lonely old woman who’s been neglected by her only children,” she bemoans.

You know you won’t get the answer from her. She’s drunk the fresh-ade. She is entirely swindled by the overpaid crook.

“So, where’s Samia, then? She told me she was coming this morning.”

“She’s on her way, I’m sure. The city, traffic.”

You could scream. You could break her hip yourself. She would excuse Samia for not making it across the city but would remand you for not magically teleporting from across the globe.

“Well, I’m not waiting on her. I think we have something to discuss.”

“Is it lunch? I am rather hungry and this hospital food, it does not agree with me,” she touches her stomach, “Mr. Stark was kind enough to come for dinner last night but I hate to trouble him further.”

“That can wait. Mother, we are hiring you a caregiver.”

“A caregiver? I am not helpless.”

“That isn’t what I’m saying. But it would bring peace of mind if you had someone around when me and Samia are not. It wouldn’t be forever but given your fall, you will need supervision.”

“Oh, so you can take time to go traipsing across the world but you can’t take any for me?”

You cross your arms and sigh. You stare at her blankly.

“It’s not an argument, it’s not a negotiation. It is how it will be. You are getting a nurse, at least until the physiotherapist clears you. That’s that.”

She scoffs, “ugh, you always did have the makings of a lawyer, you know that?”

“Thank you,” you retort harshly, “that’s the kindest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Oh, lord, what is up your behind? You’ve always been trite but you’ve never like this.”

“Mother, realise that you are not the only one with hardships, yes? I have to make sure you are well, which is what I am doing. I have attend the wedding of the husband who cheated on me, and I have to deal with the that is—” You stop yourself before you can say his name, “I have work. I have responsibilities and I hold to them. And it will never be enough.”

You wave her off and go back to the door, “I will order you lunch, we will eat it together, and we will hope that Samia for once comes through and shows up.”

You leave the room before you can combust. You stand in the hall, searching through your phone for somewhere nearby, or somewhere to order from. You fight to keep from shaking as you read the screen; get yourself together.

👜

Your vacation is a quickly fading memory as you fall back into the city life. You make several calls around in search of an appropriate homecare worker for your mother. Amid that, you return to office and work on your own to catch up. Halton is away but you’ll let him enjoy the last of his days off.

Between all that, you are faced with the daunting sight of an unexpected delivery. The clear glass box with the bouquet of pure white roses. It’s all very elaborate and exhausting. You flick back the silver clasp and lift the lid. Inside is a crystal rose on a golden stem, a date etched into the metal.

It’s an invite to your sister’s wedding and you are unsurprised by the tackiness of the overdone gesture. Beneath the ornament you would rather smash to bits, is a triarch that folds out to reveal the details and how to RSVP. You roll your eyes and blow out a breath.

A vineyard. Suiting. You replace the pieces in the box and leave the bouquet where it is. You type in the venue to Google. You nearly choke. Brick and Blossom Vino recently acquired by Stark Industries. How convenient.

It’s no coincidence. Stark has no business in wine or vineyard or event planning. It is not an advantageous deal, it is a direct statement. He may not be there in your face but he is haunting you nonetheless. Taunting you.

Let him waste his efforts. You will not be affected.

A knock comes at your office door. Another delivery. You sign and accepted the second bouquet. This one small and admittedly aesthetically pleasing. The small wooden box holds a cluster of pink tulips and baby’s breath. There’s a ribbon around it, attached to a simple card. It doesn’t really suggest Stark handiwork.

You take the envelope and unfold it. You smile as you see only the embossed bumps of braille within. Oh.

You take the card to your desk and grab your phone. You pull up Matt’s number and put him on speaker as you wait for an answer.

“Hey,” his voice comes amidst the honking of traffic and shuffle of the street.

“So, uh, how exactly am I supposed to read this card?”

“Ha, well, I could show you,” he offers, “if you’re free for dinner.”

“Hmm, well, I suppose I could clear my schedule,” you hum.

“Wow, really?”

“Sure,” you chew your lip and catch the unusual pinch, unclenching your teeth and clearing your throat, “I could use a drink.”

“Hopefully, this one doesn’t end up in some jerk’s face,” he chortles, “I’ll pick you up.”

[o0o0thorn0o0o]

Warm-up sketch, warm-up sketch.

Been unproductive as of late—what’s new? (Like, I’d be productive non-art wise and be like “that’s enough productivity for today” or “I was productive yesterday/the other day, so I’m going to do nothing today, as a treat 😌”. That, or I’d get super motivated at night but couldn’t do anything about it ‘cause I’d have to get up somewhat early the next day 🫠)

That said, the date is kicking me rn, so I’ll try to get something else out either today or tomorrow, hopefully.

Since I haven’t been drawing too much this past month, felt like I needed to do a warm-up to not hate the process and take forever on my next piece, and I felt like doing one of a character I haven’t drawn in a while to, idk, refresh my brain or something. I’ve gotten a couple notes somewhat recently reminding me of my only other Onodera post, so her being in the back of my mind made her a perfect candidate.

I love her <3

[beepbeeplettuce613]

More drawings! I’ve been getting into pixel art and practising for the past few months and I’m very proud of how they all turn out :3

First, Aubrey! Nothing much to say here, just a pixel version of her portrait during battles lolol. I’m proud of it though! (I used pinks in her hair for the highlights on purpose to reference the real Aubrey :3)

Next, a new oc of mine, mr static! He’s supposed to be a tv head of the tv you see in static void in blackspace (from Omori.) I was bored and wanted to make a silly tv head design hehe (Also because I was low-key fixating on mr puzzles from smg4 at the time XD). The second photo is a stupid meme I thought would be funny with mr static and another oc of mine, the doctor!

Thirdly, some more goopboy doodles! I enjoy drawing this creepy silly creature a lot as you can tell XD though I haven’t drawn him in a bit, so I’ll have to do that XD (He eats frozen food with the bag as one does)

Now for more sv au doodles! Even after a year I still LOVE the sv au! Especially sv spacebunny hehe :3 they have my heart! (Oh btw Avery is just my oc they’re not canon in the au… sniffle… I wanna yap to other sv au fans about Avery and Spaceboy so badly it’s crazy GRGRBRHRHG). Anyways, Avery will only look that scared if they see a crab or lobster. They’re scared to death of those things. The second one is just Avery flustering Spaceboy as they usually do! :D (Please omori fans go look at the sv au. I know, it hasn’t updated in months but I swear it’s fantastic 😭 @omori-sv-au this is the blog! :D)

And that’s all for now! I’m in a bit of an art block right now sadly, these are all from weeks/months ago XD but I’ll be posting new doodles when I draw enough!

[lotuslovers]

‘Running from love’ // t.r part 4

Pairing: female!potter(james’ sister) x Tom Riddle

wc: 1.6 k

Summary: In the past, the reader hadn't hope to fall in love with him, their goal was to prevent the rise of the Dark Lord but nothing seemed to go as planned when they are sent back into the future. In the months following the return, Tom Riddle continues to haunt their nightmares and their new reality as he closes in on them. How can an old love cause so much harm? 

Trigger warnings: none

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | tbc

How does one set up a meeting with the Dark Lord? I suppose you can’t just owl his assistant for available time slots. She had no clue about his whereabouts so she decided it was time to owl one of their closest friends, Abraxas Malfoy. After a long drawn out night, she attempted to compose a letter by rewriting it time and time again until she knew it was sculpted to perfection. She sent the letter off in a black envelope to the owl post office to be set out. The letter read:

Dear Abraxas,

It comes in time where I reach back out to you, to my dismay it is under these circumstances. I understand it has been many years, decades since you have last heard from me but hopefully you haven't forgotten me. My letter regards my Tom, the attached letter is to reach him, I haven’t a clue where he is so if you could pass it to him I would be thankful. My friend, hopefully you are well, I am doing quite fine, I can’t address what happened to me or why I disappeared, that is for another letter. How are things? Must be a lot of things we can address in the future, perhaps over a cup of tea, you always told me those were for serious talks. Until then and when I am ready, this will be all until I send a letter back. You mustn’t send a letter in response or attempt to charm one my may, I prefer my location a secret. So be kind enough to not try for all attempts will fail. Best regards, Malfoy.

Sincerely,

Y.O’C

P.s please make sure Tom personally gets it and only he reads it. 

Tom’s letter read:

Dear Tom,

My dearest, I never intended to leave all those years ago. I intended to stay with you, to love you to my best capability, to perhaps have you round’ my folks home, meet my family, get married, have kids, and grow old together. Our time together was cut short, for reasons I must’n disclose in a letter but in person. I will explain it all if you will let me. I know what you have done yet I still love you as much as the last day I had in your presence, I ask that you give me a chance to explain. You don’t have to but I wish to at least explain, in case I get my Tom back to me or atleast get closure for the both of us. If you are willing to meet me, I ask you don’t be angry with me and you come alone as I will. The location hasn’t been chosen yet, as I haven’t thought of a place but I will send an owl to Abraxas to give to you as I don’t know your location, I trust you will abide by my wishes and wait for my owl. Meet me at 12 pm on June 16, location will be owled at a later date. I love you Tom, please don’t ever forget it. 

Sincerely yours,

Y.O’C

∞

Sending the letter was half the trouble, the real issue was following through with the meeting. I hoped it would only be me and him but even just the two of us alone had uneased myself. Besides Regulus, no one knew I had gone to meet him and even then he had no idea the date or location of where it was agreed.

On the brisk morning, I apparated to a small secluded area in the English countryside. Walking along the cobblestone steps, slowing up to the dark mahogany doors of the long gone manor I pulled the cloak closer over my head. The grand house succumbed to the vines that began to grow up the sides of the once incredulous architecture. The family home of the Riddles had long gone, becoming an estate, only being in good enough condition to still stand. When preventing Tom from killing his father, his dad started a new family that continued the line. Here I was shivering with the knowledge he would be inside waiting for me, possibly awaiting to kill me but he hadn’t yet so I continued. Pushing the door open, a small squeak of the rusty hinges let out through the air before returning to silence as I closed it behind me. The layout of the house reminded me of the Malfoy Manor, tall doors lining the walls ushering out to separate wings or presumed ballrooms and the giant sturdy staircase lined with oil portraits. I wondered how different he would have turned out if Tom Riddle SR. accepted to raise him, instead of being stuck with the croon Mrs. Cole. 

The farthest door on the left was ajar, the faint light of a fire along with candles were the only indications of another person being here with me. Making sure to pull my hood over my eyes whilst tucking my wand in my pocket I sturdied myself before opting to continue down the hall. Silence hung through the air besides the content click of my boots on the wooden floor, passing a few door frames I made it to the open one. Peering into the room, it appeared to be a study lined with bookshelves filled to the brim with a variety of books. In the center of the room was a lit fireplace in front of a set of couches. The center couch was a dark figure of a man, she knew it was him from the moment she set eyes on his side profile. 

The posture was a give away, along with the book he held in his palms, his diary. His hair was in a tight set of dark brown curls, his skin gleamed with warmth allowing it to dance along his face, his posture was perfect but loose, in his hand opposite to his diary was a cup of firewhiskey, his face was hardly a day older then when you last saw him. Your presence was known but he didn’t glance your way, hiding behind your cloak and the shadows just basking in the way his presence calmed you. Finally closing his book before setting his cup down he spoke “i supposed you would use her as a rouise eventually Albus, such a pity you had to be the first to die in this disgraced house” he twirled his hand before his wand appeared out of thin air.

Glancing up at the doorway, his eyes burned with full fury as he assumed Dumbledore was here. But fearing the worse you spoke softly “Tommy” he instantly froze. 

 “y/n?” his voice shook as you nodded behind shadows of the low pulled hood. “Come on, I know this is a  trick, Dumbledore give up and show yourself” he pointed his wand at you, shaking his anger as he stood up abruptly. Seeing him in person was surreal, you were sure tears were streaming down your face, still hiding in the shadows. “It's me Tom” you spoke, approaching him, faced down as your voice broke. “It can’t be” he said, almost trying to convince himself but in an instant he surged toward you, pinning you to the wall. 

He dug his wand up your jugular where it lay just on top of your pulse point, just as he had so many times in those awful nightmares. His rough palms grabbed your chin, finally lifting it to meet his eager gaze. Tilting it up so far that your hood sunk down, revealing her face to his eager eyes. Standing inches away from his face as he let the shock set it. His breath hitches in his throat, his shoulders tensed before he dropped his wand and pulling you into a tight hug. Nuzzling up into your hair, he caressed your cheek and drank in your appearance as if it was the last thing he got to see. “It's been years, why have you just found me my love” he spoke finally letting his own sobs echo through the air. “why don't you look a day older than when I last saw you?” he mumbled into her hair as he pulled you closer down to his shoulder. You finally broke, “Oh Tom, I missed you so much. I can explain everything I promise just let me hug you”. The experience was surreal, he picked you up to bring you both to the couch. Lying cuddled up, his deep breaths tethered you to reality. He had aged in the past decades, the young boy now grew into an older man. The dark brown hair of his was now parted in the middle with loose curls now framing an older more angular face. His eyes sparkled in a new sheen, the past version you knew was so far away. 

“Can you explain now?” he asked, lifting a hand to rub the hot tears off your cheeks. 

“I will” she said, but now nothing was certain. He had wanted to kill her, but now he hadn’t. He had only wished to when he thought she was Albus, only then was she truly in danger. Now, his aged self comforted the girl in such a scenario no one would have expected. How could she admit the truth, how she existed then only to prevent his own casualties? Could anyone reason to the implication that she loved him to save him, how could he react?

She wanted to greedily enjoy the silence between the both, pretending they had fallen asleep on the Slytherin homeroom’s couch again when they were young. But they weren’t kids anyone, she had lived this year of her life two times already and for Riddle he soaked up the decades away from her, building his power. They had both changed, now they only held ideas of one another but they wanted so badly to fall back in time to before the night their whole worlds paused. 

[brainrotheartrot]

hi hi yes hello,, first off i just wanna say i LOVE your art.

second, this is kinda weird but i just joined the arcane fandom not too long ago, & it was literally only because i saw vijinx art. like all of my mutuals are into arcane & i never bothered to get into it UNTIL i saw fanart of vijinx a few months ago. something abt it just intrigued me. i honestly never cared for caitvi.

however i wouldn’t consider myself a pro shipper, in fact i’d deny that. this is the first time i’ve enjoyed anything like this & i have no idea why. however i do like hardcore dynamics, for example, ellie/abby from tlou. but of course something like vi/jinx is more “extreme”. well in my opinion.

i’m coming to you because i’ve been stalking a lot of vijinx shippers and i really admire their content, especially yours. it’s such a guilty pleasure of mine. but i’m too scared to interact with anyone, even on an alt. so i just decided to stay anonymous.

i was just wondering if you ever felt guilty the first time you started shipping them? i’d honestly envy you if you haven’t. and how & why did you start shipping them? feel free to rant abt them for as long as you’d like.

i’ve been hearing stuff abt how they weren’t always sisters, like in the early league days. i wish it just stayed that way because it bothers me to not be able to talk abt my favorite ships publicly without being ridiculed for it. but a fucked up part of me is glad that they became sisters. holds more weight, you know. i understand the appeal entirely.

i’ve also even been secretly drawing them but i definitely do not have the balls to post them anywhere😭

ANYWAY, i’m yapping, but just let me know anything about your experience with them, how you view them n stuff. and if you have any advice to give me or any other information pls feel free. thank u so much

ps. i’m totally reading ur fic in a bit

Aww, hey there anon! Thanks for reaching out, always nice to meet another ViJinx fan :) I'm glad you enjoy my art, and I hope you'll like my fic as well! (Also, if you'd like to send me your art privately, I totally promise not to show anybody. <3)

I got a little rambly in my answer there, so I'll put it under the cut.

Honestly, I only call myself a 'proshipper' because this is what modern fandom lingo dictates. I don't really gel with a lot of elements of 'proshipdom', if you will -- there seems to be some broad agreement that if you like Some messed up aspects in your fiction, you must like All of them. And I really don't! I ship ViJinx because I love their specific dynamic, not just because I'm hot for every taboo topic by default. I probably would've shipped them just as much if the show had just made them close childhood friends, for example. But I also have no issue with fictional incest ships, I think they can be fun and juicy.

Like you, I've always been really drawn to problematic and intense lesbian relationships. I like CaitVi plenty, and I think they're going to get a lot messier in S2, which I'm excited for. But ViJinx is just an insanely compelling dynamic. I love the toxic codependent yuri shit. I love the tenderness and the violence, their shared past that now feels completely inaccessible to them both, Jinx's obsessiveness, Vi refusing to give up the image of Powder she's clung on to for years... man, this shit just rocks, okay. I'm not gonna pretend that it doesn't.

I've never felt any guilt about shipping ViJinx, tbh. I'm a fandom oldbie, by which I mean I was around before the morality police took over, and everyone understood we were just here to mash Barbies and have a good time. I've shipped several incest pairings before this, and I've always had a blast doing it. And so help me god, I don't intend to stop now, even if my Twitter blocklist is twenty miles long. I just immediately cut out anyone who tries to start shit, and chill with my fellow weirdos. It's a pretty small circle, but it's a nice time!

If you do decide to make an alt at some point, I recommend doing so on Twitter, as I've been able to find more active ViJinx shippers there. I could rec you some nice people to follow. :) Thanks for reaching out!

[iguana-eyanna]

From The Bird's Eye View Chapter 3

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

Summary: Although you achieved your dream of being a designer, you never considered meeting a man who's also a father.

Tim (13): First Meeting

“Do you mind if we record this session?”

“No.”

“Alright. Start me off on how your week started.” 

There was a pause and a deep breath was drawn by you.

“It was Sunday, I woke up alone… again. I made breakfast with Alfred. We made this French recipe that he’s been dying to make. It was really good. I made a few business calls in the afternoon. I still haven’t stepped in at work.” You said, fiddling with a loose strand on your sweater.

“How long have you not been at work?” 

“Two months and four days. I um, I think I want to go back. I think it will help me to just get out of the house.”

“That’s good. Has Bruce been at work?”

You pause again.

“Bruce went to work three days after the funeral.”

Dinah doesn’t reply yet. Although she was the Justice League’s grief counselor, she was your friend first. 

“Want to stop the session?”

You could only nod, already beginning to cry. 

Dinah stopped the recording and got out of her seat to sit next to you where you already broke down. 

It’s almost been three months since Jason died. You remembered the call you got when Bruce and Jason traveled out of state to find his birth mother. 

Bruce couldn’t even finish his sentence. 

“I left to give them a moment. I didn’t realize it was a trap. I didn’t make it in time and Jason… he’s- he’s…” You dropped the phone on the ground, collapsing as your sight began to blur. You released a blood-curdling scream when Alfred came in, not knowing the news that would destroy him too. 

The funeral was a closed casket. The only person that saw Jason was Bruce, and he hasn’t shared anything about that day. The ceremony was small, as it was just you, Bruce, Alfred, and Dick. You extended the invitation to Jason’s best friend Roy, but he couldn’t come. He was taking his death hard and had to take a break from being Oliver’s partner during patrols.

Since then, you and Bruce haven’t shared a word with each other. It felt like you were just two strangers living under the same roof. The manor felt bigger than usual, especially after Dick had to leave for San Francisco. Being at home realized how much time he didn’t spend with his brother. 

You wished you had the privilege to just leave this house because it hasn’t felt like a home in a while. 

Now, you’ve been trying to just move on from this grief. But nothing would have replaced this gaping hole in your heart. 

“Any word on Roy?” You ask, looking at Dinah. 

She shook her head. 

“Oliver and Roy were fighting when he caught him using again. We’ve been trying to find him but he doesn’t want to be found.”

You remember when you met Roy for the first time. 

Oliver ran into him in the Glades and saw the mischievous kid needed some guidance. On the days you visited the kids in San Francisco, Roy was one of the first kids that opened up to you. Your past was similar to Roy’s where one parent left and the other was an addict. Dinah and Oliver have been tirelessly searching for Roy for weeks now, and you were hoping that they’d find him soon.

You didn’t want them to face the same fate you did.

You made your way back home, pulling in the garage. You went upstairs to the living room, taking a deep breath as you sat on the couch.

“How was the session?” A voice said out loud.

You turned around and saw Alfred.

“It was the usual. Talked at least five minutes before sobbing.” 

Alfred chuckles.

“I’ve been scrubbing this house from ceiling to basement, twice.”

You laugh as Alfred joined you on the couch. You two really relied on each other these past few days. The only person that was hard to reach out was Bruce. 

Alfred has been going downstairs at the cave a lot, trying to bandage the many cuts and bruises Bruce received on patrols. Alfred was concerned, Bruce was never harmed this badly. It was almost like he wanted to get hurt. On the rare occasions you see Bruce, he looks more tired and pale. You try to go up to him, but couldn’t muster a single word.

You weren’t ready as much as he was.

“Say, why don’t we head out for an early dinner? I read in an article of a new club, heard the appetizers are to die for.”

You chuckled at the idea. 

“I’d love to.” 

Alfred grabbed your hand and you two headed out for dinner.

Once you got there, you and Alfred were laughing while you were lightly drinking. 

“Did you know I used to own a club?” Alfred asks, eating one of the side dishes.

“No! Since when?” You ask, drinking your martini.

“After I fought in the war, I tried to become a body guard. Lucky enough, I met Thomas Wayne when he was visiting England. Oh, the trouble we used to get into! Later on the road, I lost my way. Lost good people… lost myself. Thought opening my own establishment and throwing myself in money and women would do the trick. But it just made me feel lonely.”

You stopped drinking as you look at Alfred. 

You always saw him as this cheery man who helped the Wayne men to become good people. But now, you saw a man who couldn’t afford to lose another person.

“H-How did you stop feeling like that?” You asked. 

He gives you a sad smile.

“I never stopped.”

Afterwards, Alfred drove you two back home. You slightly tripped over yourself as you made your way inside the manor. He was making you water in the kitchen until he got a notification on his phone

Something happened down in the cave.

“Oh dear.” He whispers to himself.

“Alfred?” You slightly slurred as you look up to him by the kitchen aisle.

“Master Bruce needs my attention on something. I will be back shortly.” He said before heading to the secret passage.

You sat there for a bit, drinking your water sparingly. After a few minutes, you decided to head down to check how Alfred was. Bruce would always pick on Alfred’s brain when a case was bothering him so you didn’t think something major would happen.

But life likes to prove you wrong. 

“Is everything alright?” You ask as your voice carried to the last of the steps.

You looked up and see you caught Alfred and Bruce (unmasked) in shock as they saw you. 

But that didn’t match your reaction when another person was there in between them.

You blink continuously, as your eyes thought it was Jason. But your senses returned as the boy turned around and saw you with wide eyes.

It wasn’t your son.

“Who is this?” You ask, stepping carefully to all of them. 

The young preteen goes up to you, eager and slightly chipper.

“Hi, I’m Tim Drake. It’s nice to meet you.” He said, offering his hand.

You slowly take his hand and shake it, still not knowing what’s going on. 

Bruce makes your way to you, telling the boy to stay with Alfred.

“You shouldn’t be down here.” Bruce said as you were finally alone.

“I was looking Alfred, I didn’t realize there’d be a kid! Who is that, Bruce?” You ask, your voice raised.

“Apparently, he’s a fan of Batman. He followed me down the cave when I wasn’t aware, said he needed my help searching for his dad.”

“How did he even find you undetected?” You ask, not believing this.

“Again, a fan of my work. Said he’s been studying my patterns and that it was easy to follow me back to my base, especially since I’ve gotten sloppy in the past few weeks.” 

You pause for a moment, minimizing your anger towards Bruce.

“Why is he going to you and not the police?”

“The police has been tracking down his dad, but only to turn him in. Apparently his father was reported to answer for a high ranking criminal. With my help, Tim wants to clear his father’s name.”

You look over to the boy asking a million questions to Alfred as he tried to answer the boy’s curiosity. 

“Does he have a place to stay?” You ask, crossing your arms.

“His mom passed away about a year ago and his dad is his only living relative.” 

You think momentarily and look back at Bruce.

“Let him stay till you find his dad.”

Bruce nods as he makes his way to Tim and discuss what’s going to happen. 

Alfred brought the young boy upstairs while you stayed down as Bruce began to begin a new case.

“You didn’t come to the session.” You simply said, as you stare at the back of his head as he was staring at the monitor. 

“I couldn’t make it, I was making sure that the Wayne internship program was going to run.” He said in his usual monotone voice. 

“I called them. Luscious Fox answered saying they haven’t seen you the past several days. Hell Bruce, I haven’t seen you in weeks! What is it going to take for you to talk to me?” You yelled, your voice echoing on the walls. 

Bruce passed at what he was doing and turned to you with those eyes that were filled with love. Now, it looked like they were full of pain and regrets.

“I need to help him find his dad. After this is done, we can talk.” 

Your eyes brimmed with tears. Bruce loved to hit the pause button when things need to be addressed. 

“Fine, but don’t expect to find me in your bed.” You whispered before you went upstairs. 

Bruce rubbed his stubbled jaw and closed his eyes momentarily, trying to find the peace he has been robbed of for some time.

He went back to his computer, typing in Tim’s father’s name in police records and tapped in bank account numbers under his name. With just a few downloads, Bruce accessed who has been transferring money. There was a transfer made not only a week ago. Bruce moved his tracer to click the route number it was made from. He stopped what he was doing as he recognized the number. He opened up a new window to access the files he found a few years ago and saw that the route number was the same. 

The route number belonged to Harvey Dent, and Tim’s father was working for him.

It’s been a week since Tim has stayed in the manor. Mostly, he’s been by Bruce’s side, giving him any type of information on his dad. Bruce can tell he’s a bright kid and even offered him an internship at work. He was thrilled by the offer and was happy he got to work along side Bruce.

Alfred was starting to feel like his usual self again. He even started to lecture Tim about drinking water after he learned how to use the espresso machine.

The only person that Tim hasn’t talked to was you.

Tim knew he entered your life at a time of mourning, so he wanted to be respectful of your space. 

One day, he was walking around the manor to discover what rooms had in store. He came across a locked room that hasn’t been used. Eager to know what’s inside, he used a few paper clips he found and started picking on the lock.

“Yes!” He said to himself as he heard the door unlock. He turned the knob and stepped inside. Once he turned on the light switch, his attitude changed.

“Oh no.”

He realized he was in Jason’s room.

Tim saw the discarded comics on the foot of the bed, stacking up to a feet tall. There were posters of bands he never heard that covered every inch of the walls. A basket of clothes were piled near the closed closet, never to be worn again.

Tim wanted to leave, but a glint of light annoyed his sight. He walked closer and saw a picture frame that has a picture of Bruce, you, Dick, Alfred, and Jason. It was a family portrait, looking as if it was taken 2 years ago. You all looked so young, so happy, so-

“What are you doing in here?”

Tim was so scared that he jolted his head to the direction of your voice and accidentally dropped the picture, shattering the glass.

There you stood, shellshocked.

“I am so sorry - I didn’t meant to do that! I-I just wanted to see the rooms and I didn’t…”

Tim stuttered, feeling his anxiety building.

You saw the signs and went up to him.

“Tim, honey, I need you to breathe, alright? Follow my lead.” 

You coached him to follow you breathe and copied every move. Once he calmed down, you both took a final deep breath.

“Okay, why don’t we fix this mess and talk elsewhere, okay?”

Tim could only nod as you both knelt down to pickup the broken glass. Once done, you took one final glance at the room and the picture that stood at its original spot on the desk. You close that door a final time, but feeling a strange sense of acceptance,

You turn to face Tim who looked ashamed for what he did. You went to him, giving a warm smile.

“C’mon, Alfred made cookies.”

Soon, you and Tim were watching your favorite film, The Legend of Zorro. Tim was amused by the fighting choreography as well as the writing.

“Wow! I can’t believe I’m just seeing this now!” Tim said, munching on Alfred’s infamous toffee chocolate chip cookies.

“It’s one of my favorite films. We would watch it all the time after the boys would come back from a patrol. Bruce doesn’t like to watch it as it brought some bad memories, but Jason pleaded for him to join movie night. Bruce sat through the whole thing, just to see me and Jason happy.”

Your gaze became distant, envisioning that simple night where you took thees moments for granted. 

“How - how was Jason like?” Tim asks.

You took a deep breath and looked over at him.

“He was a good kid. Naughty, but still a good kid. He was eager to bake with Alfred, just so he could lick off the spoon when they were done. Jason loved to make people laugh. But as he got older, he started build his anger. He got mad at Bruce a lot, said he was still being treated like a child. Then I started to lecture him. The moment he changed his attitude was when he realized his birth mother was still alive. I never seen him so driven, so eager. And when he left to find her-”

You took a pause.

Tim saw your state and decided to console you.

“It would have been nice… meeting him.” Tim thought out loud.

You nod in agreement, smiling.

“He would have liked you, I bet you two would have fought over his comics or mangas.”

“I saw! I never passed that issue he had!” Tim said excitingly.

“If you like, you can have a look at what books are in the room.”

“Really?” He asks unsure.

“Absolutely. Now, let’s take a look at what other movies we can watch. There’s Willow, The Princess Bride-”

“What’s that?” Tim asks.

You look at him with disbelief as you shook your head.

“Oh, we are watching that.”

Later on, Bruce came to the manor. He realized that it was too quiet so he wandered around and found the movie room where it was filled with laughter. He moved the curtain of the entrance and saw you and Tim copying the fight choreography of The Princess Bride.

“My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father, prepare to die.” You quoted, using a broom as a sword.

Tim tried striking you with a curtain pole (where he got it? Bruce doesn’t even want to know) and switched roles.

“No! My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father, prepare to die!”

Bruce began to smile as he heard your laughter. He hasn’t seen you this happy for a long time.

“They’ve been there all evening. You should join them.”

Bruce turns to see Alfred who also missed your youthful spirit. 

“Let them have all the fun.” Bruce simply said as walked to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of whiskey.

“How has your investigation been for the young boy’s father?”

“He’s been hard to find, but I was able to interrogate on of Two Face’s henchman and they admitted they’re planning to pick up a shipment of firearms in 2 weeks. Most likely he will be there.”

Alfred nodded as he was cleaning the counter. But, thought came over his head, making him stop what he was doing.

“Sir, there’s something that has been bothering me for awhile now.”

Bruce looks up from his drink, concerned.

“When you accessed records for Harvey Dent, I saw that they were saved after his accident. I remembered because you took it to heart that day when you weren’t able to protect him. And not even a week later, you asked me to reserve a fitting for Master Grayson for his suit.”

“Alfred…”

“Is Harvey Dent her father?” Alfred asks with his voice demanding a straight answer.

There was a pause as Bruce looked down.

“Yes, he’s her biological father.”

Alfred takes off his glasses in disbelief.

“You’ve been investigating her this entire time?” Alfred asks with disbelief.

Bruce felt uncomfortable of the confrontation, ashamed.

“At the first time, yes. I thought she would have an idea of where Dent disappeared after the accident. But she could never talk about or anything about how she grew up. I assumed she just never met him and I stopped the case there.”

Alfred felt his blood boil.

“But you lied to her, Master Bruce. She brought up not only one, but two of your sons! She doesn’t question your decisions for the city or for this family because se trusts you. And now she deeply cares for that boy in the other room that you have brought into this house! You have not carried your responsibilities as a CEO, a caretaker, you haven’t even proposed to her after all of these years and she’s still here, patiently waiting. She loves you, Bruce. Do you love her?”

There was a pause that filled in the air. Bruce was going to respond until you came in with an empty plate.

You looked at the men in the kitchen, unaware of the conflict that arose.

“Sorry, didn’t meant to interrupt. The movie ended and I was going to clean up.”

“I’ll take care of it, you all should head up for the night.” Alfred said as he carefully grabbed the plate for him to wash.

“Night Alfred, thanks for everything.” You said, hugging him quickly before you headed out.

Bruce looks back to Alfred who hasn’t made eye contact with him. Bruce decided to leave too.

You two walked up the staircase in silence. You look at Bruce who appeared deep in thought.

“How was work?” You asked.

“It was eventful. We’re thinking of branching out in Japan, but it’s going to take a few years to plan out the logistics.” 

“Ah, nice! I never been to Japan.” You replied.

When you reached the tip of the stairs, Bruce stopped.

“I um, heard your back at work too.” He said.

“Yeah. I was, uh, talking with Dinah about it during our sessions. Thought it was time.”

Bruce nods. “That’s great. I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks. I gotta get to bed, there’s a meeting early in the morning.” You said, about to leave.

“Wait.” Bruce caught up with you and was looking at you softly.

He pauses at that moment. Here you both stood, uninterrupted.

He could tell you the truth about your father.

He could tell you that he's been hurting as much as you.

But all he could see was you looking at him with a love like gaze.

“I know I haven’t been around lately, especially for you. I want to make this right, so I was wondering if I could join the next session with you.”

You look at Bruce. You know deep in your heart that he’s trying and looking within his eyes, he meant every word he said.

“It’s going to be 2 weeks from now during the day. I don’t know if you’re going to make-”

“Nothing is going to stop me from being there.” He promised.

“Okay, I’ll let Dinah know you’re coming. Good night, Bruce.” You said, kissing his cheek as you walked away from him.

He stood there as you walked into the guest room, but you leave the guest door open. 

Bruce slowly follows you in the dimmed room, closing the door and locked it. 

+

After that night, you and Bruce were living in this bubble. It was like you two haven’t been fighting or avoiding each other these past weeks. Maybe you’re afraid that everything would go into disarray if someone could pop this short-term happiness.

But for now, you stayed in ignorant bliss.

Tim came down to the bat cave with Bruce to lightly spar, as Bruce viewed it’ll be a good skill to learn. The Wayne man started to form some pride, seeing how Tim significantly impacted him. 

Suddenly, they both heard a ping come from the monitor. 

“What’s going on?” Tim asked as Bruce rushed over.

“I made a motion sensor at the location where Two-Face will be making the deal. Seems that there’s a lot of commotion there.” Bruce said, looking at the heat sensor. 

“My dad could be there?” Tim asks, running towards the screen. 

“Possibly, I need to leave now before this deal is made.” Bruce said, already heading to wear his gear.

“Wait! Let me join you.” Tim said. 

Bruce pauses before looking back at Tim.

“You’re safe here.” Bruce said, spreading suiting up.

“I know how to defend myself, and you need someone to watch your six. And besides, how is my dad supposed to surrender if I’m not there? Please, Bruce, I have to do this. He’s the only family I have.”

Bruce remembers the similar words spoken to him when Jason was trying to find his mom.

“I gotta find her, Bruce. If I don’t, I’d never forgive myself…”

Bruce takes a deep breath and goes up to Tim.

“I think there’s a suit in your size, you can look in the back.” 

Tim smiled brightly and hurried back to find what he was looking for.

Bruce was about to mask until he heard you and Alfred heading down to the cave. 

“Master Bruce, we’re ready for dinner for you and-”

Alfred stops mid-sentence as you both see Tim dressed in a Robin suit.

Jason’s Robin suit.

“Why is he wearing that?” You said, walking towards Bruce.

“There’s an alert at the place of the deal. I need Tim there-”

“No. You don’t.” You gritted, feeling your skin burn.

Tim stood there, feeling uncomfortable as you and Bruce were fighting about where he would join Bruce or stay. But time was not at his side. He had to save his dad, if not him... who else?

Tim made his decision, grabbing the keys to Dick’s old motorcycle and programming it to take him to the destination.

“Master Drake!” Alfred said as he saw Tim riding away.

“Tim! TIM!” You screamed, trying to run after him but it was no use. He left outside of the bat cave and you accidentally fell down. Alfred goes up to you, consoling you as you broke down in a sob.

You made eye contact with Bruce as if he tore your heart out of your chest.

“Bring him - back.” You choked out in between your sobs.

Bruce brought you up to your feet and gave you a final look before running towards his car to drive after Tim. 

He races for Tim, hoping he isn’t too late.

He can’t be.

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

Reminisce

I've written this a long time ago but never posted it so here you go! Enjoy <3

For the first three months of his life, little Jin Ling cried all throughout the night, exhaustion forcing him into small bouts of sleep from which he nevertheless awoke screaming. No amount of milk, lullabies or attention worked, no matter who it was that tried to comfort him.

His nannies had cultivated eyebags so dark they seemed bruised, and even his two uncles, though they loved him dearly, could not handle the fussiness and the sleepless nights.

For three months, nobody could figure out how to get A-Ling to at least quiet down at night, if not sleep.

And then, as if by miracle, he stopped.

The ceaseless crying stopped as suddenly as it had started, and it was much to the comfort of his nannies that, instead of screaming himself into exhaustion, Jin Ling would giggle and smile at nothing in particular, reaching his hands up in the air as if he was playing before he fell asleep into the deepest, most restful sleep.

The entirety of Jinlintai had been so happy about the new development that they didn’t bother find out what triggered it, basking into the extra hours of sleep they could finally enjoy after months of fitful naps.

—

“When you were little, you used to be really noisy.” Wei Wuxian tells Jin Ling as they stroll along the winding pathways of the lavish gardens in Jinlintai. “You were so noisy, in fact, that I had to return from the dead to get you to quiet down!”

“Ridiculous!”

“I’m being serious!” Wei Wuxian defends, and Jin Ling sees no trace of jest in his expression this time, “I did come back from the dead… er, kind of. I was a wandering spirit, on my way to… punishment, but I heard your cries and I… took a detour.”

Jin Ling stares at him, half incredulous, half emotional. “Why would you be drawn to me out of all the babies in the world?”

Wei Wuxian smiles at him, soft and warm, and only a bit distant. “I named you. That must’ve created a tie between us.”

“But how did nobody detect you?”

“I don’t know. But…” a fond sigh, eyes lost in the distance, “...you used to love playing with my hair ribbon. You’d tug at it until it came loose, and I’d wave it around in front of you like a toy… it made you laugh, and I’d play with you until you fell asleep.”

Jin Ling stops walking, eyes wide with realization, “I… there was… when I was little, I used to dream of a red ribbon and trying to give it back to someone. I could never find them, and then, as I grew up, I started having that dream less and less… I was…”

Wei Wuxian smiles, again, this time regretfully. “I was long gone by then, Jin Ling. You were starting to forget me.”

“But… how long did you stick around?”

“Four years.”

“What…what happened in the fifth? Why did you…” Leave me?

Wei Wuxian doesn’t respond, resuming his walk ahead without a word. His hands, clasped behind his back, are sweating now.

“Da-jiu?”

“Hm?”

“What happened when I turned five years old?”

The breeze whips Wei Wuxian’s hair behind him, and Jin Ling realizes that, right now, he looks exactly like the person in his childhood dreams he could never reach.

“There is no need to linger onto the past. Haven’t I taught you this already?”

[lunesart]

in return. chlostine for the ask game <3

001 | send me a ship and I will tell you:

when I started shipping it if I did:

This is gonna sound pretty ridiculous, but it was kinda of pair the spares thing at first. A was a pretty big boyfs fan, was compelled by bway’s hits at iced tea, and I thought Jake was aro. So really I just had Christine and Chloe in the corner not doing anything. So I then paired them up in my head and liked them as a side ship. A couple months later after drawing them nonstop and raiding the ao3 tag, they are now my favorite ship. Truly a wide ride.

001 | send me a ship and I will tell you:

when I started shipping it if I did:

my thoughts:

man, where to begin. I just love them so much. I love their good/bad dichotomy, their mutual want for attention/affection, the rivals to lovers transition, the pink/green guys. They had one scene together and it has ruined me.

What makes me happy about them:

I guess I really like they contrast each other so much. Like, they’re so different that it distracts you from how actually similar they are. Like I said, they both have this need for attention, but Christine seeks it out on stage and Chloe seeks it out in popularity.

What makes me sad about them:

Honestly I would have really like if they had more scenes together. The one moment they interact is not enough. But alas, what can I expect from The Male Teenage Experience: The Musical

things done in fanfic that annoys me:

What fanfics? /j I do think that I don’t particularly care that much for when they just have a sweet sapphic relationship? Not that I don’t like it OR that I haven’t drawn and written them like this. It’s just not getting to the meat of why I like them together.

things I look for in fanfic:

I NEED toxic yuri. God when they’re so complicated it hurts. I eat that shit up. Bonus points for hitting them with the comphet beam.

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: 

Ummm so. Due to me slowly drifting towards lesbian chlostine these past few months, their romantic ships with boys don’t really compel me. I like their mutual relationships with Jake, but more in an analysis way and not me actually wanting one of them to be be with him. I guess pinkberry and cinnabon are my second choices.

My happily ever after for them:

They live in a small apartment and own a cat and have a big ass lesbian flag on the wall. tbh I don’t really see them as a long LONG term thing, but an after college thing I good.

who is the big spoon/little spoon:

Standing/sitting up, Chloe is big spoon and Christine is little spoon. Laying down, Christine is big spoon and Chloe is little spoon.

what is their favorite non-sexual activity:

Singing!! Chloe’s pretty shit at acting but alright at singing so they arrange karaoke nights every Friday at one of their places.

[codgod-moved]

wooo art summary thing that’s fun !

gotta love the hard swerve into yugioh at the end. i really just haven’t drawn much noteworthy non-ship mcyt art for the past couple months rip </3

also turns out i use dark colours, especially in backgrounds, a lot more than i thought i did so that’s something

[autisticslp]

Who are your 3 favorite characters and why? Can be from any type of media.

I haven’t forgotten about this ask. I am just in a dimension of torment where I can think of 500 characters and simultaneously none. It’s cool. I’m cool. Just a normal question.

So to narrow it down some, I’m going to go with my three favorite characters in the past few months.

1. John Crichton from Farscape

Oh boy, I just really fell in love with him last year (eclipsing my undying love for Aeryn???). Third watchthrough is the charm, I guess. He’s just a fascinating, heartbreaking character. Seeing him get thrown into this chaotic universe where every time he starts to get a handle on things a new twist is thrown at him, trying to be a good person despite everything, as every bit of his sanity is stripped away, with nothing but Aeryn and pop culture references to cling to . . . I just have big emotions about that. I also just really love his relationship with Chiana.

2. Murderbot from The Murderbot Diaries

Despite friends telling me to read the books for years, I only got around to it a few months ago. And goddamnit, I would do anything for that SecUnit. And not just because, as my spouse is very fond of pointing out, we are very similar in a lot of ways (like being sarcastic assholes who enjoy Stargate/Worldhoppers and for some reason are compelled to save the stupid humans). I am just going to be automatically drawn to a mentally ill knight in sour armor who interprets things through media, okay? That’s how you make a character appeal to me specifically.

3. Sam Vimes from Discworld

Yes, the man, the myth, the legend, and my personal role model. I wasn’t kidding about the knight in sour armor thing. I love Vimes because he’s very much not the smartest, or the kindest, or the most moral, but he’s gonna try to do better if it kills him. And maybe will totally coincidentally piss off some people in the process. Sometimes you need people like Carrot, who see the good in everyone, but sometimes, when you’re constantly dealing with the absolute shittiness of the world, what you really need is the cynical copper who believes everyone is guilty of something but fuck it if he’s not gonna do his damn best to do the right thing regardless.

[maren-gvf]

She’s Going, Going, Gone.

A short story written by Eden N.

Warnings: Sad content, goodbyes, heartache

Word count: 3119

Recommended playlist:

Four years. Four years of standing through hour-long rambunctious photoshoots, attaching luggage tags to unattended suitcases, scrambling to find lost lucky guitar picks, and screaming, “Asses in the van or you get left, MOVE please!”. God. Time flies.

The start of it all: 10 years ago, you were dragged into watching Ronnie’s twin brothers run a “test” band rehearsal in the eclectic, messy Kiszka garage. You knew they were good. No. You knew they were great. But what you didn’t know was that technically was the start of what would be your eventual, literal, actual, serious, real career as “The OG” official band manager for Greta Van Fleet. Five days later, in school, an overly-excited Josh made you sign your name on a blue crooked dotted line drawn on a slightly wrinkled sheet of lined paper, underneath multiple large words like, “solemnly”, “aleatory contract”, and “liability”. Not long after that, you were signing your name on a much heavier, thicker sheet of paper in a much nicer, professional meeting room. Still, the words in that contract were surprisingly similar to the first, which to this day is folded neatly in the front pocket of your GVF Documents binder.

This was never, ever the plan. The plan was: 1. Attend Boston College and major in Theatre Arts. 2. Land an amazing audition for Broadway. 3. Ace said audition and become a star. To say you used to be a dreamer would be a vast understatement. But after a week of pleading from all four boys, some extreme bribery, and several long discussions with Mom and Dad, you were miraculously allowed to take a gap year and start booking the band. The rest is history.

Now, seated in the tiny kitchen of what’s been called the “Getaway Cabin”, you watch through the window as Jake slowly pulls the truck back into the gravel driveway below. He had to take a minute away. Or 30. It’s been a hell of a day. You’ve been an avid participant of many arguments in the past, but today takes the cake. Today is the worst day. Not just in terms of fights, but ever in your whole existence. Ever.

You see, when you spend months at a time with the same four crazy people every single day for years, you kinda start to love them a little bit. And hate them. And admire them. And everything in between. You watch them learn, and you learn. You learn that Josh refuses to eat mustard on anything and nothing pisses off Jake more than a bad parking job. You learn that Sam could tell you almost anything about outer space and Danny won’t travel anywhere without his slippers. You just don’t realize while you’re noticing all the littlest parts about each of them, they’re doing the exact same to you.

So yeah, you’re kinda bonded. For like, forever. Until today. Because at some point, after the universe plants a dream and a passion inside of you, that takes over. And you ignored it for a long, long time. But you can’t push it away forever.

You hear the front door open, and then close softly. The old wood floor creaks as Jake slowly makes his way back into the kitchen. You haven’t moved. Your hands cup your cheeks as you watch him take off his sunglasses. His eyes are swollen and red. He sets them gently on the kitchen counter, and slowly takes back his seat in the small wooden chair across from you, arms crossed. He pauses to rub his right eye gently before speaking.

“I know. I know you have to do this. I know.”

You feel the warm tears roll slowly down your cheeks again. There’s really no use in trying to stop them anymore.

“I wish it wasn’t right now. And I wish you told us in a different way. A better way,” he says slowly, looking out the window, brows slightly furrowed in a painful look of contemplative confusion. It goes silent for a moment.

“I’m happy for you. And I’m fucking proud of you,” he chokes, barely finishing the last word. He’s looking right at you now, teary-eyed, and you take in every beautiful feature of that face you’ve gotten to know so well. There was always something more with him. Always. Ask anyone, they’d tell you. It was painstakingly noticeable between the two of you. You’d kissed four times, each time swearing it would be the last. The fourth one was two weeks ago. Some things never change.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t give you more time. I’m really, really sorry. But like I’ve said, it’s Broadway. It’s New York. Like, like this is big, this is it, this what I want,” you whisper, shaking your head in disbelief. “This is the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make in my life ever and-”

“We just love you,” Jake cuts. “We just love you. And I don't know how we do this… all this… without you. But I want you to be happy,” he nods, brushing his nose, “You deserve…shit…sorry,” he pauses, looking up towards the ceiling before continuing, “you deserve every good thing in this whole fucking world. Every good thing,” he rushes, before covering his eyes with his hands, elbows resting on his knees. His shoulders begin shaking.

It makes you sick to see him cry like this, your stomach is churning. He’s not much of a crier, never has been. You can’t help but move towards him, lowering to his level and gently placing his head into the nook of your right shoulder. You hug him into you tightly, cradling the back of his head with one hand. He smells just so…Jake. You squeeze your eyes as tight as possible, holding back what would have been the hardest sob of your life. He sniffs, and finally moves his arms around you, pulling you into his chest while you both breathe in the mellow silence.

The sound of footsteps coming downstairs pulls you apart. It sounds like Josh. The rest of the boys had stayed upstairs, keeping themselves as far away from the conflict today as possible. Fights didn’t usually happen like that. Normally, Josh would’ve interjected a smart-aleck comment and immediately taken Jake’s side, only worsening the situation, while Danny would repeatedly say, “shut up” in the most monotone way possible. Also worsening the situation. But Sammy always took your side. Right or wrong, without fail, every single time. Usually you won.

Josh slowly peers around the kitchen frame, clutching one side of the doorway with two hands. An expression of, “I already know what’s about to happen” covers his face. He moves around the corner and leans his back against the counter, arms crossed. He doesn’t break eye contact with you.

“Well shit,” he says with a slight accent, a sad attempt to lighten the mood. “You’re really doing it, huh?”

You nod slowly, smiling apologetically. Jake lifts his head to face his brother.

“I am. I have to. How much did you hear?” you ask, wiping your cheeks and sitting back in your chair, knees to your chest.

“Mm. A lot. I think we got the gist of it all,” he replies, hands waving in the air. You watch each other's eyes for a moment, the room silent except an occasional sniff from Jake. The pit in your stomach is deepening.

“Ughhh,” Josh groans, tilting his head forward until his chin rests on his chest. He stays there for a moment, before meeting your eyes again. He’s tearing up now too, which only makes you start all over again.

“This is the worst!” you laugh, wiping away at your cheeks for the millionth time. Jake nods and stands up to fill a glass of water. Josh walks over to you, and you get up to meet him in a sniffly, rib crushing embrace. He rocks you side to side, one of his many, many signature moves. After planting a long, hard kiss on the top of your head, he pulls away and slaps one hand onto each of your cheeks, slightly squishing your face. You hear Jake shuffle quietly out of the room. He pulls you close until his forehead touches yours, and the two of you close your eyes.

“You’re stellar. Simply an exquisite human being,” he whispers. You smile. “Who’s gonna dance on tables with me and quote lines from Cabaret?”

Immediately, the two of you break out into shaking laughter, falling into one another until you truly cannot breathe.

“Oh God, Josh I think I’m making the wrong choice,” you say, scanning his eyes frantically, waiting for his answer. He shakes his head firmly.

“No. Nope,” he says, putting a finger up. “I’ll stop you right there. We are going to be fine, and you’re going to be…well you’re gonna be perfect.”

“But I don’t leave until Tuesday. I’ve got like a whole week left. Mostly for packing, I have a shit ton to pack. But I was thinking a party or something,” you ramble, while he stands there nodding vigorously in agreement.

“Absolutely. We’ll do a send-off, Kiszka-Wagner style. It’ll be glorious.”

“Jake’s acting like the flight’s tomorrow morning though, I don’t get it.”

“Well I think,” he pauses, turning to look out the window. “I think this is hitting a little harder for him, ya know?”

“Yeah. Yeah okay, I know.”

“So before you go-go, just make sure he knows… all the things he should probably know,” he says, raising his eyebrows in suggestion. “Just tell him.”

“Mhm.”

“I’m not saying he loves you any more than the rest of us do, because he’s not allowed to, but in case he does…” he trails, leaving you with everything you need to know. You nod in understanding.

“Well. I do have to get back into town. There’s just a whole lot of crap on the to-do list,” you sigh, rubbing your eyes.

“Absolutely. And we’ll be right behind you. But in like three days. And then we’ll celebrate all the joys and beautiful memories and blah blah blah,” he smiles, patting you gently on the side of your waist.

“K. I should probably go talk to Sam and Danny I think.”

“Yeah. They already know what’s going on, but go say bye,” he says, nodding to the staircase. You squeeze his hand, and head out into the hallway, but stop at the front of the stairs to glance back into the kitchen. He’s taken a seat at the table, back turned away from you, staring quietly out the window.

The second floor is mostly silent, except for two low voices coming out of Sam’s room. You see his door is cracked, and knock briefly before opening. Sam is directly across the room, legs stretched out on the long window seat with his back against the wall. Danny’s sprawled on the floor, staring at the ceiling with arms propped behind his head. He rolls over to stand up as you hesitantly walk in.

“Oh man,” Sam heaves, shifting his legs off the cushion and clasping his hands together.

“I come bearing news,” you joke, stomach in knots.

“You’re gonna be a New Yorker now! Always wanted to go there,” Sam enthuses, while Danny smiles at you solemnly, hands in his pockets.

“And now you can! When you visit me every single month!”

“As much as it sucks, because it sucks pretty bad, this is going to be so cool for you. Like you’re going to kill it out there,” Danny says, turning to face Sam who begins nodding in agreement.

“Hell yeah. No doubts. Zero. Plus it won’t even be that bad, we’ll see you all the time, I know it,” he says, pulling at the threads on the seat cushion.

“I’m gonna miss this trio,” you start, staring at the ceiling to compose yourself. A memory begins to form as you focus on holding back the stupid tears. “Do you guys remember when we were in Italy and Danny lost his wallet in that restaurant, so the three of us went back at 2am to find it? And then the owners invited us to stay for a late night snack after we got it? That was the night you tripped and fell into that huge puddle Sammy, I don’t think I laughed harder in my whole life.”

“Yeah, because we were so drunk,” Sam laughs. “Those Italians and their late night snacks, you gotta be careful with ‘em.”

Danny chuckles and shakes his head.

“Top three nights ever, that one.”

“Yeah. Anytime it’s the three of us, I know something crazy’s gonna happen,” you say. And it’s true. You, Sam, and Danny had this special ability to come up with the worst, most irrational ideas which usually led to someone falling, something getting ruined, and headaches in the morning. Oftentimes, it was just their ideas while you ended up encouraging them terribly. God, the two of them made you laugh.

“I’m heading back home today, I just have to start packing. But I’m not gone gone until Tuesday morning. So please, no tears yet, I’m simply here for a temporary goodbye hug,” you insist. The three of you meet in a group hug at the center of the room. You feel a small sob start to form as you get smushed perfectly between them.

“Hey hey hey,” Sam says, pulling away and putting one hand directly on the top of your head to look you in the eyes, “You said no tears. And personally, I’m trying my best to follow that rule right now and you’re making it very difficult.”

You and Danny laugh, distracting you from the reality that lies ahead.

“I feel like I’m leaving my people.”

“Yeah, but you’re not losing them,” Danny reassures.

“Alright, well,” you sigh, putting your hands on your hips, “I gotta get on the road.”

“We’ll walk you downstairs,” Danny says, opening the door.

The three of you make your way back down into the kitchen to find Josh whispering on the phone, pacing the room. He says a quick goodbye and hangs up when he sees you, setting the phone on the counter. You grab your purse off the back of the chair you were sitting in earlier and sling it over a shoulder.

“All set? Made them cry and everything?” Josh asks, eyebrows raised.

“No tears, that was the rule,” Sammy replies. You turn to smile at him.

“K then, bring it in one more time for me,” Josh says, arms wide open. You walk over to wrap your arms tightly around his waist, and feel Sammy and Danny join in. It’s perfectly quiet for a moment, the four of you taking in every second. Your heart’s pounding before you whisper:

“Where’s Jake?”

In scarily perfect timing, you lift your chin to look over Josh’s shoulder, and see Jake slowly making his way into the kitchen from the living room, hands in his pockets.

“Here.”

The boys let you go and the profound silence looms for a moment before Josh interjects quickly.

“Jake, why don’t you take her to her car.”

He nods, and makes his way past the four of you towards the foyer. You can hear him open the front door.

“Bye guys. I love you more than you’ll ever understand.”

“Bye, we love you, we’ll see you in a few days,” Sammy replies, squeezing your hand. Josh gives you a wink. Danny simply smiles. You take a deep breath and turn to head out of the kitchen.

Jake waits by the open door. You keep your head down and brush past him, stepping down the porch steps to your car. It’s taking everything and more to keep yourself together. You reach for the car door handle.

“Wait, wait,” Jake calls, rushing down the steps to open it for you.

“Thank you,” you smile, pausing a moment before getting in to stare at the house.

“You’ll be back,” Jake assures, understanding every thought that seems to be racing through your head at that exact moment.

“It’s just going to be a long time. Too long,” you choke, eyes teary. “This place is-”

“Ours. It’s our place, and it’s not going anywhere. Time flies by when you’re having fun. You’ll be sitting right there back at that kitchen table before you know it,” he says, pointing to the window that overlooks the front yard. You plop down into the driver’s seat and look up at him, gathering your thoughts.

“Jake, there’s a lot…,” you start, taking a breath in, “there’s a lot I should say to you. That I need to say. And I never did, but I should’ve. And I regret that. But I promise you, before I leave, I’ll say it all in the best way I know how.”

“Same goes for me too,” he says, shaking his head. “But mine’s worse because I’ll bet you any money that I’ve felt this way years before you ever did. And I wasted those years. Wasted them.”

Your heart sinks.

“We’ll make up for it,” you whisper, grabbing his hands and pressing them to your lips. “We will so make up for it.”

He nods, but a tear rolls down one cheek, and suddenly it all makes sense now. He blames himself. Because the clock has run out, the time is up, and he never said the things he should’ve a long, long time ago. But neither did you.

“Hey, hey look at me,” you say, resting one hand on his cheek. He meets your eyes, and you pause moment before pulling his face to yours and kissing him. It’s gentle at first, but then he presses more firmly into you, sliding one hand onto the side of your neck. The two of you linger in the precious, desperate moment, holding it until you have to separate to breathe.

“That was number five,” you smile, placing both hands on the steering wheel.

“Let’s try to get to at least ten before you get on the plane,” he teases, leaning against the car door.

“I believe in us,” you say, as he shuts the door and plants one more quick kiss on your window. He steps away to watch as you put the car in reverse and roll backwards out of the driveway. You do everything you can to keep your eyes on him, and let the tears flow heavily once you reach the end of the driveway. He’s waving now, and you honk the horn twice before hitting the gas, your blurry eyes on the dirt road ahead. It was never going to be easy.