#my brain is refusing to process any of this properly i still feel like i have to decide. girl you did it already

[kamileonik]

ha

[foodtruckery]

I've been having crazy Stancest brain rot thinking about an AU where they don't have the portal incident and instead have crazy marathon hate sex instead (Inspired by some amazing art by @CoreArde on Twitter) and I thought it'd be fun to share that with you.

They start off arguing in the lab and then oops they're fucking on the lab floor, and they really should be thinking this through but nope now they're upstairs fucking on the kitchen table and okay maybe now they'll finally talk about it nah, they're fucking in Ford's bed now.

It starts off as rough hate sex getting out years of frustration, but by the time they make it to the kitchen its become insanely desperate and cloying because they missed each other, and their bodies fit so well together, and GOD how could they have not been doing this all time? They're going at it so long that they basically end up passed out in Ford's bed by the end, and Stan's not going to be sitting down for a while after this. He's probably just happy to be sleeping in a bed, but Ford is trying to figure out how he got so far from the initial plan.

Even better if the two of them have been harboring feelings for years and never acted on it, because they get the one-two punch of all the weight of their time apart and processing the fact that OH GOD I JUST FUCKED MY BROTHER (which of course they both wanted to do but still).

I have no idea what would happen after that, but both of them waking up sore, sweat soaked, sticky with cum (some still inside Stan because of course Ford didn't use a condom this wasn't supposed to happen) after having gone at each other like rabbits in heat despite never having expressed their attraction to each other before is a hilarious and hot idea to me. What do you think?

HI THERE ANON. i am so fucking sorry that i left you waiting for so long about this, but i need you to know it's because i was FUCKING OBSESSED with this. like just absolutely beside myself over it, and i refused to respond until i had a chance to sit down and respond PROPERLY.

cause uh YEAH FRIEND i know the exact fucking piece of art (explicit) you're talking about, because it's INCREDIBLE. and in case you didn't know, the artist is over here too and shares some fucking fantastic writing and headcanons also! (seriously, go check out @/cartoonsinthemorning if you haven't. and cart, i hope you don't mind that anon and i both kinda lost our minds about your art over here! i genuinely have no idea what tag etiquette is on this site and didn't wanna bombard you, but you did this. again.)

i'll be honest, anon, this kinda got away from me (fucking shocker) and i am too tired to do any legit editing of it right now, so please forgive any typos or weirdness! i'll try and clean it up before it eventually goes up on ao3. but thank you for such a LOVELY ask because this was so hot, and so inspiring, and i hope i did a little justice to your idea and cart's gorgeous art!

--- Ford isn't entirely sure how it had started. His memory, his perception of time, his ability to follow a linear order of events -- all if it is less than reliable at the moment, so he can't entirely blame himself for losing track of things here and there. But the jump between trying to wrestle his journal out of Stan's hands to trying to wrestle Stan out of his dingey jeans is a jarring transition to lose in the dull static that's been edging around his awareness for weeks now. 

Not jarring enough to stop him, though. 

He thinks, vaguely, while he's blindly tugging at Stan's denim, that there's a concerningly high likelihood that he's hallucinating. His head is swimming in so much caffeine and adrenaline that he doesn't even feel the rough concrete of the lab floor under his knees -- maybe that isn't where he is? Maybe he'd nodded off without realizing. Maybe he's going to come to with another lapful of polaroids and a new humiliating tattoo. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe -- he can reckon with a probability model later. For the first time in what feels like months, the stability of his perceived reality is not actually at the forefront of Ford's mind.

Pressing in on him harder than the doubt, harder than the disassociation from his physical body, and harder than the threat of the creature lingering in the depths of his subconscious is anger. It feels like a beacon in the muddled, fuzzy mess inside his head, something bright and real and his. It's searing through him, slicing away all the frayed edges of his paranoia and doubt like a hot blade through so much butter. 

Ford clings to the sharp edges of that anger and feels more alert than he has in weeks. 

He can't remember how their bickering had taken this particular turn, but if he's liable to lose his eyes and his life in the next few days, Ford will be fucking damned if he squanders the opportunity. He knows he's made a mess of things, that he's made the sorts of mistakes that can't and frankly shouldn't be forgiven. 

But he also knows with blinding, white hot certainty that he's only here, now, because of Stan's mistakes.

Ford may not deserve absolution, but he does deserves this. 

Laughter cuts through the lab, rough and mocking, and Ford's attention finally falls, properly, on Stan. He has a bruise blooming on his cheek and a snide smirk twisting his lips. He's also on his back, his jeans and a threadbare pair of boxers bunched in Ford's fists and pulled so low he can see the tight curls of his pubic hair and the root of his cock. 

"What's wrong, Poindexter?" Stan asks, mocking, and it's only then that Ford realizes he's paused halfway through stripping his twin's lower half. The bite of the cold concrete under his knees still feels far away, but the rough material in his palms, and the heat of Stan's body so close to him are sharp, clear details. "No hands on experience with a dick that ain't your own? Afraid you might actually be bad at somethin' for once?" 

Ford narrows his eyes, feeling the hot point of anger cutting through him, steadying him, and he jerks Stan's clothes hard enough that he gets the material past his knees in one tug. Stan laughs at him again, but it stutters into a little 'oof!' when Ford flips him onto his stomach. 

He doesn't care that Stan's pants are still caught around his calves and his boots. He doesn't care that Stan hisses something that sounds like pain when he's yanked onto his knees and dragged backwards several inches across the concrete. He doesn't even care that, once upon a time, he'd dreamed of this, of crossing this line with the only person he'd ever really loved in any way that mattered, and it's nothing like the softer, sweeter picture he used to imagine. 

Stan's hips are soft, and the skin gives easily under the iron grip Ford has on them, holding him in place as he grinds against his ass. Even through his slacks, the heat of Stan's body is intense, addictive, and he grinds forward again, harder, watching the friction rub a pink  patch against his skin. 

Stan, shameless and selfish as always, pushes eagerly back against him. Ford has barely done anything beyond rocking the outline of his cock against his hole, but he can hear Stan panting against the ground, can see his hands curling into fists. He remembers how many times Stan had called Carla McCorkle "easy" in high school and thinks, now, that the easy one had been his brother. 

"You gonna keep humpin' me, or are you gonna fuck me?" Stan demands, rocking as firmly back as he can with the bruising grip Ford has on him. 

"What makes you think you deserve that?" Ford bites out. It would serve Stan right, he thinks, if he got himself off exactly like this, no different than grinding against a particularly firm couch pillow. Just a conveniently warm object for Ford to release some tension with. 

Stan looks back over his shoulder and flashes teeth at him. It isn't a smile. "Oh, I get it. Cold feet? Well, we can just chalk it up to one more thing ya promised and then backed out of as soon as you actually had to make a choice. Good to know some things never change, Stanford."

He's being goaded, and Ford knows that. But the anger boils in his chest, and he thinks, why should he care about what Stan does or doesn't deserve from him? This is about what Ford deserves.

And what Ford deserves is to have his dick so far up Stan's ass he'll be able to feel it in the back of his throat. 

"Do you ever shut up?" he snaps while he releases one of Stan's hips to yank his slacks open. The bruise of his fingerprints already forming against Stan's skin thrills him, almost to distraction, if it weren't for Stan laughing again. 

"'Course not," he says, shifting his center of balance to dig into the pocket of his dirty red coat. The little packet he tosses over his shoulder bounces off his own ass to land by Ford's knee, the word LUBE printed in large, bold letters across the front. He should be surprised to see it, and part of him is. The word "easy" comes to mind again. 

Ford rips the packet open with his teeth. 

"F-Fuck!" Stan curses, turning his forehead against the ground when Ford presses his slick cock into him a moment later without warning. 

Ford grabs him roughly by the waist when he twitches forward and yanks Stan back until his ass hits the open fly of his slacks. He makes a choked sound at that and turns his face into the crook of his own arm when Ford pulls back and rocks hard back into him. 

"What's wrong, Stanley?" he parrots. He pistons his hips at a punishing pace, watching his cock pumping in and out of the greedy, grasping ring of Stan's hole. "Nothing to say?" 

Stan makes a noise that's too muffled by the sleeve of his coat to understand, so Ford reaches down to take a fistful of his stupid mullet instead. The hitching gasp that escapes his twin when his head is forcefully jerked up makes him groan. "What was that? Come on, Stanley, use your words." 

"F-Fuck off," Stan says, his voice strained, almost whining. 

"I see you haven't gotten anymore eloquent since you left," Ford scoffs around the breathlessness in his own voice, feeling the anger and pleasure coiling harder in his gut. "What was it you said? Good to know some things never change." 

When he pulls Stan's hair again, just because he can, Stan moans. And when he shifts his hips, driving in just as hard at the new angle, Stan shouts. With his own knees bracketed on either side of his, Ford can feel the way his thighs tremble when he clenches around his cock, and he can feel the sweat beading up under his palm where he's digging darker bruises into Stan's side. 

Ford feels like he's on the edge of delirium again, consumed by every sound Stan makes, every twitch of his hips, every ounce of his heat. He thinks, a bit wildly, that Stan may have been made for this, made to take his cock, for how well he does. 

It isn't until Stan jerks under him, going hot and tight around his cock and making a strangled noise in the back of his throat, that Ford realizes he may have said part of that out loud. That Stan came over it. 

He groans low in his throat and thrusts half a dozen more times into Stan's clenching hole before he comes as well. 

It's quiet for a few minutes other than their ragged panting, but it's Stan who eventually reaches back and swats at Ford's hand until he lets go of his hair. He takes the hint and pulls out, watching with no small amount of satisfaction as his come trickles down Stan's thighs. It strikes him suddenly that he wants to follow the wet trail back up with his tongue. It's enough to make his cock give a feeble, appreciative twitch. 

He isn't sure if he's just terribly distracted or if he loses time again, because when Ford next lifts his head, Stan is on his feet, pants pulled up around his waist but still open, and he has his journal in hand. This might be more jarring than the last transition he'd lost. 

"What are you doing?" he demands, shoving himself back onto his own feet. He doesn't bother to tuck his cock back in, and he spots the moment Stan's eyes flick down. It's brief, but he'd seen it. 

"What does it fucking look like I'm doing? I'm taking your stupid diary and disappearing like you begged me to," Stan says. His voice is still a little raw, and Ford has a moment to realize how much he likes that, before the words catch up. 

He scoffs. "Oh! So now you want to actually help?! Is it always this easy to fuck the sense into you?" 

Stan's expression does a few things Ford doesn't understand before his brows ultimately slam down and he turns his back, storming towards the door with Ford's journal still in hand, and Ford himself hot on his heels. "You're fucking unbelievable, Stanford, you know that?!" 

"Me?! You're the one who came all over my lab floor and then decided he was ready to be reasonable!" 

Stan jams his thumb against the call button for the elevator several times in quick succession, despite the car already being on their floor and the gate sliding open. "Most people would just say thank you when someone agreed to help them out, but not you! What does Stanford Pines have to be grateful for? We're all just fucking lucky to get a task from ya, huh?" 

Ford crowds into the elevator with him before Stan can try to pull the gate or call the doors shut behind him. He punches the button to take them up himself, before making a grab for the journal, snarling when Stan leans back and holds it up above his head. 

"You're the one who threatened to destroy my work twenty minutes ago, Stanley! Why would I trust you with it now? Hell, I can't figure out why I trusted you enough to bring you here in the first place!" 

"Oh really? You can't?" Stan sneers, leaning in close. And when Ford takes a step back, Stan follows, backing him into a corner of the car. "I don't think you fuckin' trusted me to do shit, Stanford. I think you were all outta options cause nobody else could stand to put up with you anymore." 

Stan doesn't so much as hit a nerve as he takes a sledgehammer to it, and as soon as the elevator dings, Ford shoves him as hard as he can out into the study. Stan yelps when he stumbles, nearly tripping over his own feet, and it's only knocking into a cluttered desk that keeps him from falling on his ass. 

Ford doesn't give him any time to right himself, storming in after him and grabbing him by the front of his jacket. Stan flinches, like he'ex expecting a punch, but Ford yanks him in and crushes his mouth against his instead. 

There's a dull thump that Ford only realizes was the journal being dropped when he feels both of Stan's hands on his shoulders. They curl briefly, grasping at him, and Ford feels his mouth starting to go soft and slack. But as soon as he presses in, runs his tongue along that loosening seam, he's suddenly being shoved backwards. 

If he weren't so damn confused, Ford would probably appreciate the picture Stan makes, lips slick and pants open, leaning back against one of Ford's desks. 

"What are you doing?!" Stan demands, like he's the one who doesn't know what day it is, and keeps losing track of events. 

"I would think even you could figure that out after what happened downstairs, Stanley."

Stan flushes, visible even in the low light of the study, though Ford isn't sure if it's embarrassment or anger. The scowl on his face doesn't help clear things up, either, though the fact that he isn't actually looking at Ford is...telling.  

"That ain't happening again," Stan states, and there isn't anything convincing about the way he says it at all. But when Ford steps forward, Stan sidesteps him and the desk. He makes a wrong turn in the dark, in a house he isn't familiar with, and flinches when Ford flips on the light in the kitchen he's walked into.

"I don't know how you expect to leave and hide my journal after leaving it in the study," he points out, frowning at the back of Stan's head. 

He isn't surprised when Stan whirls on him. He is, however, stunned still when he realizes Stan's eyes are wet. 

"What the fuck do you want from me, Stanford?!" Stan shouts, his voice cracking over his name, and it makes something feel like it's cracking inside his chest. 

Ford has to wet his lips when he finds them and his throat dry. "...I told you what I wanted," he says.

"Yeah, you did! And when I finally agreed to do it, you threw a fucking fit about it! And now you're pissy because I'm not?! What do you want?" 

The anger sparks sharply inside him again, and Ford grasps at it like a lifeline, willing to bloody his hands for that bite of stability. 

"You tried to burn it! My life's work! And you only decided you would help me after we--"

Stan cuts him off, looking towards the cabinets while he raises his voice and waves his hands. "Jesus Christ, I'm sorry about the fucking lighter, all right?!"

Ford frowns. He takes a step forward and, still without looking at him, Stan takes a step back. It's the elevator all over again, but this time Ford is pressing in, backing Stan into the cabinets. He grabs the counter on either side of his hips when he tries to side step him again. 

"Stanley, look at me," he demands, frowning harder when Stan sets his jaw and stars determinedly at his shoulder. "Stanley--"

"What do you want, Ford? Just...just fucking tell me and I'll leave, all right?" Stan says, his voice tired and soft as he reaches up to rub a hand over his own face.

He wants a lot, honestly. And hasn't that always been the problem? He's always wanted -- to be normal, to be respected, to be the best, to be special. 

To be wanted. 

To be enough.

To fix things. 

"You," he realizes, watching Stan jerk his head up. His lashes are still wet, and Ford can't stop himself from reaching up and pressing his palm to Stan's cheek, skimming his thumb gently under one of his eyes. 

When he leans in to kiss him again, Stan makes a small, wounded little noise under his mouth, but he parts his lips for Ford's tongue this time. Stan's lips are chapped and he tastes vaguely of stale cigarettes, but Ford is still struck by how soft and sweet he is. 

More than anything else that had happened that evening, this is the moment that Ford knows he should suspect most of all. The way Stan relaxes between him and the counter, the almost tentative way he lifts his tongue to meet his, the careful fingertips touching the edge of Ford's coat and brushing against his loose tie. It's tender in a way Ford didn't think either of them were capable of, and it should be setting off warning bells and red flags in every part of his mind. 

It isn't. 

Ford is more certain of  the reality of this single moment, the gentle slip of Stan's lips against his own, than he's been of anything in a long time. 

And then Stan sighs between them and murmurs, warm and hopeful, "Ford," against his lips, and he's done for. 

It doesn't matter that they just fucked, that Ford's come is probably still drying between Stan's thighs -- he can't keep his hands off of him. Ford is suddenly frantic and desperate in a way that he hadn't been downstairs. He needs to relearn the new, wider shape of Stan's shoulders and pecs. He needs to feel out every new scar and take stock of all the old ones he remembers Stan collecting for him as kids. He needs to be surrounded by him again, soaking in the warmth of him. 

Ford doesn't deserve absolution, but he thinks he may be able to find something close to it in the low, shaky way Stan moans his name. 

And there's familiarity in the way Stan grabs at him in turn, tugging at his jacket and tie and surging into another, harder kiss. Ford thinks he may not be the only one looking for expiation. 

Then Stan drops to his knees between him and the cabinet, and Ford stops thinking so much. His cock is still out, and Stan wastes no time in getting his fist around the shaft and his lips around the head. He suckles and swirls his tongue, and Ford shoves the beanie off of his head to get his hands in his hair. 

"Stanley," he gasps, stroking his fingers along his scalp and fisting the strands between them. 

Stan moans around him and shuffles closer, sliding the seal of his lips further down the length of Ford's cock. All he can do is groan and try to keep from rocking his hips as more of him is greeted by the warmth of his mouth and the wickedness of his tongue. 

He keeps waiting for Stan to reach his limit, to back off and give himself room to breathe. He doesn't. He keeps leaning in, keeps taking him, and then Ford feels his cockhead slip into Stan's throat, sees his lashes are wet again, and he has to put one hand on the counter to keep himself steady. "Fuck, Stanley, you're so good at this."

Stan makes a horribly sweet sound around the girth of Ford's cock and reaches up to hold his hips as he swallows, and Ford is suddenly afraid he's going to embarass himself.  His hips twitch despite his best efforts to keep them still, but Stan simply relaxes his jaw and his throat and tugs a little to encourage him to do it again. He does, of course, how could he not? 

Despite the heat clawing its way through him and the pleasure mounting dangerously high, Ford almost feels outside of himself again. The picture Stan makes, with his eyes damp and heavy lidded, his lips wet and stretched around Ford's cock, his hair fisted in Ford's fingers and his own clinging to Ford's hips -- it's lewd, debauched, and so horribly sweet that it makes Ford's chest hurt. 

Stan gasps raggedly when Ford pulls him off. "I was go-gonna...I mean you can--"

Ford kneels down to kiss him, tasting stale cigarettes and himself, cock throbbing over the rough state of Stan's voice. "Not done yet," he manages, before tugging Stan onto his feet. 

They lose clothes and time on the journey upstairs, tripping over the steps and Ford's discarded pants, and stumbling into his wreck of a room. If Stan notices the state of things, he doesn't comment, mouth latched onto Ford's shoulder and hands all over his back and hips. 

The back of Ford's legs hit the bed and he sits hard on the mattress. Stan doesn't hesitate to crawl up into his lap. He'd lost his boots in the kitchen and his jeans and boxers somewhere on the way to the stairs, giving him ample opportunity to rub his bare cock against Ford's. 

Cursing, Ford rolls his hips and only belatedly remembers to reach up and tug the hideous red coat off of Stan's shoulders. 

"Oh, fuck, hold on. I think I have another one," Stan says, panting softly as he digs into the pockets of his coat. Ford takes the opportunity to run his hands across Stan's thighs and ass, squeezing whatever skin he can until Stan makes a triumphant sound and pulls another little packet of lube free. 

Only then does he let Ford toss his jacket aside and tug him further up the bed with him. He doesn't protest when Ford takes the packet from him, lowering his head to work open mouth kisses up Ford's throat instead, and he rolls his hips distractingly while Ford fights to get the damnable thing open. He ignores the snickering against his skin in the process. 

It stops anyway, hitching into something warm and startled when Ford sinks two slick fingers into him. 

"Oh, fuck," Stan breaths, reaching up to grab Ford by the shoulder, holding himself steady. "Y-You know you don't have to do that, right? Pretty loosened up already."

He is, to be fair. His hole is still soft and loose and fucked open. But Ford enjoys petting his fingers against the tender muscle and stroking them inside anyway. He likes watching Stan bite his lip and push himself back onto his hand. When he slides a third in after the first two, Stan's thighs tremble on either side of his own, and he makes a low, throaty sound. 

When Ford curls his fingers just right, Stan yells and grips his shoulder hard enough to hurt, and it makes warm satisfaction curl in his middle. So he does it a few more times, alternating between spreading his fingers and rubbing the tips against Stan's prostate until he's squirming in his lap. 

"I-I'm gonna come if you don't knock that sh-shit off," he gasps, slumping a bit when Ford chuckles and slides his fingers out. 

"I think I'd like that," Ford says, squeezing his slick fingers against Stan's thigh. 

He snorts and straightens back up, finding the discarded lube packet to squirt the remainder onto Ford's cock. "Yeah, I bet you fucking would," Stan agrees, but there's no malice in his voice, just warm amusement. 

His fist is warm and wonderful when it curls around Ford's cock, spreading lube, and then Ford is being held steady, Stan adjusts himself on his scuffed knees, and there's nothing else to do but hold on as Stan lowers himself into his lap. 

It feels as good as it had earlier to be inside of him, and Ford squeezes the thigh under his hand tightly, fighting against the need to buck his hips. Stan is panting softly, his head tilted back and a pretty, pink color is crawling up from under his t-shirt to flood his neck and face. 

Ford groans and leans forward, finding a nipple through his thin shirt to get his teeth and tongue against.

"F-Ford!" Stan gasps, fumbling the hand not clawing at his shoulder up into his hair, and Ford sucks hard on the firm nub,  rubbing spit-soaked cotton against it with his tongue until Stan rocks in his lap. 

Fuck, he likes that, the way his name sounds in Stan's voice, especially warm and rough after fucking his throat earlier. 

He squeezes Stan's thigh and his hip, giving him a little tug, and that's all the encouragement Stan needs before he's bouncing on his cock. Ford has that thought again -- that Stan was meant to be filled by him, that they're a perfectly matched set. But it isn't just feeling good and hot while Stan fucks himself in his lap. It's feeling like he's been missing something and he finally has it, like he's finally complete again. 

He's missed this, Ford realizes. 

Not the fucking his brother part. He'd fantasized about that for years but it still feels like a dream that it's happening, like something that's too good to be true. 

But being able to put his arms around him? To be this close to him again? 

Ford rocks his hips up, hard, and Stan says his name. He wraps his fingers around Stan's cock, and he gasps his name. He bites the same swollen, pink nipple through his shirt, and Stan shouts his name. 

He snaps his hips up to meet him a few more times and rubs the sensitive glans under the head of Stan's cock, and then there are teeth digging into his other shoulder and his fist and stomach are being striped in Stan's come while he shudders and jerks overtop of him. 

Stan goes easily when Ford rolls them over and pins one of his wrists to the bed. And despite the way he squirms and how his spent cock twitches and leaks, blatantly overstimulated, he hooks his ankles behind Ford's back and urges him on. 

"C-C'mon, give it to me. Fuck, just like that, Sixer!" 

The nickname hits him with all the subtlety of a truck and all the heat of a volcanic eruption. 

He doesn't even remember coming so much as he remembers every synapses in his brain trying to fire at once. Coming back down to reality is a little clearer, with his head spinning and pulse racing as he flops onto his back, but it still takes several long minutes before he feels fully cognizant again. 

Something makes the bed shift, and he looks over to see that Stan has rolled onto his stomach. Ford wonders if he looks half as fucked out as Stan does, with bruises blossoming across his body, his shirt rucked halfway up his stomach, and come staining his ass and thighs. Ford realizes Stan still has his socks on, and he can't figure out why that makes something twinge, hot but exhausted and halfhearted, in his gut. 

"Gonna...gonna get up in a minute," Stan says, his voice slurring and his eyes already closed. Ford watches him rub his cheek against one of Ford's pillows, and the soft sound of snoring follows soon after. 

The reality of the situation starts to settle in shortly after that, and Ford stares wide eyed up at the ceiling as if he'll find some sort of answers there. Unsurprisingly, there are no secrets etched overhead for how to reckon with the fact that he had just fucked his brother, twice, while the fate of the world was still very much hanging in the balance between his fraying sanity and Bill's looming threat. 

".....Fuck," Ford murmurs.

When the adrenaline finishes seeping out of his system, Ford expects to crash. The exhaustion certainly climbs back into his bones, but he's surprised to find himself still clear headed. Focused. 

The sound of Stan sleeping soundly beside him is as soothing as it is mocking, but he doesn't want to separate himself from it even though he knows he needs to get up. There's soft, gray light starting to creep in through the windows, and distant birdsong calling for the start of the day. He needs to readjust, to come up with a new plan, find some way to explain to Stan what's going on so they can buy themselves a little more time. 

Against all odds and his better judgment, there's a tiny, optimistic voice in the back of his head reminding him that there's strength in numbers. He isn't surprised that it sounds like Stan.

[nowimjustastranger]

Just a little gift for my bestie Phoenix, aka @flame-cat, because they were in a car accident recently. But thankfully they're okay! This was actually inspired by an outline for an interaction between the brothers that they shared with me privately, so enjoy 1.5k words worth of stangst y'all!

Ford scrubbed a hand over his face with a frustrated groan, fingers knocking his glasses askew. He couldn’t afford to have his body fail him now, not when he had an exam to study for. But what he wanted didn’t change the fact that his eyes had started to outright refuse to focus on the words in the textbook five minutes ago, an annoyingly persistent migraine pulsing behind his eyes.

To make matters worse, the landline rang. The shrill sound made the bothersome migraine go from a mild three all the way up to a solid eight on his tolerance scale, which made his temper flare. Ford snatched the handset off the cradle with a growl, reluctantly bringing it to his ear.

“Stanford Pines.” He bit out, adjusting his glasses with his free hand so they sat on his nose properly. When his prickly greeting didn’t garner a response outside of what sounded like labored breathing, Ford scowled. Great, it was his mystery caller again. Just what he needed on top of an already stressful day.

“I refuse to keep entertaining these prank calls, so if you call again I’ll be notifying–” Ford began in a stern tone, but he was interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Stanford.”

Stanley. That was Stanley. Why was his brother calling him at –Ford stole a glance at the clock– two in the afternoon? What could he possibly want? Well, whatever it was, he wouldn’t be getting it from Ford. He had already given up so much because of Stanley’s selfishness, he wasn’t about to give him the opportunity to worm his way back into Ford’s life–

“…Sixer?” Stanley asked, a breathless quality to his voice that brought Ford’s anger back down to a simmer. Why did Stanley sound like that? His breathing was short like he wasn’t taking full breaths, but there was still a measured quality to each inhale and exhale like he was breathing that way on purpose.

“How did you get this number?” Ford asked bluntly, bracing his elbow on his desk before letting his forehead drop into the palm of his hand, resigning himself to having this unexpected yet long overdue conversation with his estranged brother. Maybe Stanley had realized the error of his ways and called to apologize? Yeah right, fat fucking chance of that.

“Ma passed it along.” Stanley grunted, his tone laced with pain, and Ford could certainly relate. He didn’t want to be talking to Stanley any more than Stanley wanted to talk to him, which begged the question: why exactly did Stanley call him?

“Of course she did.” Ford grumbled, suddenly feeling every hour of lost sleep hitting him all at once. He was exhausted. He was tired of trying to fend Ma and her mission to reconnect him with his brother off, tired of walking on eggshells during his monthly calls home just to avoid saying the wrong thing and causing unnecessary drama, and he was tired of putting up with the part of him that still cared about his brother.

“I… I think my ribs are broken.” Stanley said quietly and Ford’s brain shrieked to a standstill, his grip momentarily going slack on the handset as he tried to process the implications of such an ominous statement, forcing him to fumble with it until he managed to press the receiver back against his ear.

“What?” Ford barked, tone incredulous and concerned in equal measure. He resolutely ignored the way that his hands trembled, his grip white-knuckle tight on the handset.

"My ribs. I think–” Stan cut himself off as his breath hitched, a pained hiss following shortly after. Ford found himself leaning forward, blankly staring into the middle distance as he strained his ears to hear every little shift in Stanley’s breathing, trying to assess his brother’s current state. “Nevermind. Shit. Not important right now.”

“Not impor– You can’t be serious, Stanley!?” Ford seethed, lurching out of his chair, uncaring as it tipped back and crashed to the floor as he began to pace. He made sure to stay within the range that the cord allowed him, but he simply couldn’t sit still when Stanley was hurt and possibly even suffering from a head wound considering that he wasn’t making any fucking sense–

“I’m fine. It’s fine. I just…” Stanley spoke in starts and stops, his breathing strained as he spoke through what sounded like clenched teeth. “I need…”

“What? What do you need? What happened?” Ford prompted with urgency, fingers curling and uncurling anxiously. He had to know. He couldn’t estimate the severity of Stanley’s injuries without more data, right now he was left with what his imagination could produce. He needed facts in order to combat the increasingly horrible scenarios that his mind was dredging up.

“Car crash.” Stan said on an exhale and Ford nodded even though his brother wouldn’t be able to see it, pinching the bridge of his nose as his useless brain fixated on those two words.

“What else hurts? Or is it just your ribs?” Ford asked tersely, moving back to his desk with a determined stride to grab a piece of paper at random along with the pen that he had tucked behind his ear earlier. He scribbled down Stanley’s comment about his potentially busted ribs and then let the pen hover as he waited for Stanley’s –hopefully detailed– analysis of his person.

“I dunno… stomach hurts. Kinda swollen.” Stanley mumbled, sucking in a sharp breath as he presumably prodded at the area in question.

“Lightheadedness? Nausea?” Ford pressed, his heart lurching into his throat as several injuries came to mind, internal bleeding being the most likely explanation. Stanley had already displayed textbook signs of internal bleeding, such as disorientation and shortness of breath.

“Both? Feelin’ a bit sluggish too.” Stanley admitted, the muted rustle of clothes indicating that he had adjusted.

“Is the cord long enough for you to sit down?” Ford asked, looking up when the door opened and Fiddleford stepped into the room. Ford frantically waved him over, writing a message for Fiddleford in the notebook before sidestepping so he could read it when he hurried over.

“I think so? Lemme just…” Stanley huffed, Ford splitting his attention between the sound of Stanley gingerly lowering himself to the ground and Fiddleford’s rapidly paling face as the man read through Ford’s notes of Stanley’s wellbeing.

“Stanley? Stanley, are you there?” Ford prompted when there was nothing but harsh breathing for several seconds, sharing a look with an equally rattled Fiddleford.

“Yeah… yeah ‘m here.” Stanley panted, his speech slurred, and Fiddleford hurried from the room to contact emergency services with a different phone. As soon as Ford got a location, he would relay the address to Fiddleford and then stay on the line with Stanley for as long as he could before the call cut out.

“Where exactly is ‘here’, Stanley? Where are you?” Ford asked, rapidly tapping his pen on the notebook just to have something to do since he couldn’t get his hands on his brother like he desperately wanted. He hated feeling so useless.

“Uh… outside a 7/11.” Stanley said weakly, his voice barely a whisper.

“Which 7/11?” Ford demanded, his eyes narrowing. Either Stanley was losing consciousness, or he was losing his grip on lucidity. Neither were ideal considering the circumstances. Ford didn’t have enough information to confidently deduce how hurt his brother was. These could be Stanley’s last moments and Ford was wasting his breath giving him the third degree instead of saying anything of value–

“Um… I dunno.” Stanley said with the vocal equivalent of a shrug and Ford suddenly felt the inexplicable urge to scream.

“An address, Stanley.” Ford clarified in a clipped tone, impatiently tapping his foot as emotions built up in his esophagus, bubbling up despite his best efforts to stuff them back down into their vault. This could be his last opportunity to say something. Anything. Ford couldn’t squander this rare chance, couldn’t let Stanley fade away without knowing that his big brother lo–

“I dunno, s-somewhere in New Mexico, I guess.” Stanley murmured, sounding a little less strained but just as tired. Sitting down had eased some of the stress that his body was under then. Good.

“Just stay there, Stanley. You hear me? Don’t move.” Ford said sternly, speaking slowly and clearly so Stanley’s muddled brain could register the words and damn well heed them. Ford knew that Fiddleford could triangulate Stanley’s position using the phone call, but he wasn’t going anywhere until the call ended.

“M’kay.” Stanley agreed, his voice so quiet that Ford wouldn’t have caught it if his entire focus hadn’t been on his brother. Ford ran a hand through his hair, gripping it at the roots and tugging as he stared down at the notebook, bloodshot eyes roaming over his messily scrawled notes.

“I’ll meet you at the nearest ho–” Ford assured, unceremoniously cut off when the line abruptly went dead. “–spital.”

Fuck.

Fuck.

“God fucking damnit!” Ford snarled, slamming the handset onto the cradle with excessive force before turning on his heel to sprint out of the room and track down Fiddleford. Then Ford would take over the call with emergency services while his roommate used his skills to locate Stanley, sending an ambulance to him.

College could wait, Ford’s brother needed him.

[jaywaslost]

Five Times Winnie Wanted to Confess, One Time Augustine Did

—

This has been in my docs done for ages I just never got around to posting it, written during a Cold Front obsession phase

Do excuse me if they're out of character or if I messed up any dates, I can't remember them all perfectly— Anyways, Enjoy!

--

Sypnosis: The first time Winnie realized he was in love was at the tender age of 12.

He hadn’t expected to think of that at all really, especially not at 4 in the morning of all times.

Word count: 8.9k

The first time Winnie realized he was in love was at the tender age of 12.

He hadn’t expected to think of that at all really, especially not at 4 in the morning of all times.

The date on his phone read February 14th, 20xx. He didn’t know why he was still awake, but something in him absolutely refused to get a wink of sleep, quite different to usual. On a normal day he was asleep by 11 maximum, with the exception of the first few days after moving away from his home (his mother was very concerned, he still remembers how she’d check on him during the night to see if he was sleeping or not. He’d pretend to the best of his ability until she left before he returned to wallowing in his sorrows again.).

Scrolling on his phone seemed to be the only form of entertainment at the time, if he got out of bed his parents would realize he was awake and he really didn’t feel like getting another lecture. He didn’t have any homework to busy himself with, nor did he really feel like looking for something else. Messaging Augustine had come to mind, but there was no doubt he was asleep at this time.

The other was stubborn, especially when it came to him staying up on weekends, but he never usually made it past 2. He would also sleep in until around 1PM every time he tried to be stubborn and stay awake longer and get scolded about it when he woke up, punished with doing extra chores. On those days he wouldn’t stop complaining about it, saying he was ‘a big boy now’ and that ‘it’s not fair others get to stay awake and get away with it!’. He couldn’t help finding his friend’s enraged expressions funny.

The blond didn’t end up saying anything so as not to wake him up, they could probably talk in the morning, anyway. With nothing better to do, he scrolled through anything he could find trying to distract himself or become tired enough to sleep and get the rest he needed.

When his eyes finally started to get heavier, he noticed a website that caught his attention. It was something posted merely moments ago, titled something along the lines of what to do on valentines day for your loved ones or whatever (he was too tired to process it properly). Out of curiosity, his fingers glided over the link to open it.

It was too late for him to process most of the words, but what stood out was the beginning of the article. It was nothing special, only the typical explanation of what the day is and why it's considered special, but his eyes lingered on a single phrase. ‘Valentine's day was a special occasion for everyone, the perfect day to confess to your crush, whether it's a friend, classmate, or even acquaintance who has lingered on your mind’ was the quote, the rest of the paragraph continued similarly.

His tired mind couldn’t help but wonder what could happen on this day, childish brain coming up with no more than the image of people like his parents, always together and in love, dedicated to each other to the point you could see it a mile away. He wondered what the day could mean for him, is there a special someone he should be thinking about? Is it normal this is the first time he really thinks about that? Is he gonna be the outcast again being alone in the morning while everyone else has someone by their side? Was he weird because he didn’t have his eyes set on a girl he wanted to…kiss? It shouldn’t be an issue he was twelve, but what if things in Saskatchewan were different or something, would they laugh at hi-

His thoughts came to a halt as the image of his one friend came to mind. Augustine didn’t have his eyes on any girls either, right? He would have known otherwise. They told each other everything, that wouldn’t be an exception!

..Did he know anything about this day? It was never acknowledged all that much in Quebec, was it the same here? Maybe he wasn't so weird after all? The thought calmed his nerves a little more than it should have.

Despite that, for some reason, the idea of being with his best friend during that day didn’t bother him as much as it should have. He felt his face rapidly heat up at the thought of holding his hand, it wouldn’t be the first time they did that they do so very often Augustine always liked to drag him places saying that it was easy and faster (which Winnie was offended by, he can walk fast too!) but for some reason that thought felt different, he didn’t know why.

If his reaction to finding out about the event was normal, this was definitely not. They’re friends, Auggie was his first and only friend after coming here. He didn’t pity him, he didn’t leave, he wanted to stay, he was why Winnie talked to other people at all even if to him they were enough on their own. Auggie was nice to him the way he wanted, he never left him out of things. The other boy was different, straight forward at best but Winnie liked that about him. He never lied about things (even if he did, he was so bad it was laughable), and he never laughed when Winnie’s emotions took the best of him. He supported him and it meant everything to the little boy.

Since they met, he visibly started feeling better. He finally came out of his shell and started crying less, eventually returning to his normal sleep schedule. Well, normal until today that was. But that's all they were, right? Nothing else, that's all they could be right? He wasn’t a girl, nor was the brunette, so that’s what they were.

..Their parents didn’t ever say anything about the way they acted, so it was okay right? Not much would change if they did do things together on that day. Would it be weird if he said he loved him in the morning?? That was the point of the day right? To celebrate love with people you like and enjoy the day together?

It would be okay if he tried to say something right? Nothing bad would happen, Auggie would probably be okay with it too. He didn’t want to be alone and he doubted the other did either, so it was good for them both right?

Winnie barely processed it when he yawned, just realizing how tired all that thinking had made him. Another look at the time told him over an hour had passed, 5:21 Am now instead of 4 when he last checked.

He had to rest so he knew what to say in the morning, otherwise he’ll mess up and forget later!

Finally, he closed his eyes and drifted off to a dreamless sleep 6 hours later than he would have typically wanted to.

It was 2 P.M when Winnie woke up, his head was pounding. His eyes hurt to open and he felt a lot more tired than usual, entirely disoriented.

The door creaked open as a woman with an appearance similar to the child peered her head in, perking up when she realized he was awake.

“Winnie?”

He really shouldn’t have stayed awake, his head hurt even more at hearing the words that he almost forgot to process his name being called. Mustering up the energy to fix his seating, he looked up at his mother to respond despite looking like an absolute wreck.

He was too out of it to really process what happened before he found himself near the lake with Augustine, the shorter kicking rocks into it paying little attention to him spacing out.

..Ah right, he was scolded for being awake for so long. Apparently his mother had realized he was awake when she went to take the laundry out of his room in the morning. His phone was warm, a clear sign he only got off of it recently. She ended up leaving after telling him to get ready for the day, that his best friend had been waiting for him for an hour by that point.

Hearing how long he left him standing, Winnie practically jumped out of bed already panicked as guilt overtook his senses. As soon as he was ready, he basically raced out the door to find his friend who was halfway up climbing a tree by the time he noticed him.

“Auggie!” he exclaimed while making his way over, whatever the other responded didn’t stick to his memory, too tired to really process how fast he typically spoke.

“-Winnie! Look at me already!”

The blond was snapped out of his trance by a flick to the forehead, blinking a few times before his eyes cooperated enough to notice how close his friend was to his face. He practically jumped back with a yelp, forgetting how he was sitting on the edge of the lake and falling into the water.

Augustine panicked and barely grabbed onto his hand, almost falling into the water himself. It’s not that Winnie was unable to swim, more that the water was cold if anything.

With some splashing, they eventually managed to pull him out, but he was absolutely soaked. Augustine couldn’t help but laugh at how wet he was, much to Winnie’s displeasure.

“DON’T LAUGH AT ME YOU’RE THE REASON I FELL AUGGIE” He huffed out, faking annoyance which only made his friend laugh harder.

It was.. Nice.

…until he began sneezing, that was.

The two ended up having to run to Winnie’s house as Augustine dragged him back by the hand once more, trying to warm him up as they went along.

The brunette ended up having to explain to their parents why Winnie was soaked when they were just meant to be playing as he dried himself off and changed, eventually making his way back to his room after Auggie had left to his own house again.

Their conversation can wait, he was too tired and it wasn’t the right time.

But that was okay.

They’ll always have time.

———————————————

The second time Winnie thought about love, he was 14.

2 years had passed since his valentines day dilemma, safe to say time (and procrastination) had eventually made him forget all about his plans.

As they got older, Auggie had hardly changed. They were still together as they were since he moved, only fresh in highschool! Best friends, like they said they were.

During the past few years, he was pressured to talk to more people and make new friends. At some point, he no longer found himself obsessing over finding out why they wanted to be around him. Eventually, the thought of being approached out of pity felt only like a distant memory or something he imagined happening, though it was far from that. If not for that fear, his mother wouldn’t have talked to Augustine’s about him, they wouldn’t have had their c̶h̶a̶o̶t̶i̶c̶ first meeting, never gotten the chance to be this close.

He may not admit or even say it all that often, but that is one thing he’s grateful for. If not for that, he’d have still been dealing with the emotional wreck of being the new kid, outcast like he always expected to be. But he didn’t need to be, it was proven to him in the best way it ever could have been.

He had come to know Augustine’s other friends, they even liked him. The first time he couldn’t make it to school and they still invited Winnie to sit with them the boy was overjoyed, almost to the point he forgot about his friend’s absence for a while. By the time the day was over, he couldn’t help feeling empty without the energetic presence rambling alongside him as they walked back home.

It was one day, so it didn’t matter that much in the long run right?

From that day on, he became more comfortable with them. He didn’t worry as much about being wanted there or not, becoming visibly more comfortable. It came to the point that it was so clear the brunette asked him about it straight up during the middle of one of their walks.

“Hey Win?” Augustine paused, nearly causing the boy behind him to run into him.

The blond caught himself the last second, stabilizing his stance enough to make sure he wouldn’t fall before speaking again.

“Mm yea Auggie? Why’d you stop walking? I was gonna fall on you!” He whined.

“You’ve been more willing to sit with people recently, did something happen while I was gone?”

His questioning look was met with a big smile, almost like Winnie was waiting to talk about it.

“Oh!! That? When you didn’t come a few days ago, your friends came up to me and asked me to sit with them even if you weren’t there, they were really nice and-”

As he continued to ramble, Augustine returned to walking. While the other followed soon after, his expression stayed the same as his ramble- which the brunette stopped listening to- didn’t cease. He felt weird about that, why did it feel weird hearing how happy Winnie was hanging out with his friends on their own? That was what he wanted, right? To get him more friends?

It was probably nothing, doubt it mattered much anyway. It was one time and a normal thing.

“You never told me why you didn't show up to school that day though, did something happen? Mom didn’t let me check on you because she said you probably didn’t want to be bothered at the time” Winnie inquired all of a sudden, catching the other’s attention and cutting off his line of thought.

“I was sick, couldn’t get out of bed and recovered over the weekend” he quickly responded, it was no lie but saying he wasn’t bummed out by not seeing his friend would be a lie. It would have probably made him feel less like a glorified pile of muck on the side of the road.

At least now he knows he wasn’t ditched, it wasn’t intentional or voluntary at least.

Winnie didn’t abandon him because of them.

Of course he wouldn’t! Why would he ever leave someone like him, anyway? He was Winnie’s first and closest friend, nobody else. Others getting to know him wouldn’t change that, if they would have then Winnie wouldn’t have put his all into proving he was cool enough they’d be friends.

Winnie didn’t really notice the look on his friend’s face, too focused on making sure they crossed the road properly. The traffic lights were green and cars were zooming past, yet Augustine’s pace didn’t slow or pause at all. Rushing forward a little faster, he pulled the other back by his collar.

Augustine yelped, not expecting a sudden pull cutting off his breathing for a moment. Winnie gave him a sheepish smile as he coughed trying to breathe properly again, muttering out an awkward apology.

“You were about to walk into the road silly, why did you get so distracted suddenly?” He didn’t say how he found it funny, knowing the other would throw a dramatic fit over that. It was slightly endearing, in a way.

He only realized he sas silently staring at the one before him for a few minutes too long until he felt tapping on his forehead.

“Earth to Winnie, you didn’t hear a word I said didn’t you?” Augustine grumbled.

Winnie couldn't help but laugh once again, his antics really were different.

“We can cross the road now, hurry up before it turns green again!”

It seemed like his dear friend was back to being himself after that mini-distraction, it felt more right this way. He was, once again, taken by the hand as Auggie ran across the road to get them past as fast as possible without the light switching colours on them again.

Winnie could swear he almost tripped 3 times during that small distance run. He should really focus more.

As he looked back to his best friend he couldn’t help but sit there in silence for a few minutes. He wasn’t saying anything this time, only staring off at something god knows where again. As he did so, Winnie couldn’t help thinking back to his thoughts that night two years ago.

Should he bring it up? They were even closer now, so it was even less possible Auggie would react badly (if he did at all!)He had the energy for the conversation this time, they were alone like they needed to be too!

If he didn’t say anything, he’d be too much of a coward to do so again later. 2 years passing since the time he originally planned to and ended up ditching proved that!

With a deep breath and little to no plan, Winnie decided to just get it over with as he could quite literally feel himself inching closer to a heart attack.

“Hey Auggie?”

Augustine turned to him, suddenly losing interest in whatever had his attention moments ago.

“What is i-”

“AUGUSTINE!’

A voice of someone they hadn’t anticipated caught both the young boys off guard. Winnie recognized her, a girl from their math class earlier that day. She was insistent on talking to his friend almost the entire class which threw him off but he said nothing nonetheless.

Augustine’s attention snapped to the call of his name instead, focus shifting.

Winnie didn’t hear the conversation that transpired next, busy trying to understand why the sudden interruption annoyed him the way it did.

It happened sometimes, that was normal. Augustine knew everyone, it's only natural they came up to him sometimes too no? He wasn’t the only one.

“Winnie I need to go for a bit, Donna just said there’s something I need to see quickly or something? You can continue without me I’ll tell you when I’m back” the boy rushed out as he was being pulled away off to the complete opposite road of the path they were going on.

Winnie found himself nodding involuntarily, hardly processing it when the words “I’ll see you when you’re back then” came out of his mouth.

They were oddly dry, not the way he usually talks.

Augustine wasn’t able to dwell on that much further as the girl, now known as Donna, dragged him off somewhere else leaving Winnie alone.

Another time, surely it’d work out by then right?

———————————————

The third time Winnie acknowledged love, he was 16.

Another two years had passed and, once again, he kept procrastinating and chickening out at the last second.

The one time he was finally about to say something, Augustine was dragged away and didn’t return until midnight. He was worried sick the entire day, what if something happened? He promised not to take long, why did he? Maybe he was dragged into something bad, maybe he got hurt and couldn’t come back yet what if he got kidnapped what if something worse happened he didn’t know what the’d do with himself if—

Their mothers were equally worried that day, apparently Augustine didn’t tell his parents he’d take longer because of whatever happened either. When he returned alone, Winnie was questioned about the others whereabouts and lacked a good answer, increasing their concern only for the boy in question to appear again a mere few hours later and get the scolding of his life.

He wasn’t hurt more than a few scratches here and there, some bruises sure but those were his own fault for not being careful as he should have been. Auggie never explained what happened that day, though. It’s not like he pressed for any further information but it was…weird.

Since then, he never brought it up again no matter how much the brunette pestered him to continue his sentence on that day, claiming he forgot or making up any excuse he could think of on the spot to avoid having that interaction when he was not yet prepared. He was procrastinating for so long it had to be perfect. That was the only thing that would make it feel worth the wait.

Winnie would tell him on the anniversary of their first meeting.

..was it excessive? To call it an anniversary, he doubted Auggie remembered the date as anything special but it meant the world to him at the time, and it does even as time passed. It was when he realized he didn’t have to feel so alone anymore, the day someone in this province finally made him feel wanted and welcome.

Because of him, he got closer to more people. The friends Augustine introduced him to, the ones who invited him to hang out with them alone, others around the school, they all wanted to know him for him now. He was the reason they started liking Winnie, the reason he has any other friends at all.

Of course, Augustine would forever stay his favourite and dearest one, but that didn’t mean others didn’t become valued too. Winnie had never been happier, people waving to him as he passed by, stopping to talk to him from time to time, it made him feel warm inside again.

He didn’t miss the glances he got, but it never felt like much of a concern.

At least, not for a while.

Or not yet.

What he had noticed was how Augustine had changed over the years, how he reacted whenever the blond introduced him to a new friend he’d make. How he tended to not respond the way he used to when they were talking about interests they had, especially Hockey.

Winnie knew his friend always loved that game. He was the best player their school had for years, close to all other members of the team and always telling him about it. H̶e̶ t̶r̶i̶e̶d̶ n̶o̶t̶ t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ a̶b̶o̶u̶t̶ h̶o̶w̶ c̶o̶n̶v̶e̶n̶i̶e̶n̶t̶l̶y̶ t̶h̶e̶ t̶i̶m̶e̶ A̶u̶g̶u̶s̶t̶i̶n̶e̶ s̶t̶o̶p̶p̶e̶d̶ t̶a̶l̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ a̶b̶o̶u̶t̶ i̶t̶ l̶i̶n̶e̶d̶ u̶p̶ w̶i̶t̶h̶ t̶h̶e̶ t̶i̶m̶e̶ w̶h̶e̶n̶ h̶e̶ j̶o̶i̶n̶e̶d̶ t̶h̶e̶ t̶e̶a̶m̶ a̶l̶o̶n̶g̶s̶i̶d̶e̶ t̶h̶e̶ b̶o̶y̶.

H̶e̶ d̶i̶d̶n̶'t̶ m̶i̶s̶s̶ t̶h̶e̶ d̶i̶s̶t̶a̶n̶t̶ l̶o̶o̶k̶s̶ f̶r̶o̶m̶ a̶c̶r̶o̶s̶s̶ t̶h̶e̶ r̶i̶n̶k̶, w̶h̶e̶n̶ A̶u̶g̶u̶s̶t̶i̶n̶e̶'s̶ e̶y̶e̶s̶ l̶o̶o̶k̶e̶d̶ c̶o̶l̶d̶e̶r̶ t̶h̶a̶n̶ t̶h̶e̶y̶ e̶v̶e̶r̶ h̶a̶d̶ b̶e̶f̶o̶r̶e̶.

W̶h̶e̶n̶ h̶e̶ f̶e̶l̶t̶ d̶i̶f̶f̶e̶r̶e̶n̶t̶.

N̶o̶t̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ i̶t̶ w̶a̶s̶ a̶n̶ i̶s̶s̶u̶e̶ t̶h̶o̶u̶g̶h̶, t̶h̶e̶y̶ w̶e̶r̶e̶ f̶r̶i̶e̶n̶d̶s̶, r̶i̶g̶h̶t̶?̶ I̶t̶ w̶a̶s̶ l̶i̶k̶e̶l̶y̶ h̶e̶ w̶a̶s̶ h̶a̶v̶i̶n̶g̶ a̶ b̶a̶d̶ d̶a̶y̶ a̶n̶y̶w̶a̶y̶, t̶h̶i̶s̶ y̶e̶a̶r̶ w̶a̶s̶ n̶o̶t̶ t̶r̶e̶a̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ h̶i̶m̶ k̶i̶n̶d̶l̶y̶ b̶y̶ a̶n̶y̶ m̶e̶a̶n̶s̶.

They were still friends, accompanying each other to every class and doing things together as always. It was a good thing how they haven’t changed in that regard, people always came to associate them with the other.

Overtime, it became apparent that wherever Augustine is, Winnie was not far away and vice versa. They used to joke about it at first until it became frequent enough the joke itself got boring. Now, it’s nothing special.

Sure, they walked with other people and hung out with others sometimes. a̶t̶ l̶e̶a̶s̶t̶ h̶e̶ d̶i̶d̶, A̶g̶u̶s̶t̶i̶n̶e̶ m̶u̶s̶t̶ h̶a̶v̶e̶ t̶o̶o̶ n̶o̶?̶ h̶e̶ h̶a̶d̶ p̶l̶e̶n̶t̶y̶ o̶f̶ f̶r̶i̶e̶n̶d̶s̶ a̶s̶ f̶a̶r̶ a̶s̶ h̶e̶ k̶n̶e̶w̶. But it never damaged their bond.

Winnie was planning this day for the past 4 months at this point, it almost felt funny how repetitive this routine felt by the third time. “The day he would stop being a coward, would say it to his friend’s face and wait for the response he yearns for” or whatever he always thought about, cheesy in a way but it wasn’t like he could exactly help that.

They were only walking through the halls during their lunch period when they passed by Winnie’s locker. A normal thing if not for the fact 3 people were crowded around it, whispering to themselves.

The duo didn’t pay it much time at first, preferring to continue their debate on the newest pointless subject they thought of: if oranges came first or if it was the colour. Augustine insisted the fruit did, whereas Winnie was prepared to die on the hill saying it was the other way around.

The group of 3 in front of the locker were not people the two were particularly friends with, Winnie recognized one as someone who sits next to him in.. biology? At least that's what he remembered. Augustine shrugged at the question of their names, saying it didn’t come up enough for him to remember them much, adding on how they weren’t particularly interesting enough for him to care beyond acquainting with anyway.

It wasn’t something Winnie needed to put much thought into either, trusting his friend’s judgement.

All that really mattered now was convincing Auggie to follow him to the rooftop where he could finally say what he wanted to in complete privacy, but until then he had to keep his cool and continue their seemingly endless bickering.

They were forced to snap out of their conversation when one of the boys pushed someone towards them, turning to see what the issue was. The girl pushed towards them by her friends lost her balance, but Winnie quickly caught her fall before any actual damage could be caused, at which her face turned red.

H̶e̶ c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ s̶w̶e̶a̶r̶ A̶u̶g̶u̶s̶t̶i̶n̶e̶ g̶l̶a̶r̶e̶d̶ a̶t̶ h̶e̶r̶.

“Are you okay?” he inquired, looking between the three in obvious confusion.

The girl just nodded, fiddling with her hands seemingly unable to form a proper response. As he turned away to leave after telling them to be more careful, his arm was grabbed by her as a seemingly impulse decision she regretted almost immediately after.

W̶a̶y̶ t̶o̶ s̶e̶t̶ h̶i̶s̶ p̶l̶a̶n̶ o̶f̶f̶ a̶c̶t̶i̶o̶n̶, h̶e̶ o̶n̶l̶y̶ h̶a̶d̶ 1̶5̶ m̶i̶n̶u̶t̶e̶s̶ l̶e̶f̶t̶!̶

Before he could breathe, she finally spoke up.

“Can I- talk to you for a few minutes?”

Winnie looked back at his friend, seemingly at a loss. He didn’t want to stay, he planned so long for this but she didn’t have plans of letting him go yet and-

The look on Augustine’s face was cold as it was on those days in the rink, his expression changing to one Winnie couldn’t read in mere seconds after they were talking normally only moments ago.

At least that's what he thought, it’s what that looked like anyway.

“You can go, it’s fine” the brunette said, though Winnie knew better than to believe his tone was one of someone who really didn’t care what he did. He knew better than that, Augustine was annoyed, but what for?

It seemed like the girl took that as an invitation to drag him away, almost tripping Winnie in the meantime. Her friends cheered her on as Augustine only turned around and walked in the opposite direction instead of waiting for him to return after or interrupting her for dragging him off like that.

Whatever side of the school she was taking him to he didn’t quite notice, only realizing how far they’d gone when she shoved a letter into his hands and refused to look at him. Winnie could easily guess the implications of that, seeing the heart sticker on the front of it.

It was about to be a long conversation, one he didn’t want to be a part of.

Why was it so difficult for things to work out when he wanted to come clean?

Maybe another time, surely.

———————————————

Winnie was 18 when they grew apart.

Their separation started slow, over the course of a few years.

It wasn’t entirely like that of course!- they were talking less is all, not really separate. They still hung out at school sometimes like they used to and sat together in one or two classes, W̶i̶n̶n̶i̶e̶ f̶o̶u̶n̶d̶ h̶i̶m̶s̶e̶l̶f̶ d̶r̶a̶g̶g̶e̶d̶ s̶o̶m̶e̶w̶h̶e̶r̶e̶ e̶l̶s̶e̶ m̶o̶r̶e̶ o̶f̶t̶e̶n̶ t̶h̶a̶n̶ n̶o̶t̶, A̶u̶g̶g̶i̶e̶ n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ s̶t̶o̶p̶p̶e̶d̶ h̶i̶m̶ s̶o̶ h̶e̶ d̶i̶d̶n̶'t̶ t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶ t̶h̶e̶r̶e̶ w̶a̶s̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ m̶u̶c̶h̶ o̶f̶ a̶ p̶r̶o̶b̶l̶e̶m̶ r̶i̶g̶h̶t̶?̶

They walked together after on their home, but Auggie never looked at him if he could help it. When he did, something felt wrong. Instead of the warm looks he always received when they were kids, it was like looking at a stranger.

Any conversations they had were started by him and died out quite quickly, the other giving the bare minimum of a response if not just nodding and moving along. The blond never figured out how to get him to talk like they used to again, nor the reason for the sudden change.

Something he noticed more and more as he approached his friend was the way the other would scoff, as if annoyed by his mere presence. Winnie remembers staying awake night after night thinking and trying to understand what happened, where he went wrong, what he did to make things this way.

He looked through every conversation he could find, recounting every single one he could remember trying to find what about him led his friend to being unhappy about his presence after so long.

Could it be that Augustine had grown tired of him?

Winnie shook his head- he was too tired to be thinking of this at the moment. They would be heading back home in a bit, it was 3:00 anyway, a few minutes left before the bell rings.

He would approach Auggie and have a proper conversation again if it was the last thing he did!

…He didn’t realize how hard that would be until he was already looking for the other, trying to make up any topic so they wouldn’t walk in silence again, and fate didn’t seem to be on his side as he found the person he was in search of before conjuring anything up.

Despite the cold air between them, Augustine still waited for him at the gate so they could walk back together. It made Winnie feel more at ease, knowing he at least didn’t mess up badly enough to get ditched entirely.

He didn’t respond to anyone calling him as he speed-walked over to the brunette, not wanting to make him wait longer than he already did. Heavens know the last thing Winnie wanted now was to have Augustine ditch him because he took too long.

As soon as he arrived, the brunette turned around and started walking down the path that's been imprinted into their memory over the years. It was always a routine of theirs to walk back together, the company was nice. The few times they were separated by something happening always ended up in an apology or hangout later that day to make up for the time.

Winnie both loved and hated how this walk started to feel overtime. The silence wasn’t comfortable as it used to be, his friend didn't look like he planned to break it either. As expected, the job fell on his shoulders.

The further they went, the worse it got. The familiarity of the path at least allowed him to space out and think more about what to do to make things less awkward.

It seemed as if his brain had other plans, by the way it didn’t cooperate. Whatever, they knew each other for years. The last few conversations couldn’t keep repeating, they’d never improve again if neither of them spoke up.

“Hey Auggie?” He began, with little clue as to where he planned to go with the conversation.

For the first time that day, Augustine looked up at him. “Yea?”

“I heard you had a test today, how did it go? Math right?” Winnie did not in fact hear of a math test, let alone one at all. A friend of his mentioned stressing over one the week prior and he just asked that based on someone else who probably wasn’t even in the same cla-

“Another calculus one, yes. Absurdly soon seeing when the last one was” he responded, looking back to the street instead of the one next to him.

That was something Winnie could work with, a start somewhere.

“How did it go? You were always complaining about that subject then finishing all the work before I even got halfway through the page, it was impressive”

There was a shift in Augustine’s expression, small, but noticeable. It was a good confirmation he was doing alright so far, which was all he needed.

The shorter just shrugged at the question. It was how he always reacted to those sorts of inquiries, Winnie couldn’t help letting out a small laugh.

H̶e̶ m̶i̶s̶s̶e̶d̶ t̶h̶e̶ w̶a̶y̶ A̶u̶g̶u̶s̶t̶i̶n̶e̶ s̶t̶i̶f̶f̶e̶n̶e̶d̶ a̶t̶ t̶h̶e̶ s̶o̶u̶n̶d̶.

“How'd you know there was a test to benign with? We’re in different math classes” Augustine may have been staring at the road still, but he was less focused on their path more at kicking the rocks he found on the way. A classic thing he did, trying to get them to go as far as possible.

When they were younger they used to try and see who could do it better, but Winnie eventually grew out of it. Of the many things that changed about Augustine, that habit was not one.

“A friend was complaining about it the last time we talked, I assumed you might have the same teacher and I was right!” He answered. What to him seemed like a simple answer made Augustine pause. Pause for a lot longer than he should have as his expression shifted again.

..Winnie didn’t think he said anything wrong, did he?

Augustine didn’t respond, opting to go back to walking faster than before rather than say a word.

They would be silent again if he didn’t continue, it was going well for once his friend responded with proper sentences again instead of gestures or small sentences.

“I’m sure you did great, Auggie!” He saw the other smile and roll his eyes at those words, s̶l̶i̶g̶h̶t̶l̶y̶ r̶e̶l̶i̶e̶v̶e̶d̶?̶.

The direction he was going in seemed to be exactly what was needed, so Winnie went on. “Did you go to hockey practice last Friday? I had to miss it to help my parents with stuff after school but I couldn’t stop thinking about that”

Augustine scoffed and Winnie hesitated to say anything else as a strange feeling set in.

“I went, everyone kept asking about you though”

“That’s so nice of them, I didn’t-” He was cut off by the feeling of his wrist being grabbed roughly.

“What was that?”

Winnie blinked awkwardly, just noticing the expression on the other’s face.

“I just..said that it was nice?” Augustine held onto his wrist tighter at that.

“Don’t play dumb, repeat what you said again I dare you.”

He was angry.

Despite everything, Winnie had never seen the other angry with him. He saw him annoyed, yelling at others from time to time, but never him. Especially not while grabbing his arm like it had offended him somehow.

“I didn’t say anythi-”

“You think I’m stupid don’t you? I heard you, coward.” The brunette let go of him and Winnie held the now slightly reddened wrist as his confusion only grew.

“Of course you didn’t. Whatever, I’ll see you later.”

Before Winnie could respond or reach out to stop him, the other stormed off in the opposite direction on his own but not without sending him a glare before he left.

He messed up again.

The problem was he didn’t know what he said.

Did he not like hockey anymore? Was that topic a bad idea?

For the first time, Winnie felt like their end was near.

He didn't know how long he stood in place before his legs finally started moving again, what he did know was the chances of fixing their friendship were lower than they were previously at the start of the day. The Augustine he knew and the one he was faced with felt like different people now.

It was like there was a stranger in his skin.

———————————————

Winnie was 18 when he wished he never thought about love at all.

A long time had passed since his last conversation with Augustine, and it was now the summer.

Their relationship only got worse after the conversation on their walk back to their houses, always off when the other one is present.

If anyone asked Winnie if he expected this only a few years prior, he would be beyond confused. The boy couldn’t have predicted a fallout as bad as this one.

He was going to move soon, they didn’t need to deal with this much longer.

That was what he thought, at least. When it came to the day right before they moved, their parents made them hang out together again. Instead of what they may have typically done a while back, they opted to go on one last car ride together to talk one last time.

It wasn’t like the fact they grew apart this badly wasn’t his fault. He’s the one who stopped talking despite Augustine’s attempts.

He’s the one who never responded after…

H̶e̶ n̶o̶t̶i̶c̶e̶d̶ A̶u̶g̶u̶s̶t̶i̶n̶e̶ l̶o̶o̶k̶ a̶t̶ h̶i̶m̶ f̶r̶o̶m̶ a̶c̶r̶o̶s̶s̶ t̶h̶e̶i̶r̶ c̶l̶a̶s̶s̶e̶s̶, c̶l̶u̶b̶s̶, a̶n̶y̶w̶h̶e̶r̶e̶ t̶h̶e̶y̶ w̶e̶r̶e̶ t̶y̶p̶i̶c̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ t̶o̶g̶e̶t̶h̶e̶r̶. H̶e̶ n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ s̶a̶i̶d̶ a̶n̶y̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ a̶b̶o̶u̶t̶ i̶t̶.

That was what he thought, at least. When it came to the day right before they moved, their parents made them hang out together again. Instead of what they may have typically done a while back, they opted to go on one last car ride together to talk one last time.

Winnie was beyond nervous, but to say he wasn’t excited was a lie. As much as he may have avoided acknowledging it, he missed the other dearly. D̶e̶s̶p̶i̶t̶e̶ w̶h̶a̶t̶ h̶e̶ w̶a̶n̶t̶e̶d̶ t̶o̶ b̶e̶l̶i̶e̶v̶e̶, h̶e̶ n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ s̶t̶o̶p̶p̶e̶d̶ l̶o̶v̶i̶n̶g̶ h̶i̶m̶ a̶n̶d̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ o̶n̶l̶y̶ m̶a̶d̶e̶ i̶t̶ h̶u̶r̶t̶ w̶o̶r̶s̶e̶.

He grabbed the nearest pair of glasses and rushed out the door.

A̶u̶g̶u̶s̶t̶i̶n̶e̶ u̶s̶e̶d̶ t̶o̶ j̶o̶k̶i̶n̶g̶l̶y̶ m̶a̶k̶e̶ f̶u̶n̶ o̶f̶ h̶i̶m̶ f̶o̶r̶ h̶a̶v̶i̶n̶g̶ t̶h̶o̶s̶e̶ o̶n̶e̶s̶ a̶n̶d̶ t̶a̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ t̶h̶e̶m̶ e̶v̶e̶r̶y̶w̶h̶e̶r̶e̶.

He found the other waiting for him outside, avoiding eye contact which Winnie didn’t blame him for. They got into the car in silence, the drive continued that way for a while.

Winnie didn’t know what to do, so he pretended nothing happened. He was too focused on making sure his legs don’t go numb while he’s driving, the last thing they needed was a car accident.

As if life was trying to make things hard for him intentionally, that's exactly what they found themselves set up for.

Stranded in a frozen car, suddenly in the middle of winter, dealing with situations beyond their comprehension after a fight in the car.

First staring at the frozen corpses of their child selves, being chased by an..elk-bear monstrosity, falling into what looked like an endless hole, the list went on..

Augustine was searching for a way to leave the entire time, to figure out what happened, but Winnie was unable to get himself to move or put in the same effort.

They were currently in his house, or what looked to be it, and Augustine was searching the rooms. He was sitting on the piles of boxes trying to think of something to help, trying not to freeze to his death.

His gaze lingered on the stairs as memories played out in his mind.

The day he fell down the stairs and broke his legs, the way Augustine left.

When he tripped and was found by someone else, when he waited for Augustine’s return before he passed out for it to never come.

When he truly started questioning the very core of their relationship.

He was not.. Angry. He was confused.

Months later, he still didn’t have an answer as to why. He didn’t know what they were anymore, and it hurt.

It hurt worse than anything, but he didn't blame the other. Augustine didn’t act without reason, he wasn’t the irrational type.

The phrase Augustine said moments before was looping endlessly in his head.

Before he fell- before Winnie LET him fall.

Begging him to hold onto his hands properly and pull him up.

“Please don’t let go. I’m your friend. We’re friends.”

The silence that followed will haunt him.

“We are friends, right?”

The same question he asked himself for months.

He was dragged out of his trance hearing mumbling behind him. Augustine was standing there, a dark look in his eyes.

Darker than Winnie had ever seen from him.

He was..worried.

“Auggie?”

The mumbling continued.

“Augustine? Hello?”

No response.

It took a while for the other to respond, he seemed just as confused as he was.

His chest felt heavy as they both stood there, while he could blame it on paranoia caused by the situation as they are both standing on top of a staircase reminding him of the fall, it wasn’t that.

They needed to talk.

They couldn’t go on like this, one of them needed to do something to break their silence.

Augustine tried and was either met with nothing before or what had happened when they were in the car, it was only right that he began.

“..We can’t go on like this.” He began.

Augustine’s eyes shot up to meet his and Winnie’s, and for the first time in a while he felt familiar.

He continued talking, only pausing to take a breath knowing if he stopped he would freeze up. For the first time in years, he saw himself getting through to his friend.

When he finished, he saw the way Augustine’s lips quivered, the way he shook slightly, he looked the most fragile he ever has. Like a single gust of wind could break him apart. Winnie hated seeing the one he looked up to and loved so dearly look that way, knowing he was part of the reason only made him hate it more.

The dams broke as Augustine’s words spilled out, years of struggle being put before his very eyes.

His chest felt tight, he never thought actions he never thought much of hurt the other this badly, yet here he was listening to it all.

Responding was something he didn’t feel himself do, more truthful than he ever was.

Pouring their hearts out in his house while it was snowing indoors was never something either of them expected to do, but here they were.

“There’s nothing in this world that can replace you.”

“I’m sorry…! I’m really sorry…!”

“I should’ve respected your line…!”

“I should’ve thought about how you’d feel, I should’ve put myself in your shoes…!”

“But I was too blinded by admiration back then that-”

“I couldn’t see that you were my one and only friend before my hero!”

“It must’ve been so frustrating… It must’ve been so upsetting…!”

“You don’t have to forgive me, I know apologizing now won’t change the past…”

“But I just want you to know this…!”

Winnie could hardly process a single word coming out of his mouth, Augustine stood in front of him with his mouth agape taking in everything.

He took that as an invitation to continue.

“You are the coolest and brightest person I have ever met in my whole life, Augustine!”

“I was only able to do all the things I’ve accomplished so far because you encouraged me back then…!”

“Because you gave me hope. You work hundreds, thousands, million times harder than me… And I remind myself every day how lucky I am to have ever met a friend like you…!”

“...-You’re amazing like that!-..”

Winnie’s heart ached at every tear that dropped, the other tried to stop but he couldn’t. They momentarily panicked when he couldn’t breathe through the tears, but it was only expected after such a long time of bottling everything up.

Everything felt worth it again when he saw his smile.

The one he knew, the smile that drew him in from the start.

This was the Augustine he knew.

They had to get back to reality, if his theory was correct then he knew how to do so.

They just needed to hurry up before their time runs out, Winnie believed in them, they could do it together.

He finally felt complete again, the hole in his heart filled simply by a single conversation.

Maybe he didn’t regret thinking about love all these years, all he needed was a reminder.

A reminder was exactly what he got, and he could not be more grateful for it.

For the first time in years, they were truly friends.

They were not alone.

———————————————

It had been around 3 months since the car accident.

Since the two were trapped in an upside down car, experiencing a world made up of their own horrors.

Since they finally, truly became the friends they always thought they were.

The speech they had, the chance to finally bond again and come clean about everything, took so much more weight off of Augustine's shoulders than he could have ever imagined it would. Sure, the cost was a broken leg, but it also meant that Winnie got to stay longer too.

Augustine could never describe how it felt looking at his friend again, finally seeing a friend rather than a competitor. Someone to relax around again rather than someone he was inferior to. Winnie did all he did to be like him of all people and all he saw were false attempts to tear him down and take his place.

Part of him can’t imagine that anymore, the same part that yearned to talk to Winnie again since the accident the winter before that. The same part that kept him up at night about not helping, not doing something, anything to help him when he fell down those stairs and broke his legs.

He had one broken leg and support yet he was still struggling, still healing from the consequences of it. It had made for a fun joke though, making Winnie bring or do stuff for him because as the driver it was easy to blame him for the crash and therefore the break. At first Winnie looked incredibly guilty when it was brought up, going silent before apologizing so unlike himself. It took a few weeks to get him to see it as the joke it was, but when that worked he never got to live it down.

It wasn’t like he seemed to mind though, frequently asking Augustine if he wanted anything else after he brought up the idea of feeling like having something of any sort and getting up on his own, even if it was merely a passing thought or mood.

It was…nice.

What was not nice on the other hand was the days itching closer to the new moving date.

Augustine finally healed, which meant Winnie would be moving soon.

He would leave to go to the college they both wanted. Oddly, instead of sparking feelings of anger or envy this time, he felt more melancholic about the thought.

As the day came closer and closer, a sense of emptiness overtook him. Winnie was the same, they hung together a lot more than they have in the last few years as a whole, but the departure always felt wrong.

Despite their talk, they both knew there were still words unsaid between them. Neither of them had the guts to come clean about them, but they both knew something was still missing.

Augustine’s realization came when he felt funny after hanging out with Winnie for a while. The taller had gotten tired after their outing, falling asleep on him at some point during their conversation. He didn’t notice at first, too distracted going on about some topic that came up. He was a man of strong opinions, and those opinions he was gonna tell.

He only noticed when the sound of soft snoring reached his ears. The blond was fully leaned up against him, sound asleep.

This was..the most relaxed Augustine saw him in some time. It had been a long time since they were in a position like that, he never counted, though.

He couldn’t help but stare, a̶d̶m̶i̶r̶i̶n̶g̶ looking at the other. He had changed over the years (obviously), both mentally and physically as expected. He was a lot taller now, as opposed to the little height difference they had as children. Despite that and his generally bigger build, he still carried that gentle air around him, something he welcomed, really. A threatening Winnie didn’t sound very entertaining, he’d know by now.

Only after Winnie left did he realize how much..lighter? He had felt it. Something was different, but not in the same way as before. It was good, or at least so he thought. It didn’t feel suffocating or unfamiliar.

…He had fallen again, hadn’t he?

Augustine tried to push that thought away for days, as the thought of it made his brain hurt too much to think about it. He couldn’t be bothered and quite frankly preferred to ignore the existence of those feelings as a whole! And so that's what he did.

Winnie would move soon, the feelings would fade, they’d go back to just being best friends and he’d NEEEVER have to think about it again!

..or that's what he’d hoped, and oh how wrong he was.

The days passed fast. Faster than they should have, both of them hated it but time wouldn’t slow down for them. Afterall, it’s their own fault they didn’t speak for a long time, they lost their spark and almost burned down their friendship entirely out of their own stupidity.

That's why it didn’t feel real when they had to say goodbye. They may have nearly split apart, but they were always near. Winnie never felt as comfortable as he did with Augustine around anyone else, and Augustine never felt complete without him there.

It made his stomach churn.

“Don’t you dare end up falling down another set of stairs in that college will you? I can’t help you there to pay this back” The brunette half heartedly complained, visibly struggling to come up with anything to say.

“I won’t, I won't! You don’t set things on fire in exchange, deal?” Winnie giggled.

“That was ONE time-”

“One too many!~”

The sound of a car horn cut Augustine off before he could throw a witty response back at his companion, Winnie’s parents telling them to hurry up before they were late.

Whatever happy mood they were in dissipated as fast as it originally came along, both of them going silent.

“..You’ll come back eventually, right?” Augustine asked in a voice far quieter, smaller, than Winnie ever wanted to hear from him. It wasn’t right.

“Of course I will!” he shot back almost immediately, almost offended the other thought that at all. Really who did he take him for?

“Good, who else would praise elks for existing the same way you do every christmas?” Going back to the previous atmosphere and feel of their conversation felt better than keeping the heavy feeling their goodbye gave. At least one last bit of entertainment for them.

Though it couldn’t last long, Winnie’s parents were clearly getting impatient to the point both boys saw it without sparing them more than a simple glance.

“They’re still better than your bears, but we might need to continue this conversation another time, being late is hardly ideal for moving again, you know?” Although it was meant to be a joke, Winnie’s tone failed to convey that, sounding more down than anything.

“Stay safe on the car ride then you idiot”

“That's hardly up to me,but I can try?”

“Good, I’ll never let it go in the afterlife if you don’t” The eyeroll Augustine did could be felt, without even looking at him.

“I get it I get it, goodbye for now then? I’ll be back as soon as possible, I promise you” Tone changing from his usual up-beat one, Winnie gave his friend the last hug they would have for a long time.

Augustine didn’t hesitate to return the hug, hardly keeping himself together at all.

“I guess so”

“Do you not even want to say anything to me anymore? Im hurt</3”

Augustine sighed, his mind felt like too much of a wreck to process the events that followed.

They both had to separate as Winnie walked to his parents’ car, whatever washed over Agustine really decided to do so at the worst time possible because not even a moment after the other had turned around, he found himself blurting out the one sentence he was trying to avoid and forget about for months.

‘I love you’

Every part of him that hoped Winnie didn’t hear him was let down as he paused and turned to look at the brunette, who was processing the fact those words came out of his lips at all.

Opposed to what he was expecting, the one in blue smiled at him with a smile more genuine than he has ever seen from him.

“That will be something else we talk about when I come back” he said, voice maintaining the calm feel it carried with it earlier in the conversation.

“I- uhm- oka. Yes, it will be” Augustine stuttered, trying to gather his nerves and thoughts as fast as possible. What was that??

“For the record, I love you too”

With that, he turned and ran to the car, not hearing whatever the other said after him. Whatever he yelled out was a topic they were to tackle later.

Finally, after 6 years of pining, Winnie no longer felt strange.

His love was requited.

[pupyuj]

secretary gaeul. oh my god.

may you forever be known as the anon who got pupyuj's brain working again...

oh my god, indeed 😵‍💫 secretary!gaeul knows exactly zero boundaries and does not give a fuck about whether or not she will get in trouble for all the things she's doing to you 🤤🤤 she would be so annoying... but let's bring it back! BACKSTORY TIME 👹👹

it all started during the secretary hiring process.. you being you (aka gay as fuck), you were enamoured by gaeul. she was confident, she was intelligent, she was beautiful, she had years of experience to back up said confidence, she was beautiful... but you already said that. and then gaeul being gaeul, she knew exactly what you were thinking 🤭 had you been a man, she would have walked right out of that ginormous office of yours bcs the way your eyes raked her figure up and down was a borderline criminal offense, but you were a cute, sweet, and soft-spoken woman — so of course gaeul made sure she would get the job on the spot 😉 and she did! not only was gaeul beyond perfect for the job, you also wanted to fuck her so there was rlly only one decision to come to when the interview ended ☺️

gaeul took it easy for the first few months. she never made a move, but she did let you ogle at her fine ass as much as you liked bcs she knew it motivated you to get through the day 😭😭 but she would still have like, three of her buttons open on her shirt and wear her skirt a bit higher than what was allowed,,, nobody says anything bcs she's your secretary and they too look at her inappropriately anyway 💀 the only difference is that she allows you, she sends death glares at anybody else who dares to scan her body 😤😤

anyway, gaeul starts coming onto you on a random but very stressful day.. finishing your 6th conference call of the day and feeling like laying on your office couch and rot away, but you still had a job to do so you forced yourself to stay seated on your chair and tap away on your computer,,, then here comes gaeul putting down a cup of coffee on your table, saying something about how you should take a break but you kindly refused her and thanked her for the coffee,, her suddenly taking your jaw in her hand and lifting your head up????? and your brain completely shutting off bcs holy shit did she look even more beautiful up close like this,,, "you're exhausted, ma'am. a few minutes of getting up and walking around won't hurt." she was saying, but you couldn't focus w the way she stared you down like she was about to eat you, and the way her thumb ran across your bottom lip,,

and everything started from there! trust that secretary!gaeul absolutely loves torturing you,, either by wearing her outfits in appropriately, as mentioned before, or by touching you,, running her hand across your back while you're showing her some things on your computer, not-so-discreetly putting her hand on your thigh when you're seated at the couch together discussing things, pressing up against you way too much in the elevator... gaeul knew you were hopeless bcs you wouldn't try to jeopardize your career by trying to fuck your own secretary but see, gaeul did not give a fuck about any of that at all.. so she took it upon herself! 🤭

coming into your office with a mission one day, shaking her head at the sight of you staring blankly at the succulent she bought for you a while ago (she thought it would ease you),, staring blankly bcs you have once again managed to get hundreds of tasks done in record time but now you felt like death,,, "ma'am, you don't have any scheduled meetings for the rest of the morning. you should take a break." gaeul asked, loosening up her necktie, eyes shining with mischief while you massaged your temples, blissfully unaware of the primal look in your secretary's eyes,, "i'm good, gaeul. i still need to take care of a few things here." you sighed, sitting up properly once again and putting your hands on your keyboard,, but gaeul doesn't let you do anything else before she spins your chair to the side, facing her.. stylish blazer off, necktie loose, shirt unbuttoned halfway and oh god she wasn't wearing a bra?!!

"i wasn't really asking," gaeul sitting on your lap and pressing her bare, dripping pussy against your thigh 😵‍💫😵‍💫 then she was grabbing you by the collar of your shirt, only getting herself wetter at the sight of your terrified but tremendously turned on expression... "it'll be worth neglecting a few stupid tasks, trust me." and then she's kissing you 😳 roughly too—biting your lips, tongue all over your mouth, and her hands around your neck pulling you closer—and moans when you pull her skirt up to her waist and grip her ass tightly bcs finally she gets to be fucked by her incredibly cute boss!!!

omgomg putting gaeul on top of your desk.. her legs spread wide open while you're destroying her cunt with your fingers,, and she's moaning like crazy, no doubt some employees walking nearby could hear her 😭 you were completely entranced with the way her pussy sucked your fingers in, and she was surprisingly tight for a fucking slut.. you couldn't resist grabbing her waist and pulling her closer, only fucking her in a more ruthless pace than before and making her bite onto your shoulder and grip your wrist tightly... but she wasn't trying to stop you—fuck, she loved the fact that she was being heard throughout the entire fucking floor. she would gladly let you fuck her in a meeting full of other employees if she had that chance! all she ever wanted to be paraded around like the whore that she was by you, so ofc she was going to be as loud as she wants.. and it looked like she you didn't care about her volume anyway, not with the way you were so focused on trying to fuck her stupid...

didn't take long for her to fall apart on your fingers,, coming undone with a squeak, drenching your hand and your desk with her juices and being so fucking proud of it that she grins at the sight of her own cum coating your fingers... sick, sick woman 😵‍💫😵‍💫 but see, you weren't satisfied... now that you had a taste of what gaeul was really like, you can succumb to your temptations and fuck her like you never have before...

"ma'am.. wear this." gaeul says as she opens one of the drawers on your desk and pulled out a thick strap-on. you really don't know how the fuck she got that in there when you were practically glued to your desk, but you didn't care anymore.

mmdfmfdhdj bending gaeul over your desk, pinning both of her wrists above her head with one hand, holding her ass still with the other as you pounded your strap mercilessly inside her walls fuuck 😵‍💫 and gaeul was screaming at this point.. your name, "mommy" which drove you crazy and made you hold her ass with both your hands and ruin her even more 🤭 gaeul was holding onto the edges of the desk for dear life, and fuck she was in heaven... being fucked so good that she was close to blanking out, babbling nonsense as she moans helplessly like a stupid slut, agreeing with whatever you fucking asked her...

"i-i-i'll be a good whore, m-mommy—aghh...! mhmm.. fuck, more.. more...!! this pussy i-is all yours.. ahh..! use me, do whatever you want with me when you need m-me... i p-promise i'll let you fuck me whenever..."

gaeul fucking knew that you had fire in you, but the way you made her feel was so beyond her expectations that she was almost overwhelmed with how strong her orgasm hit her,, gasping for air as she came for the second time, digging her nails on your desk, and her eyes rolled to the back of her head bcs holy shit did you know how to fuck a girl to insanity...

immediately taking off the strap and scooping her arms in your arms,, settling her on your lap and hugging her,, apologizing if you were too rough but gaeul just waves her hand and tells you that it's okay and you should definitely do it again... skhncdchs she would absolutely let you suck on her tits and mark her skin up while the two of you sat there.. maybe she'll even let you fuck her again later, but you did ruin her too good.. no doubt she'll be walking weird if she ever decides to do her daily rounds around the office.. but only if she manages pull herself off your addicting fingers 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

[mr-entj]

Hi Mr-ENTJ, sorry for the long ask. This may seem like a very small issue, but I'm an INFP and I work in the service industry. My main problem is the entitlement in my workplace. I'm working for a corporate organization and, as corporate is, it's full of entitled, rich assholes to the people "below" them. There are policies in place to ensure efficiency and independence so that my clients don't do everything through me, but with my clients expecting anything and everything, I feel like it's my job to enforce the policies and educate them to become independent of having me do everything for them.

I've brought these problems to my supervisor and manager before, informing them that these policies are not respected, the inefficiencies in what the process should be, what clients are doing instead of going back to their actual resources, and suggestions/feedback/constructive criticisms to improve all of these things. My supervisor and manager are both ISFJs and they have worked in this department for over a decade, enough to say "it is what it is; this is what it means to be in service." My coworkers are not nearly as motivated to enforce the policies either because they see no change throughout all the years they've been here, or they don't care for this job enough.

I know that my job is service-oriented and there's something called going above and beyond, but I feel like there is nothing wrong with me educating my clients and i don't want to change what I feel is correct. I feel like another INFP on the team and I are the only ones who feels this passionately about these problems and want to improve it, but this burden is so tiresome and my team thinks it's annoying for me to police everything. I know that this job is no longer for me, and I'm working on finding something else, but until then, what else can I do?

I'm probably just looking for some validation and feedback on what I can do better, but am I wrong? Do I just need to let this go and let things be as they are? Am I just not doing enough? Am I not enforcing this properly?

You can have my validation that you're not wrong, you're probably right, but that still doesn't fix any of the problems you've outlined. Culture change comes in one of two ways if leadership isn't open to change:

The 'judger way' (xxFJ + xxTJ): Become a leader yourself and cascade the change downward -> This requires an immense amount of time to stick around and climb the promotional ladder

The 'perceiver way' (xxFP + xxTP): Get enough influential people to agree with you and override leadership -> This requires an immense amount of effort and may get you fired

Both options require power. Without power, you're stuck at the mercy of other people's decisions inside and outside of work.

This conflict is also a key reason why many INFPs are miserable in corporate environments because they need to adhere to systems and processes other people in power make. Without any motivation to climb the ladder, become a person of power, and change the systems/processes themselves-- INFPs get stuck as passengers in a car that someone else is driving. This is why you see a lot of INFPs opt for freelancing careers, academia, or completely opt out of work (stay-at-home parents) to maximize freedom.

Moving forward, you're correct to find a company that's a better culture fit. Until then, I wouldn't waste another single brain cell stressing about things and people that refuse to change. Save your time, energy, and emotions for the next role so you can hit the ground running.

Related answers:

Any advice for Fi-Dom leaders? Do you think they can be successful at leading people?

Help Mr. Entj, have you ever seen an INFP leader or manager in action? What observations do you have of their leadership style? Do you have any advice for improvement?

Have you worked with an INFP before? What's it like for you as an ENTJ?

MBTI and career choice

Can you give an idea of each MBTI type's career jump patterns or reasonings?

[tasam1075]

it's a bit too long for FFF but the prompt fits

DRUGGED

He regained consciousness slowly, every sense feeling wrong.

The last thing he remembered was coming out of the club with his brother, seeing the gun at his brother's head, before something hit him from behind.

He must have made a sound or something because he felt the pinprick of an injection before slipping back into unconsciousness.

His next waking moments were full of confusion.

He had no idea where he was of how long he'd been there, just a vague feeling of danger.

A mumble of hushed voices could be heard but he couldn't make out any words before being drugged back into unconsciousness again.

The next time he regained consciousness he found that he was unable to move. He tried to struggle but stopped when he heard the voice in the darkness

"It's pointless trying to escape"

Somewhere in his brain he was sure that he recognised the voice but he was still feeling the effects of being repeatedly sedated.

"My family will be looking for me"

"They haven't found you yet, and they won't. At least not until I've finished with you"

Scott's blood ran cold at that.

"What do you intend to do with me?"

"By the time I'm finished with you you'll do anything I tell you to do"

"Never"

Scott replied as he struggled in vain to get free, hearing someone coming closer before yet another injection brought oblivion.

The next time when Scott woke he could move, just far enough to discover that he was chained to a wall.

There was virtually nothing to see in the dim gloom that surrounded him and the silence was almost absolute, not even an echo or anything, if it wasn't for the chink of the chain when it moved he would have thought that it was just one of Gordon's tricks, and a bad one at that.

He didn't have time to react when the door opened and the whole room was flooded with blinding light, his dark adjusted eyes couldn't adapt quickly to the new light level before he felt someone grab his arm.

The sting of an injection was becoming a normal event but the overwhelming sense of euphoric bliss had never happened to him before.

He collapsed into a semi-conscious fugue, completely unaware of the room being plunged back into darkness as the door closed.

"A few more days of this and he'll be begging for it" the man said to his companion as they walked away from the cell. "It's a bit of a waste giving him the good stuff when he's already barely conscious though" he continued.

"The boss has plans for him" his partner commented "don't want to be in his shoes when the free happy juice stops though" they both continued down the corridor laughing, whilst Scott remained a blissful drug induced fugue.

This time he'd been awake for longer, long enough to start feeling ill.

He couldn't think clearly about anything, everything ached and he couldn't stop shivering.

The last time he felt like this he'd ended up in the infirmary with a bad case of flu.

He looked towards the door as it opened, struggling to focus on the person standing there.

"Do you want something for that?"

The question surprised him, for the first time someone seemed to care about his wellbeing.

Unfortunately, for him, his brain wasn't processing anything properly.

Normally he'd refuse to take anything for flu but it couldn't hurt to accept, just this once, could it?

"Yes please"

If the man was surprised by this admission he didn't show it, he just injected something into him.

As the drug took effect Scott soon realised his mistake, as a familiar sense of euphoria began to envelop him all he could think was "no, no, no" but it was too late.

The next step in his descent into addiction had now been voluntarily taken.

The next time it was his captor who offered him the drugs, as much as he wanted to say no, his body and mind were already craving the release that the drugs provided.

Much to his eternal shame he found himself almost pleading as he said yes, the tremors and aches of withdrawal already tormenting him, almost beyond his ability to resist.

His last thoughts as he surrendered to the drugs was how ashamed of him his family would be, would they even want to find him, could he ever go back after the drugs?

Scott came back to full awareness slowly, remembering fragments of previous days, weeks or months - he didn't know anymore.

Struggling to remember how he'd ended up in this situation.

Suddenly he had a vivid memory (or was it a nightmare) of him actually asking for drugs, of wanting the escape from reality that only the drugs could provide, surely that hadn't happened.

The usual men, that he'd seen before, came into the room and pulled him to his feet, if they hadn't held him up he would have collapsed to the ground.

He was dragged out of the room, almost faster than his legs could respond, and taken to a room which contained only a single chair positioned at a table.

He was dropped onto the chair before being chained to the metal ring on the floor.

A data pad showing a recent news headline was placed on the table for him to read. He read the headline in shocked disbelief

"Billionaire's son now presumed dead"

The article detailed the FBI's belief that he was dead, extensive searches over the previous year finding nothing.

Surely his family hadn't given up trying to find him.

Then it hit him, he'd been missing for a whole year.

How could he have lost an entire year without noticing the passage of time.

He then realised he must have been kept unconscious for several days if not weeks, at a time.

They must have kept him sedated whilst moving him, possibly from country to country.

A locked box and a syringe were placed onto the table in front of him, he could easily reach the box but the syringe was out of his reach.

He recognised the box as one of the secure transit cases used by Tracy Industries Research Projects. Easy to open if you knew how, all the family knew how, but virtually impossible otherwise.

He had already opened several in exchange for the promised, drug induced, blissfully euphoric reward.

It took all of his self control not to reach out for the syringe though even though it was beyond his reach.

A man came from behind him and picked up the syringe

"Do you want this yet"

he taunted as Scott tried in vain to hide the need that he felt for the contents of that syringe.

"No"

Scott managed to force out, despite the increasing sense of need that he was fighting to ignore.

"Open the box and you can have it"

the man taunted, knowing just how much Scott was beginning to feel the effects of withdrawal.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity of self denial, Scott reached out for the box he knew exactly how to open it, able to bypass the security measures put in place to prevent unauthorized use.

It took Scott less than five minutes to bypass the security system and open the box, despite the tremors caused by the increasing effects of withdrawal.

Once he'd opened the box it was taken from him and the syringe was placed in his hand.

The observer watched with great interest as Scott quickly injected the contents of the syringe into his veins, slumping in a blissful euphoric daze, totally unaware of being watched, as the drug started to take effect.

"Excellent" the observer stated "how did you manage to create the addiction?"

"That was easy. We kept him unconscious for the first six months giving him regular doses until the physical addiction was fully established."

Scott's original captor paused before continuing

"it only took a couple of days of being conscious for the withdrawal to be severe enough for him to accept something for it. Now he's got the choice, he can follow orders and have something to enjoy or resist and be sedated when he's given the drug. Either way he gets the drug to cement the addiction, whether he wants it or not"

"How compliant is he?"

"He'll do almost anything if the withdrawal gets bad enough"

"Even kill?"

"Maybe but we've chosen not to make that option available to him for obvious reasons."

"He is mine now" the observer stated with a chilling voice.

"Understood"

the response from the man who'd orchestrated the kidnapping held a note of finality as he accepted the fact that his role in everything was now over, besides the financial and technological rewards had been a considerable bonus for him.

Scott came round from the euphoric daze that always accompanied the drugs.

He knew that he had a few hours before he would begin to crave the blissful release again.

He also knew that he'd do almost anything to get that release, especially as the craving got stronger and stronger, much to his shame.

He looked up as the door opened and a new man entered the room.

He felt all sense of hope leave and an overwhelming feeling of despair descend as he recognised the man.

He realised that he was now completely vulnerable and at the mercy of his family's greatest enemy.

The Hood.

[whentherewerebicycles]

scruffy little girl :) today was okay—everyone still has the nerve to be working or out of town and I am so bad at getting myself out of the house to do weekend activities if I don’t have a buddy!! but we did do a long walk and I did a bunch of chores, wrote for a while, reread a very long fic, and did a couple hours of real job work. I have been writing more regularly lately which is good but I feel like I’m still just endlessly circling around a number of possible projects, too gun-shy to properly commit the whole of my energy and attention to anything. on weekends especially when I have lots of empty time I feel this intensely visceral longing for that sense of singleminded focus and purpose and clarity I feel when I’m immersed in a big writing project. I know the answer is that I just have to PICK something and get moving! and I have to stop giving myself outs! the fear of committing is such a painfully familiar part of the process and I know the only way I’ve ever gotten through it is by refusing to let myself switch gears and making myself come back to the loathèd object (an imperfect WIP draft) every single day. like I have to just keep showing up to write and I have to refuse to let myself rationalize my way out of working on something. my brain will always be able to conjure up a million trillion gazillion reasons that this project will inevitably fail and should therefore be abandoned, but that shiny half-formulated new idea over there is gonna be The One and I’ll magically know how to write it without encountering any obstacles. I know I have to close the escape hatches (and keep closing them as my brain wrenches more and more of them open). but I also feel like because it’s been so long since I finished anything I can’t really remember what the early stages of my successful projects felt like. was I more in love with those ideas than I am with these ideas? my gremlin brain is like “yes you must have been and that was why you persisted and the fact that you are struggling now must mean that the ideas you’re tinkering away at are no good and should be left behind.” aghhhhh I know it isn’t true but man oh man I have an overwhelming desire to be writing combined with a paralyzing fear of being actively engaged in the act of writing. how to get out!!

[aggressive-almond-cookie]

I’m not doing all that well in anarchy lately.

I don’t entirely know why (like, I could list a dozen factors but I don’t know which is the main factor). I seem to be getting into a lot of one-sided matches, wherein no one on my team gets a single splat and we just get steamrolled immediately. I’m not totally sure what’s causing it. I should probably watch some replays and see if I notice patterns.

when I started Anarchy I was worried about the possibility of being carried into ranks I don’t belong in and having a generally bad time getting matched against folks so high above me that I get stuck on the steepness of the learning curve, but I’ve realized I can probably mitigate that to some extent if I just stick exclusively to Open matches until I’m at least getting a 50/50 win rate. It’s absolutely bonkers that series gives you so many points even if you lose repeatedly. I got three gold badges in a game where we got knocked out immediately just because I hopped on the tower once for two seconds and that was an objectively poor decision at the time.

My main vice is absolutely rushing in without taking time to understand my surroundings first, so I started keeping a simple log on my phone wherein after each match, I rate myself 1-5 on two categories: How often I checked the UI at the top to stay aware of who was alive/splatted, and how often I checked my surroundings before rushing in. I figure if I have to grade myself after every match I’ll be more likely to remember to do those things and maybe eventually it will become more habitual. So far I haven’t given myself more than a 3 in a category for any game (and every game we’ve still lost), but the reminders are helping, and it keeps my morale up to at least get those tiny victories I know I only got by paying more attention, even if we lose as a whole.

What I’m still not sure about though is what to do when... I don’t know how to explain this, but it’s like my brain stops processing what is going on on screen. I feel like sometimes I am in a headspace where I can understand what I’m looking at, but most of the time it’s just like a blur, not visually a blur, but just like my brain gives up on making sense of it. I feel like when I start playing, if I warm up properly, I feel pretty sharp for maybe 30-45 minutes, but then it’s like my ability to visually parse what I’m looking at starts sharply declining. It’s almost like when I’m really tired and can’t be bothered to focus my attention, except that I do want to, but it’s like I just can’t, like my brain physically refuses.

I’ve had issues like this my whole life though-- this feels directly related to the same reason I can’t drive IRL-- I just quickly lose the ability to understand what’s visually, spatially happening around me, let alone make choices based on that information. I don’t know how much of this is related to the ADHD, the anxiety, if I’m just chronically exhausted, if there’s something physically wrong with my brain or what, but I’d really like to figure it out. This game feels like a much safer medium through which to do that than the highway, so... I’m gonna keep troubleshooting it. Maybe add focus data to my battle logs along with other factors like time of day and how much sleep I got and if I ate or something.

[timeoverload]

This day isn't going very well so far. I don't know what to do. I feel helpless in this situation.

I called the hospital a little while ago and they told me they were planning to discharge my mom today. She is not better and she is not being compliant with treatment. She says her head still hurts but she is refusing pain medications now. I think she is going to die if she leaves. A subdural hematoma can be fatal if it isn't treated properly. There are a lot of long-term complications that could occur and I'm afraid she could have a seizure or a psychotic episode. The bleeding can cause too much pressure on the brain. She is going to be more confused than she already is and she's not safe. I know my mom is trying to leave mostly because they won't let her have a cigarette. She doesn't know what she's doing. I tried to text her and I never got a response. I haven't talked to her since Saturday.

The people at the hospital don't seem to be too concerned about her well-being because she has probably been causing other problems. I know she is hard to deal with as it is and they probably want to get rid of her. I am frustrated about the lack of proper mental health care in this country. I hate how people like her are demonized and misunderstood. I'm not sure if she is being treated differently because she is homeless and can't pay. That is illegal but it's hard to know for sure when she is so far away. The case worker at the hospital wasn't much help and it seemed like she didn't want to talk to me since they are planning on discharging her anyway.

I wish I would have been able to be her power of attorney but she wouldn't agree to it even though my grandma and I are her emergency contacts. That is making this process more difficult.

I was hoping I could get more answers about the person that hit her but no one has been able to share that information with me yet. I don't know enough about the accident. My mom couldn't tell me anything other than what the vehicle looked like.

I am waiting for a doctor or someone to call me so I can try to figure out if she can go somewhere else other than the shelter. That is where they are planning on taking her. I know they aren't going to do anything to help her.

It is frustrating to try to get all of this figured out over the phone. I have never been in this situation before. I still think I am going to need to go up there. I need to see her even if she doesn't want to cooperate and come home. I need to say goodbye to her. I know I don't have a lot of time.

I looked to see how much a flight would cost and it's ridiculously expensive. I'm not paying $1500 and I'm not flying by myself. I think it would be cheaper to rent a car and drive up there. I have never rented a car by myself. It's also an 8 hour drive so that's going to be a challenge to do on my own. I don't know if I would have enough to pay for a hotel room up there so it's possible that I would have to sleep in the car. I haven't planned anything yet. I think I will make that decision tomorrow.

I am probably going to take tomorrow off too because it is taking me so long to figure anything out. I am going to need to call my boss later to explain the situation because I just sent her a brief text last night. I need to go back on Wednesday for sure. The health nurse said that I would qualify for intermittent FMLA so that I could get a care plan set up for her. I could take FMLA if I do travel up there. I wouldn't get paid while I was off but it would protect me from losing my job. I don't want to have to do that but I need to. I also was already having a tough time before she got hurt so the extra time off is necessary at the moment.

I'm not handling all of this very well. I knew that something bad was going to happen. I am trying not to get too worked up right now because it's not going to do any good. I am doing everything I can from home. I hate waiting for people to call me back and it's making me anxious.

I am doing my best to take care of myself today because it was a struggle all weekend. I took a shower this morning and put on clean pajamas and that helped. I need to eat something soon. I am losing weight again. I have been eating but it's not enough. I think I should have more energy tomorrow. I'm going to try to relax as much as possible while I wait for phone calls. Hopefully the rest of the day is better.

I hope everyone else is having a good day so far. Thank you for listening to me. 💖💖💖

[yueiyun]

@ofluminance | cont.

she should.. respect his feelings, but, stelle knew better than that. she knew him better than that, or at least, she thought she did.. maybe that's just what this was? with everything that they've done thus far, part of the journey was stelle finding herself. it was only natural that she'd grown closer to their little family in the process - they were all she knew. but the love and admiration she felt for march was so different than the way her heart beat louder inside chest any time she'd spent with dan heng. maybe she shouldn't have said anything at all. .. yet, the answer dan heng provides. it's not what stelle expects to hear, but it also doesn't feel.. like him. & that's what has stelle, annoyed and bothered. " do you think they're any easier for me? " knitting her brows together, stelle shakes her head. " it wasn't too long ago that i didn't even know who i was. honestly, i still don't. getting angry, that was the easy thing to do.. but dealing with it? that's been the hard part. " moving to stand and leave the room, stelle regrets ever even opening her mouth in the first place. she knows rejection well, doesn't make it hurt any less. still, who was dan heng to tell her what she could and couldn't feel? hurt, amber eyes linger, still brimming with so much frustration. " you're kidding me, right? do you.. hear yourself? .. " a pause for stelle to sigh, and rub her temple." listen, i may not be the smartest or the best with words - but.. you are. you're incredible, dan heng. march and i would be back at square one without you. you're kind, you care so much about others, you're strong, and you're so intelligent. i'd be lying if i said i hadn't admired you from the moment we met. " with one last longing look, stelle drops her gaze - way to make a fool of yourself." if you don't feel anything for me, at least know i would never want you feeling any less about yourself. " running a hand through her hair, stelle shuts her eyes and turns for the door. " i'll leave you to your research. sorry, that i disturbed you. .. night. "

Dan Heng hears what she's saying. He gets it, her frustration, and he feels properly chastized for his earlier words. Causing her discomfort is the last thing he wants, but that's precisely why he saw the need to speak up in the first place. While he's...flattered that a person as bright and headstrong as Stelle could admire a person so objectively awkward and incomplete such as him, he still struggles to accept her feelings. They haven't known each other that long. Or, no, that in of itself isn't the issue. Dan Heng hasn't been open with her or the Express members about what exactly he is running from. Would she still feel the same if she knew how much of a coward he is?

Before he can untangle the words circling his brain, Stelle makes to leave. It shouldn't come as a surprise, but it does. Dan Heng reaches out without a conscious thought, grabbing her wrist. "Wait," he says, only to find he doesn't know how to follow up his plea. No matter Stelle's assessment of him, Dan Heng feels everything but smart right now. He's...such an asshole, isn't he?

"I haven't been entirely honest with you," is what he settles on. "I dont--" His heart is racing. He doesn't want to lose her, not any of them. "I don't want to refuse you. But I wouldn't feel right stringing you along without telling you about my past." And he does care for her, he realizes. Not as a brother or companion but as something else. It scares him, and he tightens his hold around Stelle's wrist without realizing. "Would you be willing to hear me out first?"

[snugglebuddyhan]

So, me and my mom have apparently been inhaling carbon monoxide for 2 weeks and didn't know it. Our neighbor had a gas leak in her front yard, knew about it and refused to call the city. If we would have known we would have tried to do something about it. Instead, we were completely unaware of the situation. Our house, especially our windows aren't properly ventilated. It's why our house is so hot during the summer and so cold during the winter

The gas seeped through the windows on the left side of the house, which was near the leak and we were breathing it in everyday for 2 weeks. I showed symptoms of being poisoned first. I was light headed and constantly fighting against the urge to hit the floor and pass out. My head was constantly swimming. It was so bad I wouldn't move the slightest inch unless it was absolutely necessary. I couldn't keep my balance and had to hold onto the walls and other objects to walk even the shortest distances. I was constantly tired no matter how much sleep I got. I had brain fog. I was constantly spaced out. Couldn't concentrate no matter how hard I tried. I was agitated. I dissociated a lot. My vision was blurry and would often come and go. I struggled to get my words out and sometimes couldn't get a coherent sentence to come out of my mouth. I had stabbing ice pick like headaches that radiated to my temples and jaw. The joints in my jaw would sometimes become so painful I couldn't open my mouth or even touch the skin around it without wincing in pain. My eyes were either so heavy they would shut on their own or it felt like they were 20x their actual size at all times. It kinda felt like I was looking at everything with my eyes wide open. My breathing wasn't normal. I had chest pains and heart palpitations. I was nauseous, so I hardly ate and any time I was able to eat it made all my other symptoms worse. My legs felt like they were going to collapse on me at any given time, which made walking even harder. They didn't just feel weak, they also hurt, felt agitated, internally shook and they felt hollow inside. My legs weren't the only part of my body affected by what I called "internal tremors" my whole body would sometimes feel like it was shaking like a leaf. It was so bad I couldn't sleep

I just felt like I was slipping away. I later learned my anemia played a major role in how severe my body responded to the gas. My mom showed symptoms next, a few days after me and bc of that we figured it must be a bug going around. Even thought it might be covid, but neither one of us spiked a fever and then we both remembered neither one of us have left the house in weeks nor had anyone come over. We then started wondering if we were diabetic and just didn't know. We thought maybe we had blood pressure problems. It was just a lot of what ifs and constant google searches, bc we had no idea what was happening to us and we were just trying to make sense of it all

Our symptoms ended up getting worse. To the point we were packing bags to go to the emergency room. Even said we should call my brother to take us, bc we weren't well enough to be behind the wheel. My mom hesitated last second. She didn't want to go despite how bad she felt and I didn't either. Last time we went to the hospital it took around 9 hours before anyone saw us. It was dumb, but we decided to see how we felt the next morning and if we still felt bad then we'd go. When we woke up and got to moving around we both felt better. Our symptoms were still present, but not nearly as bad

Someone ended up knocking on the door. It was one of my moms friends. She went outside and talked to her for about 2 hours and when she came back in she had her hands cupped over her mouth in obvious shock. I asked her what happened. Asked if she was feeling bad again or if it was something to do with what her friend said. That's when she told me about the gas leak our neighbor purposely ignored. We just sat in silence for hours trying to process it all. The city came and dug up her yard while we were asleep. The reason we felt better that morning was bc gas was no longer collecting in our house. What's scary is 3 things

1. Someone our neighbor was friends with died a few days ago. Her name was Lee. She had a heart attack coming from our neighbors house and was previously seen stumbling and falling down 3 times in the street days before she died. She would go over to our neighbors house several times a day everyday to let her dogs out to potty while she was at work as well as do outside and inside chores. Within those days I remember seeing her standing near the leak while the dogs were out on several different occasions. She had no known medical conditions. She was healthy as far as everyone knew and she just dropped dead on her porch. We all thought it was odd, but it all makes sense now. She was exposed to the gas far more intensely than us for the 2 weeks it was leaking. She would damn near be on top of it. If we felt so bad we considered going to the hospital imagine how she felt. The gas caused her to have a heart attack and she would still be alive if our neighbor would have just gotten it taken care of. It was not her time. This is the second person our neighbor has killed

2. Lee would sometimes smoke when she took the dogs out. One flick of her lighter could have taken us all out. We could have died. I can't stop thinking about the way we escaped literal death and the way we didn't even know it was waiting around the corner for us as we just went about doing things normally. It's a terrifying perspective to now have

3. We also could have suffered fatal results from our symptoms. If Lee had a heart attack that means it was only a matter of time before we did too. When I say and I stress this IMMENSELY: if you're feeling so bad you're considering going to the hospital, JUST GO. Do NOT hesitate like we did. Something is obviously wrong otherwise the hospital would be the last thing on your mind. Gaslighting yourself into believing you're okay is what gets you killed. We were lucky. Idiotic, but lucky. Don't be that person who gets by on luck, bc one day it will run out

We're better now. We no longer have symptoms, but it was definitely a traumatizing situation to be in. I can't sleep at night, bc my mind is just wracked full of what could have happened if our neighbor would have waited even one more day to call the city. Would we be dead? It's gut wrenching thinking about your death like that just as much as it is thinking about a person you've known all your life being taken away due to someone; her own friends negligence to a problem she was aware of. Lee didn't have to die. She's gone and she shouldn't be. She should still be here with us

[xiaophilia]

WAITTTT WHAT WOULD HAPOEN IF THE IMPOSTER IN THE VILLUAN AU! GOT EXPOSED BECAUSE PEOPLE FOUND REAL GOD!DARLING AND PRICKED BOTH OF THEIR FINGERS AND THEN THEY SAW WHO WAS REAL AND WHO WAS NOT

[Btw I love your writing]

❝Fooled❞

I'm glad you're enjoying my works! ^^ also really for the late reply I needed to use my brain for this aaaand I had some health issues (+ writers block) in the process of working on this so I couldn't focus so really sorry for that lol. Also made a scenario under the cut.

✎...Includes: Zhongli, Ei, Venti, Thoma and other characters that are only mentioned.

❬Information: mentions of getting cut, very little bleeding, uh beheading? Slight cult and yandere themes,❭

Intro! Honestly it be a miracle if that happened? Because considering how unhinged some characters are squints eyes at Childe—they'd probably kill you on spot if they ever lay their eyes on you. Their head isn't screwed properly for that kind of process. They see the impostor, they kill the impostor. Easy as that! But— if something like that does happen— let's just say the impostor is reaaaaallyyy screwed.

Also about the pricking your fingers kinda thing—I'd like to propose another idea where instead of needle pricking ( I'm assuming that's what u meant) The reader instead gets a cut by a sharp object — a sword, or a polearm perhaps? — that was pointed at them when they got captured by the Archons and the others.

The characters who helped you too get captured— (Kaeya, Dainsleif, the twins, Albedo, Itto, Xiao and Kazuha and Thoma). Pinned against the ground by the Anemo archon's strong winds— any attempts at escaping were futile— no matter how strong they were—they can't defeat an angered God.

More under the cut!

Inside Tenshukaku, just outside the shogun's residence and in front of the statue is you. Surrounded by weapons of all sorts and people of all kinds. Unable to do anything as you kneel head held down low.

The uncomfortable feeling of being watched by hundreds of people makes you shift, the tight ropes around your wrists and ankles doesn't help either.

There were hundreds if not thousands of people watching you—coming from different nations all gathering in one place just to witness the death of the person who dared to impersonate their God. And speaking of which.

You can see them. Standing proudly next to the electro Archon.

From the shape of their face to the color of their eyes. They looked exactly, exactly like you. The resemblance between the both of you was uncanny. The only difference was that smile, that disgusting smile they're wearing. It was as if they were taunting you.

And you hated it. And you hated the fact that despite having the literal world's favor- you still couldn't do anything. Captured like an animal waiting to be slaughtered. It was absolutely pathetic. Were you really a god?

Maybe you are, maybe you aren't. Who knows.

You were tired. So tired of having to participate in this game of catch. Maybe you should just let them win already— it's getting tiresome. And with your situation, it's seems that they've already won.

You know you should fight back— You've come so far! You have armies of monsters ready to die for you. You could get revenge. You could make them feel the pain you felt. But alas, it sounds too much of a chore to do such thing. After all what happened—you just want to rest and maybe death is the only way you can do that.

Yes, you still want to live but with this situation in hand... How can you do that?

"Any last words?" You hear an almost too familiar voice say. It was non other than Zhongli of course. He was his God's most devoted devotee after all. Ironic how he had to get rid of you, in your honor.

"Did you not hear me?" He asks but you say nothing only looking at him before shifting your gaze to shoot your friends a smile. You refuse to waste your voice talking to lowlifes someone like him.

"I guess not, very well then. Prepare for a wordless death."

Just as he raises his pole arm (funny how it was the same pole arm you remember grinding for) ready to strike you down, a loud shout of someone was heard taking everyone's attention— yours included.

It came from one of your friends.

And in a blind panic thinking that they have been hurt you quickly turn your head, forgetting about the weapons that were surrounding you. The sudden action of course caused a few weapons to graze both your cheek and neck, cutting them in the process. The cuts weren't deep but they were still enough to draw out blood.

You didn't even notice it, clearly more concerned about your friends well being— but they surely did. Well, how could they not? That shining golden liquid was something worth capturing everyone's attention. It was something that only one person possessed. Their God. But that doesn't make sense? How could someone like you—a fake possess such attribute that not even Archons have?

Everyone had the same thought. Well.. Not a thought. But a question, one they were scared to be answered.

Were you truly a fake?

Ah.... At this point should they even question it? That blood is more than enough to prove who you truly were. You were their God! You were their precious deity—and the person they were worshipping was actually a fake.

Disgusting. How disgusting.

To think they had placed an impostor on a pedestal—worshipping them day and night while they harmed, starved and goodness almost killed their God?

They were fooled. And it made them mad. Really, really mad.

"Fools. Untie them!" You could hear Zhongli's voice shout, right after, you could feel the knots around your wrists and ankles loosen before disappearing completely.

Well, looks like you're gonna live after all.

You stood up, your lower half was too sore making it hard to keep balance. Just as you were about to stumble backwards you felt a pair of well built arms wrap their arms around you. It was Thoma.

"Are you alright, your grace?" He asks, eyes scanning frantically around your figure. You could also make out the others surrounding you as well. Looks like the Anemo Archon has finally freed them. You smile. Good thing they weren't harmed.

"I'm fine"

Shifting your gaze from them, your eyes land on the Geo Archon. Despite being in an inappropriate situation to feel it, you were a bit embarrassed. Was he staring at you the whole time? You inhale.

"What's this? Finally came to your senses Morax?" You taunt, voice loud, eyes glaring at the former Archon. Embarrassment disappearing all together.

He says nothing, only kneeling, his head held down low. It was a funny scene. Was this really the proud man earlier who asked for your last words?

The rest followed his actions, all kneeling, well except Ei, who marched in front dragging the now disheveled fake. Hands gripping the back of their shirt, harshly throwing them in front of you before kneeling alongside Zhongli. You also noticed Venti had placed himself right beside the Geo Archon, of course he too was kneeling.

You sigh, looking at the trembling fake, you would've felt pity for them. But considering all that had happened before hand, you didn't. You two were both placed in this world taking two different roles. If they had helped you, you would've helped them too.

With a heavy sigh, you look back at the people.

"What are you doing? You said you didn't want anyone copying me didn't you?" The sudden question made them slightly flinch, it was something they didn't expect but it didn't take long for them to nod.

"Then, why are you still letting this......thing live hm?" You ask, feigning disgust, your eyes trailing back at the half dead now kneeling fake.

With your words the three Archons stood up summoning their weapons and in an instant the impostor's head was no longer there.

Their now headless body slumped and fell to the ground with a loud thud.

Blood. Red blood was everywhere.

The sickening shade of red was far from the gold you had bled before.

It was truly an ugly sight. It made you feel guilty and you hated it.

You know you shouldn't be feeling like that. You weren't even the one who did it! They did. It was your so called worshippers who did it.

But why does it feel like it was you? Why does it feel like you were no different from them? From the people who had hurt you?

It was such a bothersome feeling. But it was too late for regrets. As masters of such heartless creatures, you need to be heartless too.

I'm sorry if this isn't what you had in mind? Like I can do a new version of it if you'd like? It'll take more time tho— also not really sure how this turned out? The ending might be a little rushed?

Also a little fact. The 'shout of someone' was actually supposed to be 'growl of something' since I wanted to add a part where rifthounds would come to the Reader's rescue but got cut out. Also how to title stuff.

۪۫❁ཻུ۪۪┊Navigation! | Masterlist!

[zivazivc]

Pinocchio AU

Okay people want the explanation for this comic so here it goes. It’s long and complicated and MESSED UP because of course it is, this is me. I’m going to write in points because my small tired brain can’t handle good english atm but basically to sum up the Adrien was a sentimonster theory or Pinocchio AU as I like to call it:

Young married Emilie and Gabriel can’t have kids. Gabriel reluctantly accepts this fate and even brings up adoption as a possibility once, but Emilie doesn’t want to hear any of that. She’s a bit of a Marinette in the sense that she pictures this romanticized ideal life for herself and a child—her flesh and blood—HAS to be in it.

They keep trying to get a baby while other young families Emilie knows keep growing. She feels left out and hurt and depressed, then her newlywed twin sister announces she’s expecting a baby too and something within Emilie just unhinges.

She eventually lies to some of her friends, who she was out for coffee with, that she’s pregnant too. She mostly does it just to see their reaction and feel what it would be like but it quickly spirals out of control where she just starts pretending she’s pregnant until you can’t even tell if she believes it herself.

Gabriel is confused at first because he hears the news second hand (a friend/family member congratulating him) so he’s apprehensive when he approaches his wife but she convinces him that they really are getting a baby and Gabriel is ecstatic.

It’s only later at a doctor’s check up that Gabriel learns that she indeed is not pregnant. The doctor even speaks to him alone explaining that his wife is in denial and that he should make sure she goes to see a psychiatrist, something she definitely wouldn’t do alone.

Gabriel is unsuccessful with that because he’s not entirely persistent, doesn’t want to be the guy with the crazy wife having to tell everyone she lied about being pregnant, and hopelessly believes she’ll just get over it eventually.

That is until her “pregnancy is near due”—her sister already had Félix in England a few months ago—and he stumbles on her transformed with her peacock miraculous (they already have both of them) creating a sentimonster newborn.

They have a huge fight about it but because Emilie refuses to destroy it, won’t tell Gabriel where the amok is, and Gabriel can’t just hurt the baby with his hands, Emilie just… wins. Fucked up, yeah?

Now she tried creating kids before this one, using her imagination to try and blend her and Gabriel’s looks but it just wasn’t working. So she decided to copy of photos of baby Félix because he already looked almost like a copy of his mother, and Amélie and Emilie already looked alike so it’s not so weird?—is what her mind was telling her.

She didn’t dare alter his looks but she decided to give the baby Gabriel’s eye color to include the “father” in some way. (Yes in that comic I made I gave Adrien a mix of green and gray but that was mainly to get the point across to the perceptive readers)

Now we got Adrien, a normal baby boy to the whole world except for Gabriel who’s forced into his wife’s fantasy through social expectations.

Why are we only at this point and this post is already so long AAAAAAAA!!!

Adrien physically basically grows in a way where Emilie just keeps changing his appearance to match what Félix looked like a few months prior.

Mentally he’s like a robot just taking in information without really needing to learn it. So Emilie decides when he says his first word, she decides when he learns to walk,… He knows how to walk, he just wasn’t given the command to do so yet.

But even so he does develop a personality over time, just slower, because unlike a normal child who’s always testing his boundaries, how far they’re allowed to go until they’re in real trouble, Adrien just can’t misbehave. At all.

But he does have his favorite foods and favorite toys, and jokes that make him laugh the most. The problem is just that Emilie could just decide that his favorite food is strawberries and he’d just start acting accordingly, rewiring his belief. 

He also isn’t allowed to argue or be mean to others which is why Félix thinks he’s a goody two-shoes weirdo while Chloé the brat adores him.

This behavior isn’t so hard to hide with a toddler who’s fickle but it’s harder and harder as the kid grows. Which is why the family becomes very secluded over time.

Gabriel always keeps distance with his “son”. He’s not Dad, he’s Father, he doesn’t do hugs and cuddles, he doesn’t say I love you. But Adrien knows he loves him because his mom told him so and he loves him back unconditionally because Mom said that’s what families do.

Now even though Gabriel is traumatized by this whole ordeal and knowing Adrien “isn’t real” freaks him out he does soften a bit over time. I’m going to give an awful example but like someone who hates cats softening for a cat that their partner/roommate decided to get/had from before. Continuing with this example: But still becoming appalled when the cat starts acting odd/unusually.

Okay I think you get the gist. Let’s move on…

Emilie loves her son more and more as he grows and his sentimonster behaviours start bothering her more and more too. She hates being reminded that he’s not a real boy by people mentioning he looks young for his age because Emilie forgot to make him grow for a while. She hates when he does everything like he’s told. She hates that he has no real friends because they’re afraid to expose him to the outside too much and without supervision. She hates to think about his future.

Her desire for him to be real keeps growing and is what drives her to search for a solution in the miraculous spellbook.

She cracks the script after years, when Adrien is nearly a teen, and finds a way to transfer the creators soul into a sentimonster.

It’s a long process that takes time and while she falls ill to everyone around her, Adrien becomes more real.

Gabriel starts realizing what’s happening when he notices Adrien hesitate for a second when he’s playing a video game and Gabriel wants him to do something, groan when he gets bothered watching TV, huff, complain, have slightly opposing opinions to his and Emilie’s, when he argues with his mother when she tells him she’s feeling fine; when he notices his son’s eyes are greener. Or is it all in his head?

He confronts his wife too late, when she’s extremely ill already, her normally vibrant eyes dulled match Adrien’s bluish gray, and he pieces together in his head what she’s doing.

Before Gabriel could properly think what to do to stop the love of his life from turning into a lifeless doll, in a fit of panic he tries to take her wedding band (where he knows Adrien’s amok is) to get rid of Adrien instead, but is unsuccessful in getting it off her so he snatches her peacock brooch instead (which she needs to complete the spell obvs) and breaks it. (Heyoo! broken peacock miraculous. things are coming together)

Because the spell was almost complete anyway it’s Emilie who falls unconscious. But she doesn’t disappear because she’s not a real sentimonster, she just becomes dormant like one.

This is the point in the story where Gabriel makes it seem like Emilie ran away or something like that—basically disappear. Now he’s living knowing he has an almost sentimonster wife in the basement, knowing he almost killed his son (or her), and having to care for a son that suddenly became much more alive, questioning, arguing, angry, screaming, not accepting, crying, grieving, staring at him with Emilie’s eyes.

Instead of becoming a real parent, Gabriel shuts him out.

Soon Adrien evolves desires for socializing, company, getting away from the suffocating home which eventually leads to him going to a public school.

He slowly starts to live life freely without the restrictions that were put around his thoughts.

Gabriel has an even stranger relationship with Adrien now because he still loves him in a way but also holds resentment toward him. But mostly he sees him as something valuable.

The show happens here…  And now finally we get to the comic…

Gabriel gets a hold of the ladybug and black cat miraculouses. (There’s no epic fight in his lair as you see there’s no Ladybug in the comic but that’s not really important)

What’s important is that Gabriel had deciphered the miraculous spellbook with the help of Emilie’s notes and had decided to use the unification’s “wish” power to awaken Emilie.

He’s aware he’ll need to sacrifice something for the wish to come true and he’s certain Adrien should be enough because the soul inside him is literally the one thing Emilie is missing.

✨Adrien (poor boy just lost his miraculous) is taken to Gabriel’s lair, where he finds out his father is Hawk Moth, sees his mother, learns he’s a sentimonster, and that he’s going to become a sacrifice ✨

Of course the last part is not what happens. It’s Gabriel who ends up being sacrificed.

I can’t decide if Gabriel ends up sacrificing himself because he changed his mind in the last moment while Adrien was screaming for him to stop, OR  because he didn’t love Adrien enough for him to be considered an equal exchange for his wife… O.O

But anyhow…

Emilie wakes up with Gabriel’s soul within her (hence the bluish gray eyes in the comic).

Adrien is traumatized for life.

This took me hours to write… I knew there was a reason why I didn’t want to do it. I hope I didn’t forget anything and my brain made sense of it all

Well there you have it, peeps. The Pinocchio AU. It’s as messed up as my sleep schedule. Good night. 

[binart]

Hey, absolutely LOVE your art and I enjoy seeing your comics! Small question, how long does it take for you to make one page? And what is your process?

thank you!!!

THANK U!!!!!!!

it's a decidedly long-ish process and i'M KIND OF WONDERING HOW I MANAGED TO CHURN OUT TWO PER WEEK FOR A WHILE... (it was bad for my mental health i think is how). some artists can do like THREE OR EVEN FOUR PER WEEK!! but i am slow and so it takes me like 4-5 days to make one dfkjhgfdkjg

anyway first step is thumbnailing! that's when you make a tiny comic page and map out where you will have the panels, and what you want in them. also very good to figure out where your text bubbles will be at this stage.

NEXT!! transferring the thumbnail to a regular comic canvas! i like to thumbnail on paper with pencil because i eRASE STUFF A LOT (paneling is hard and i'm still learning), so i take a picture of it and then paste it onto the canvas >w>

NEXT!!! rough sketch phase. the picture quality tends to be jank as hell b/c i'm lazy & refuse to take more than one picture EVEN IF IT'S BLURRY, so i go over everything with a VERY QUICK SKETCH to lay out the same ideas. then I go in with a vector tool to make the panels!!

NEXT!!! Sometimes skipped depending on the page, is any 3D background work if I feel like i need it! which is usually always, because my perspective skills are uh. LACKING. (aND YES IT'LL TAKE LONGER TO LEARN PROPERLY IF I RELY ON 3D TOOLS BUT I DON'T CARE!! I JUST WANT TO TELL STORIES RIGHT NOW!)

this also involves MAKING the 3-d structure which i try to do if i know the scene i want to make is in a moderately complex looking area. it takes.......... so long............................ 3D modelling is hard....

NEXT!! Actual Sketch. This is me figuring out what the characters will look like Proper instead of throwing vague blobs on the page. i have to turn my brain on a higher setting for this part so it's usually a harder step for me. i also like to finish the background lineart by this stage.

NEXT!!! THE DREADED PEOPLE LINEART........ hardest stage. VERY BORING. lack the attention span for this to not be a horrific slog. HAVE TO HAVE SOME FORM OF ENTERTAINING NOISE ON OR ELSE CAN'T COMPLETE.

NEXT!! FLAT COLORS AND SHADOWS! self explanatory! i usually do the background first since it's cooler to watch characters come to life on an already completed BG.

NEXT!!!! Text stuff. Drawing out proper text bubbles, adding in text, changing the colors of the bubbles to match the characters.. this is also where i attempt to add SFX if there are any, and this is extremely difficult for me for whatever reason. STILL LEARNING LMAO.. i also blur stuff if i'm trying to show like... depth at this stage. like making one character blurry so you know they're closer to the "camera" so to speak

NEXT!!!!!!! AND FINALLY!!!! THE BEST PART!!!! Gradients. MAKES EVERYTHING BETTER. FUN TO APPLY. PULLS THE ENTIRE PAGE TOGETHER.

....................hm that's actually quite an involved & difficult process. i am only now realizing that

HM.

[p-antomime]

— minors don’t interact.

— wc: 666.

content + warnings: 18+, including: dom!gojo satoru, shibari, degradation, fingering, use of sexual toys, edging + orgasm denial, master kink.

pairings: gojō satoru x fem!reader.

my kinktober list!

"I wanna be your slave, I wanna be your master, I wanna make your heartbeat run like rollercoasters."

Gojo's deep blue eyes roamed over your fully exposed body to him on the comfortable bed as if admiring and glimpsing the insanely more divine, though still human, landscape. There were knots of red rope decorating specific points on your body, restricting your movements and forcing you to stay in exactly the way Satoru preferred: completely susceptible to make the most of the sensations that could be delivered by his fingers and mouth and also by the small vibrator glued close to your swollen clit.

Yours fluids were escaping from your entrance more and more, and every fiber of yur body seemed to be busy concentrating on not cumming without his permission. And every milli-centimeter of your dumb brain could only think: "I want to be his slave, I always have"; and not just in a sexual sense.

But in truth, you may not have realized how the positions had been arranged by Gojo from the very beginning of your two complex relationship. The one who was the slave of your touch, of your existence, of your presence was precisely him, even if the one who was your master between four walls was also him. You could ask Satoru for a piece of heaven, and he would make an effort to give it to you as soon as possible.

And your piece of heaven at the moment was having his long, slim fingertips slowly pushing yours folds apart just to get a good view of the leaking pussy that was making your thighs wetter and wetter. Your ears caught a single "Slut" escape from between Gojo's lips as soon as his digits entered your warm interior and immediately bent over and made scissoring motions against yours sensitive walls.

You easily could have cum right there. All over his fingers, like a degenerate whore with no self-control; and soon after he would withdraw them from inside you only to eumpurge them into your mouth making you choke and have a good flavor of what you tasted like. But your mind stubbornly refused. You stubbornly just rolled your eyes up, arched your back, and desperately tried to close your legs abruptly. The ropes reminded you that it was impossible to do the last stage of your process of trying not to have an insalubrious orgasm, and soon the burning and throbbing sensation in your inner thighs became present.

Your legs were still spread wide, Satoru could use you in any way he wished.

Using his other hand, the white haired man pressed the vibrator into your clit harder and yours hands desperately tried to grasp the strings around your wrists and forearms as a way to relieve the tension of your body being edged in an essentially cruel way. Breathing gradually increasing, almost to the point where lungs hurt. Heartbeat running like a roller coaster. Body bathed in sweat begging to have an exhaust valve of ecstasy.

Satoru lived by the sight of you desperately trying to escape his clutches and at the same time wishing you could never complete that task. At the end of it all, you would still be a slave to the pleasure that only he could lunatically make you feel. A carnal pleasure enough to leave your head spinning and dizzy not knowing whether or not he should make you go white.

— P-Ple... ase, master... — Your mouth babbled with spittle trickling from the corners of your lips.

— Hm? What do you want? Use your words. — Gojo answered, looking up to face you. — Or keep your mouth shut if you can't even speak properly without being cock drunk. — His fingers curved inside you again.

— M-Master... ple argh ase, I need to cum... so badly.

— In my humble opinion, you should beg a little more. — Gojo cracked a cruel smile, leaning over your body and whispering quietly, huskily: — Beg like the cheap slut I know you are.