#to make a long story short. i have ticked off most of the things on this list but that speaks more to being raised poor

[emdotcom]

Re-bagle for the spam-ple sides.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Spooky season needs spooky stuff.. >:3

So can I request the digital circus cast (minus Caine)meeting a Child Spirit Y/n headcanons,who like Kinda possesed/went inside the game to find they’re killer for some reason? They are eerily quiet and like to stare but if talked to very sweet but quick to snap in distrust because..well trust is what got them killed in the first place? They’re a bit bloody..and a eyeball sometimes hangs out?? Like vhs horror stuff

Sorry I’m being so descriptive,I hope you are a nice day!

OOOoo yes time for more spooks!

Also I am having a nice night, thanks! (and I hope you are having a nice day/night too!)

......

Pomni

To make a long story short, you got murdered while wearing the headset, and that tethered your spirit to TADC.

As expected, you lost memories of who you were--except for the knowledge that someone killed you because you trusted them too much, and you believed the answers were inside this very game.

Your character ends up looking like a child's ghost costume: a white bedsheet stained in blood and one of your eyeballs occasionally wanting to pop from its socket.

Caine (who was very much bewildered at your arrival) declares that you're part of an "exclusive Halloween update" and changes up the tent and grounds to have more spooky flair.

But Pomni clearly wants no part of it, and she can tell you don't either.

You're clearly a kid who is (somehow) handling the situation of being stuck in this game better than her, yet when she tries asking you about it....all you do is stare back.

She swears she can hear static noises and whispers she can't decipher--all in all getting a...very creepy vibe from you.

Initially she decides to keep her distance, afraid you were secretly some virus or Abstraction underneath that sheet.

But that changes when you're walking by the rooms one night, and you pass by Pomni's door, hearing her quietly crying.

Although you weren't inclined to get close to anybody here, you were concerned. And since you weren't actually coded into the game, you didn't have to follow any of its rules--and that allowed you to enter her room without a key.

At first you scared the shit out of her, but after realizing it's you, she lets you sit beside her, eventually venting about how badly she missed her real home.

"Everyone keeps telling me "oh this place is so much better" or "get used to it"...but what if I don't wanna do that? I don't care if my old life was bad...I-I can't take anymore of this.." Her sobs grow louder. "I wanna wake up in my own bed knowing my real name!!"

"...I miss home, too," is all you say in response. Yet it's more than enough to calm her down.

For once, you're not trying to brush her off or force her to "cheer up" and accept her reality. You made her feel heard.

"Yeah..me, too....sh-should I thank you for agreeing..?" She sniffles, seeing your subtle nod, before you leave her be, not wanting to get too attached.

Ironically, she was able to sleep a little easier after talking to you.

Jax

From the get-go, he's gonna be real nosy and curious.

Since not even Caine himself expected your arrival and found out that you don't follow the "rules" like everyone else...Jax is gonna try his damnedest to understand you and see what makes you tick.

But he's gonna be disappointed quickly since you don't respond much to him (or anybody in general).

"So...ya like Halloween?"

"........"

"....thought so. Good talk, new kid."

You definitely act like a legit ghost--doing nothing but stare, move things around, and pop up unexpectedly.

Eventually, his curiosity leads to him visiting your room (which has no key), and he discovers many drawings on the walls.

Most depicting a dead person wearing a headset.

What he found most disturbing was a journal that contained his and the others' names..

From what he's gathering...you're suspecting one of them of murdering your real world-self.

But he doesn't get much time to ponder this as you show up, angry at him for intruding.

You make yourself look even bloodier and scarier, with both of your eyeballs hanging from their sockets and staring at him.

"Get out."

Those two simple words put the fear of god in him.

Jax runs out faster than a jackrabbit, colliding with Gangle in the process. Her comedy mask falls off again, but he catches it and looks at her.

"J-Jax..?" She realizes his fur is standing up on all ends, and he looks terrified....even more than he did after realizing the circus was his forever home.

But he just shoves the mask back into her hands and leaves without saying a word.

He never speaks of what he found in your room that day.

Kinger

He thought his eyes were weird...until you came along and periodically had to put your own eyeball back into its socket.

"It's good to know I'm not alone!" He nervously chuckles, only to be met with your eerie silence.

Sometime later, he suggests showing you his insect collection, and it does pique your interest.

You did love all things "creepy" and "crawly".

Yet you're adamant about going to his pillow fortress after he invites you.

It reminds you of the ones you used to build all the time, up until...

Fortunately, Kinger recognizes your reluctance and just brings one of his bug boxes to you so you can look at it.

He could infodump about the various critters for hours, with nothing but nods and quiet "mhms" from you, and he's happy.

In general, he doesn't mind your quiet personality.

Although you still sometimes jumpscare him unintentionally like Gangle often does.

Tbh he's a good father figure and recognizes that you're just a kid who got trapped in this game unfairly.

Even so, you try to keep your distance and looks at him suspiciously if he starts acting too nice.

He was quiet aloof, and you weren't sure how he would act on any given day.

Gangle

After accidentally spooking her (by simply existing in the same room as her), she breaks her comedy mask off.

But immediately she feels guilty for screaming and tries scrambling to fix it, hoping you weren't mad at her.

Yet all you do is stare, not looking angry or anything at all (it's hard for any of the performers to see your expression in general, aside from your hanging eye, but still).

Poor Gangle is just afraid you'd turn into a scarier version of yourself.

When she keeps cutting her ribbon fingers(?) on the ceramic pieces, you come over and clean it up for her, taking it away despite your own hands bleeding.

The implications that you were able to shed blood and nobody else were a little disturbing to her..but she's glad you're not offended by her screaming.

Although she wonders where you're going with her mask..

Later on, you knock on her door and present it fully fixed.

Except...it looks more Halloweenish with an evil smile painted on it, messily glued together.

'Oh god I hope this doesn't turn me evil or anything..' She thinks, putting on a smile as she takes it anyways.

Yet you remain where you are, staring and clearly waiting for her to try it on.

And so she does, and it turns her into a very chaotic Halloween lover, acting even more mischievous than Jax and allowing her to finally get her revenge for all his pranks.

In the end, you gain a decent friendship with her, subtly protecting her from Jax's bullying.

Ragatha

Seeing that you're so distant from the rest of the gang has her worried.

Some of them might consider your loose eyeball creepy, but she's not gonna judge you on that (besides, she's missing an eye altogether so she can't say much anyways).

Howeve,r she's the first to find out how strong your distrust of everyone is.

"[Y/n]? I don't think it's good to be isolating yourself like this. I know you hate being here and Caine's a weirdo..but...we're all in this together. You can trust us-"

"Don't." You warn, putting on a frightening display of anger that sends her tumbling to the ground, sending chills up her spine.

"Trust" became something you didn't take lightly, as the last time you put your trust in someone....you ended up dead, turning into a literal ghost in the machine (that was your gaming system).

Despite this, Ragatha doesn't run away.

Like Pomni, she understands that you're just a kid who's confused and lost.....and clearly had serious trust issues.

But she's determined to help you through that, even if you keep scaring everybody away.

She's got motherly instincts, and she hopes that in due time you'll learn to warm up to her.

Zooble

"A bedsheet worn as a costume? That's a classic."

She's seen weirder things during their time in the circus, so you don't faze her too much.

Only when you snap at Ragatha or somebody who was trying to be nice to you does she raise an eyebrow.

Honestly, they 100% understand that you just wanted to be alone sometimes, and she respects that.

It's suffocating trying to act all cheery and go along with every damn activity Caine tries to get everyone involved in (but lucky for you, he can't make you follow along).

Especially since she believes he made up that stupid "Halloween update" as lazy way to explain your sudden arrival.

The only time you do interact with Zooble is after she yanks Jax by his ears, and they hear this eerie-sounding giggle behind them.

When she turns around, you're just standing there motionless, staring at her.

Somehow, they just know you were smiling underneath that costume, which makes her smile, too.

"Maybe I should pull him out a hat next time, huh?" She jokes after letting him go, and you giggle once more as he hits the ground.

[azula-brain]

PSA: Just a heads up that @longing-for-rain has been passing off AI art as art that they have made themselves. Which is a slight problem when you have a tip jar and no disclaimer.

This is just a general FYI do not harass them please.

Under the cut is just proof.

The first thing that ticked me off was the wildly differing art styles all posted under one artist, here's some examples:

The last one's hand is also a dead give away

The most obvious sign however is that this artist has had an impressive development of their skill over a short period of time.

Here is an example of what they were posting before

The second one was posted in May 2023

And then in just under four months they were posting art like this

Some of this stuff has gotten really popular. To be fair numbers like this are not a regular occurrence, but averaging over 100 notes is still a fair bit of people thinking they're seeing someones hard work.

This would be a different story if they put any sort of disclaimer anywhere on their blog . I only felt the need to make this PSA because they allow tips and I think you should be transparent with people when money gets involved.

Now because I know what site we're all on: please please please please don't be an asshole and harass this person. If you are upset, just refrain from engaging with their posts.

[cipheramnesia]

a story by @rox-and-prose and @cipheramnesia

Part 8: Vigil

"I am not prone to long speeches," Vanya Steyr had said, welcoming the incoming new hires to the G1 Major Treaty Enforcement Central orientation day. Maryam had thought they seemed very impressive, perhaps evem dangerous.

"You will learn all the information you need to start your jobs here. You will not learn one right way to do your jobs until you are in the middle of them." They had stood at the front of a sizable auditorium, and had not used any amplification. Maryam remembered even after the subsequent weeks of stultifying bureaucratic form memorization and procedural filing specific to Major Treaties, the departments, grades, fire safety, system safety, and so on.

Years of experience, climbing the ranks, passing pilot exams and system plotting. All of it each time seemed like the most information she could hope to retain, Vanya stuck with her. "When you are doing this work, at all levels," they said, "remember why we have major treaties. They are to protect us, earth and her civilization, wherever we may find ourselves. We protect ourselves from destroying ourselves, because it is our nature."

That was the most of Vany Steyr she had ever seen outside of the odd sysnet photo or short interview up until they took a personal interest in the Charybdis WMD case. Following Steyr's system jumps in the Marzanna, a ship that by what few specs she'd had the chance to glimpse was perhaps hundreds or thousands of times more dangerous than any WMD case she'd worked or reviewed, she worried over "it is our nature."

Maryam had always operated with the consideration that it was in the nature of everyone from earth civilization to protect themselves. This idea had given her comfort and guidance in her cases and the vast organized network of central bureaucracy. The scope of civilization, she sometimes pretended, was possible to see as one vastly extended process to keep its many inhabitants or societies safe. It drove fear and love and hate and hope and all those things.

She knew it was an oversimplification, but it gave her a place to start when she wasn't sure. The one possibility she'd never entertained until now was that Steyr had never meant it was in the nature of civilization to protect itself.

Trevor remained intensely focused in pulling the Lev Nitoburg off the map for the Marzanna's deep spacers. Maryam had no idea what was ever going on with the woman. Serah looked worried, maybe a little bit pale. It had been one thing to figure out Kan was spying for the boss, quite another to decide the boss was violating the most basic rule in civilation, while it happened right in front of their eyes.

Minutes ticked away between the system resolutions. Serah caught Maryam looking and gave a sick smile. She got up and went back to Serah, crouching by her chair. "Serah," she said.

"Hey," Serah said.

"There is no need worry so dearly," Maryam said. "This is the type of case we have all the time. It is nothing, a piece of cake."

"You're awful at lying."

"I am. But you have seen more of the Marzanna specifications than myself. Would you consider it falling within regulations? Would the Lev Nitoburg?"

"No... and... it's pushing it, toeing the letter of the treaty..."

"So it goes," Maryam said. "I only know I am of the belief that we owe it to our civilization to safeguard the treaty against WMD's, even if they are of our own invention."

"You're probably right." Serah looked at her screen. "Did you know that thing can project an artificial stellar gravity well?"

"I had some sense but I did not realize the extent of it."

"It could probably pull some planets apart. Maybe even destroy a sun, if you used it right." Serah's face was grim.

Maryam took one of Serah's hands in two of hers. Serah squeezed. "We are making the right choice." She squeezed back.

"We gotta be. Nothing but the right choice could ever feel this dumb."

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Pretty P.A. Chapter 7

Summary: Y/N has been the personal assistant to the most influential and famous fashion modeling agency director in the industry for the past 13 years.  They’ve decided to retire, and are leaving the agency in the hands of their protege and former model, Bucky Barnes.  He seems plenty qualified, and Y/N is excited for a chance to work with him.  Change always takes time,  but the new insanely hot boss is distrustful and hesitant towards her.  **curvy reader** **Y/N/N = Your nickname ** Warnings: mentions of sexual assault (not from Bucky), some violence, blood, smut

Previous chapter Next chapter

Y/N knew she needed to talk to Bucky, but couldn’t get the courage to do it.  Two weeks later Olympus was reached out to by Vogue, wanting to do a story about Bucky being a supermodel turned agency director.  He agreed and they found themselves being flown to Lake Como in Italy for a photoshoot.  Bucky looked pristine in his all-white outfit, getting doused with water to look like he’d just come out of the lake, his long hair meticulously placed as they wetted it.  Y/N smirked at how handsome he looked.  He’d promised her a fancy dinner that night, and she couldn’t wait to get him to bed with the cool spring air and the amazing views of the area.  

“God, he’s gorgeous, isn’t he?” one of the other assistants on the shoot, Yelena, said as she walked up to her.

Y/N huffed a laugh as they watched him once again pull himself onto the dock, the camera going off a million times.  He stood and pushed his hair back.  “Yes,” she agreed.

“You’re so lucky to get to work for that,” Yelena whispered, gesturing towards Bucky’s body and giving Y/N a suggestive nudge to her arm.  Y/N just smiled.  She was very lucky.  “Is he, uh, seeing anyone?” Yelena asked, licking her lips.

Y/N silently sighed.  This was a constant question she had to shield every time they went somewhere for work.  She wanted to scream, to stomp her feet, make a scene, but she merely shook her head.  “He’s very private about those kinds of things, so I wouldn’t know,” Y/N said noncommittally.  

Yelena hummed and shrugged.  “Well, I’ll just have to figure it out myself,” she winked at Y/N and started walking down the pier towards Bucky and the team behind the camera.

Y/N subtly glared at Yelena as she approached Bucky and fixed his hair again, her fingers lingering along his jaw before she turned and talked to one of the other assistants.  Bucky gave Yelena a quizzical look but focused back on the camera as they caught a few more shots.  Y/N waited until they called it quits, but Yelena stayed back and talked with Bucky for a few minutes.  He was being polite and friendly, as he was with everyone, but she kept touching his arm, pushing his hair back again as it dripped water, and laughing excessively at whatever he said.  Y/N’s jaw ticked, aching with how hard she was clenching it.  Yelena was beautiful, short like Y/N but slender.  She and Bucky weren’t exclusive, but she felt the jealousy and frustration rage inside her as he dismissed himself but she followed him up the pier.  Y/N tried to keep her face neutral as he walked up to her and smiled.  “Hey babes,” he greeted her.

Y/N’s eyes widened at the pet name he reserved for private times, and Yelena blinked in surprise.  “Hey,” Y/N said, pulling out his water bottle and handing it to him.  “Did they give the all clear?”

“Yep, we’re finished,” Bucky said, gulping down the water before handing it back to her.  “I’m just gonna get cleaned up then we’ll go to dinner.”  Y/N nodded with a side smile.  He turned to Yelena.  “Thank you for your help today.  I look forward to seeing the final product in a couple of months.”

Yelena looked a little put out but nodded politely.  “Of course, thank you for coming.”

Bucky quickly linked his arm with Y/N and led her towards the beach house that they were staying in just a short walk away from the pier.  They didn’t say anything to each other on the way, and when they finally reached the door Bucky led her inside then locked it behind them soundly.  He suddenly grabbed Y/N and pinned her to the door, his head dipping down to start kissing at her neck while his hands wandered around her body.  “Jealous, babes?” he muttered.

Y/N squirmed and pushed him away, but he kept smirking at her.  “No,” Y/N said.  She dodged his arms and walked around him, leading the way to the bedroom.

“Oh come on, Y/N, it’s okay,” Bucky chuckled as he followed her.

Y/N kept walking, ignoring him as she went to the bathroom and turned on the shower for him.  “Clean up,” she instructed him before turning to leave.

“Woah, babes,” Bucky said, suddenly serious.  He grabbed her by the shoulders and made her face him.  “Hey, I was just teasing.”

“It’s fine,” Y/N said, keeping her gaze at his chest.  “We never specified if we were exclusive.  You’re free to do whatever, or whoever, you want.”

Bucky scoffed and let go of her shoulders.  “Are you seeing other people?” he asked with a bitter tone.

“No,” Y/N said, glancing at him.

“Neither am I,” he said, stepping toward her and pinning her against the sink.  “Look at me, babes.”  Y/N sighed heavily then met his gaze.  He watched her for a moment, the shower making the bathroom start to steam up.  “I don’t want to be with anyone else.  Only you.  I don’t want you with anyone else.  Only me.  And I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear before,” he leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose.  “We were just…happy.  I didn’t think I’d need to.”

“Well you do,” Y/N said quietly.  

Bucky sighed this time, his smirk coming back.  “You’re mine.  I’m yours.  We belong to each other.  Exclusively.  You wanna be my girlfriend?  Great.  You’re my girlfriend.  Though that seems like a pale description of what you mean to me.”

Y/N frowned.  “What do you mean?”

Bucky smiled fully at her question.  “What words could possibly do you justice?  You are my everything.  My center.  My sun.  You are the greatest thing that has happened to me.  My greatest achievement.  Not because I conquered you in any way, but because I somehow won your heart, and it's my most prized possession.”  Y/N could feel her eyes fill with tears.  “I told you that first night.  All I want is you, babes.  Whether that means as my girlfriend, my fiance, my wife, though none of those words will fully express what it is you mean to me.”

Y/N’s tears finally fell and Bucky quickly wiped them away.  She had never cried in front of him before, so it felt very vulnerable, but she smiled up at him.  “I think that’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me,” she whispered.

Bucky’s smile widened.  “I mean it.  Every word.”

“I love you,” Y/N confessed.

Bucky’s eyes fluttered shut and he leaned his forehead against her forehead.  “God that feels so good to hear,” he whispered.  He opened his eyes and gazed at her.  “I love you.”  Y/N cupped his face in her hands and pulled him down to kiss her.  He happily reciprocated, his arms winding around her waist and holding her tight to him as he deepened the kiss.  They stayed there, almost swaying as they kissed, until he chuckled against her lips.  “Now you’re all wet,” he said, looking down at his wet clothes soaking up her outfit.

“Looks like we’re both going to need to clean up,” Y/N smirked suggestively.

Bucky groaned at her tone, quickly stripping them both and leading her to the shower.

@calwitch @hzdhrtss

[thesleepyfable]

~ SWTD: Still Here AU Part 14: ~

Operation Spy Part 3:

The finale of Operation Spy. Yes, this is a short arc. It's a bridge into the next, much longer chapters.

Part 15:

As the minutes ticked by, things seemed to calm down. The dock crew were quick to realise the infected were harmless. Seeing the Beria crew talk to them as if nothing happened helped wash away their nerves. It was just a lot of them to take in as a third party. Still, Brodie and Finlay lingered by the only phone you could use to contact the outside before reaching Bernard's office because they weren't going to risk having police or military find them. Archie soon made his appearance. Loyal to the core, he waited here the entire time. The scream from earlier woke him from a nap he was taking somewhere else in the building.

Someone found the courage to ask Addair about the album he carried under his arm, which he returned in kind by showing off his wife and sons, going into great detail for each picture. From what they were doing to location. Whether it was just for attention or because he somehow turned over a new leaf in the span of 24 hours was anyone's guess. The same went for Gibbo. They wanted to know about Eleanor after seeing the chain, which he obliged, but when it got too much, with everyone sharing their own stories of their wives, eventually talking over each other, he literally retreated his head into the mass. Douglas and Dobbie were quick to vouch for him, and it was taken well. 'I wish I could do that,' one commented. Yes, Gibbo can somehow breathe. No, he didn't know how he was doing that. He just subconsciously knew.

Trots, for once, didn't go on about a Union and instead told his side of the story with Archie listening because he was the last to learn about anything surrounding yesterday's events. Muir, Caz, and a few others from Beria stood to the side.

'Are you sure your ma and pa will be okay with this?' Caz asked.

'They should be,' Muir answered. 'I cannae think of anywhere else we can go. I want to go home anyway and it's got the most room for us.'

'No harm in trying then.'

As for Rennick, it was clear there was a history between himself and Bernard. Roper could feel it as he awkwardly sat beside his manager in the makeshift office they made, which was just the trio sitting further away between the maze of containers.

'Is this necessary, Davey? Aren't we friends?' His voice perfectly matched the description of a weasel-bodied, rat-faced, snake.

'That ship sailed a long time ago. So long in fact, it's done three laps of the world by now.'

Roper took out the documents O'Connor gav to him and handed them to Bernard, who was trying his best to control his shakey hands. Not because of fear, but anger.

'This should help you close the investigation. We made sure to collect everything.' No answer. Bernard took the time to scan over everything. All the medical and financial records, the payslips, food intakes, orders that never arrived, and a list of crew. A red mark against those who were gone. He wanted to find one mistake. Something. Anything to make sure he won. Not because he wanted the crew to still work for him, even if the infected would be good for heavy lifting. It was out of pride. Bernard Cunningham can never be wrong.

'And, just so you know, we're all quitting.'

'Yeah, I fuckin' got that.' He caught a glimpse of Rennick smiling. Seems Bernard wasn't above keeping up appearances. 'Have you got something to say, David?'

'Not really. I'm just enjoying this.'

'Enjoying what? Watching you toss away your career? Everything I gave you? You've got some fuckin' nerve to be smiling right now. Just look at yourself.' The sickly sweet office attitude Bernard carried himself with had long gone. This was the real him. 'You're disgusting.'

Roper's eyes went wide as saucers. He glanced between the men, having never heard anyone talk to Rennick like that. He was at a loss for words. Rennick remained strong. The words cut deep, but he wasn't going to let Bernard know he had any effect on him. The bastard wasn't going to win.

'So, you know we all need Severance pay?' A pause. Bernard couldn't believe Rennick was telling him how to do his job. 'And we're also going to need to borrow a couple of the trucks.'

'Why?!' Bernard's voice was exasperated.

'We're not walking all the way to-'

'I don't care where you go, you prick!' Bernard's voice bounced off the metal. 'You've already taken my rig. You lot can go fuck yourselves if you really think I'm gonna let you take more from me!' The chairman was red in the face and looked like a fish gasping for air.

'My rig,' Rennick corrected with an eerily calm manner. 'Don't worry about it, we'll return them. I can speak for everyone here, that we don't want anything from you.'

'Except for the dosh,' Roper interjected. Rennick ignored him.

'Don't worry about it, big man. The sooner we're out of your hair, the better.'

Bernard huffed, rubbed the temple of his nose. Rennick has clearly said something right because in less than a few seconds, he snapped with a 'fine.'

'But, I better not see any of you again.'

Maybe he was petty. Maybe he wanted to play into how Bernard saw him, but Rennick, without warning, shook his hand. If he thought he was disgusting, then he'll want to leave a metaphorical mark on Bernard. How? By wrapping a tendril completely up and around his arm and holding it for a few seconds too long. He used that fake yet convincing smile to the untrained eye. Bernard saw right through it but was more distracted by the obvious. He tried to pull away, but with no luck. 'It's been a pleasure doing business with you.'

The tendril retreated back into Rennick's body. He turned away, and Roper followed. The pair had never been on good terms, but Roper would be lying if he said he didn't feel bad. Bernard's words were cruel, but it certainly explained why Rennick managed the Beria the way he did for years. With a 'friend' like that, who needs enemies? Apparently, Rennick, because he seemed to make that his mission. Still...

'Are you okay?'

'Should I not be?'

'Well, what he said was terrible and-'

'For fuck sake, Roper, I'm fine.' He didn't sound fine. 'I don't-' Rennick caught a quick glimpse of his reflection and looked away. His jaw tensed and he looked to the floor. He just wanted to leave. 'I don't need one of your therapy sessions. Give it to Gibbo.' Roper let him pass. Rennick knew he heard the pained tone, but he won't let that get the best of him. He pushed the feelings to the back of his mind and continued forward. 'Attention crew of The Beria!' Everyone turned. 'Grab your stuff, we're getting out of here.'

Thankfully, it was smooth sailing for everyone. Bernard gave them two trucks, but on the conditions that a member of the dock crew drove them. He didn't care if they were driving to Glasgow or to Cornwall, just as long as they were gone.

Sadly, this is where most of the crew would be parting ways. Many could and have made it home from here. This included Roper, Sunil, Dobbie, McLurg, Scooby, Douglas, Archie, and...

'Be sure to stay out of trouble.' Finlay. This was her goodbye. At least for now. She lived in Glasgow, as did most of the crew. Easy to meet up and travel together for a visit.

'Nae promises,' Caz laughed. 'But, are you sure you don't want to come with us?'

'Nah. I've got me boy to get back to. He came home last week, and I wanna see him.' She chuckled. 'I have a story to tell him, eh?'

The pair shared a hug. Finlay had always been there for Caz, and not just because she was a fan of him during the boxing years, but because she cared. It might be because she was the only woman on board, but she really was like a mother to most. A strict mother, but one none the less.

'Safe journey.' Caz slipped a piece of paper that had a home number. He made sure everyone got one. 'Call us whenever.'

'Aye. Now, go on ya blighter before you make an old biddy like me cry.'

Muir and Rennick took one truck. Caz sat beside the driver, followed by Roy, then O'Connor. Innes stayed in the back. Gibbo, Addair, and Trots took the other, with Trots being able to sit in one of the passenger seats. Brodie and Raffs accompanied them.

Why were Brodie, Raffs, and O'Connor staying? They needed to plan their trips home. All three lived off the mainland, and they weren't going to plan another long treck home now. Especially O'Connor. Bad enough, he was on the east side of Scotland. He needed a few days of rest.

'Okay, that's everyone!' Raffs called from the passenger window, to which Roy returned a thumbs up. The trucks roared to life and slowly made their ways out of the docks. The crew members who stayed behind waved until they were out of sight. Raffs took advantage of being the closest to the door and rolled his window down to rest his head and elbows out. Seeing the sea vanish from view for the endless countryside with patched fields of snow was like whiplash. A well-deserved whiplash. The smell of the sea air was replaced with an Earthy aroma.

The infected and Innes couldn't see the outside, but just knowing they were on a road was something they never knew how much they needed until now. A sense of calm overcame them. Finally, they were back in Scotland. Even if they'll never be human again, it was good to be back on the mainland. Rennick felt a weight being lifted off his shoulders. Never again will he have to deal with oil rigs that made him lose sleep and cause so much stress, he refused to eat. Even if Roy saved him leftovers.

A small window divided them and the seating. Rennick tapped on it for Caz to slide open.

'So, where are we going?'

'Braemar.'

'Where?'

'Home,' Muir answered. 'We're going home.'

[randomyuu]

there's a lover in the story, but the story's still the same

Ahh, don’t you love it when fear motivates your drawing mood? (not really)

That’s what I felt reading the scene that is drawn below. It’s fear for Yuuji but also feeling excited picturing an emotionless teen!Gojou so here I am. Always down bad for Vox’s Goyuu fics, aren’t I? *sighs*

Welp, here we go.

Title: there’s a lover in the story, but the story’s still the same

Author: @voxofthevoid

Second fic of the series there’s a lover in the story, but the story’s still the same

Pairing YuuGo, NSFW, please read the tags carefully before giving it a read... the usual drill ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

!!! SPOILER FOR THE FIC !!!

Highly recommend you guys to read them first. Or not, it’s up to you honestly :v

Usually I would gush about the fic but I’ve already done that under the fic itself so I just want you to know this comic is solely carried by me wanting to draw the ticking time bomb called teen!Gojou-post-discussion-with-adult!Ieiri. You could probably guess what they’re talking about :”)

The fear for Yuuji’s well-being started this, but Satoru’s cold eyes kept me going. I can’t get rid of it from my mind lmao

You can say drawing these kind of expressions is my jam   (￣▽￣)

I hope I did Satoru’s emotions justice haha

A bit of my thoughts and doodle below. Unhinged maybe, it’s midnight, I got more work to do after this, and my brain cells are barely hanging on. Haha I'm living the life-

I AM STILL REELING FROM THE FACT I MANAGED TO GET THIS DONE.

There are so many things I want to talk about in the process of making this. But after I typed it out, most of them sounded so unnecessary so I rewrote it a few times. I tried to make this as short as possible lmao

Typesetting and sketching are the roughest parts of this project. During these stages, I kept feeling everything I did wasn’t doing the scene enough justice, and it was frustrating. As I planned this project, I read a few doujins and noticed the font types scanlation teams use. There are so many of them, and each helped convey the tone of each image. Felt like crying when I realised I’m not knowledgeable enough to apply good typesetting, ngl. And then the interior design. Fuck, the frustration is so real. I am absolutely clueless about this kind of thing. Tracing lots of references because I have no perception of space makes me feel even worse. I knew first times rarely create a masterpiece, but I was not satisfied with my accomplishment and the feeling of failing to fulfil my own expectations hurt.

BUT.

Thank goodness most of the things I need to draw are Shouko, Yuuji and Satoru. Because dear g o d drawing them healed me. I found so much comfort in drawing Shouko’s long hair and Satoru’s eyes and drowning Yuuji in an oversized hoodie. The comfort zone of character drawing never feels so real lmaooo

Drawing them was so effective that I can look back at the backgrounds with acceptance. Hey, I did it! Not perfect just yet, but I did it!

Haha I feel like I’m losing my mind. I don’t know if it’s in a good way or a bad way. Guess I do have one or two screws loose.

Only for Yuuji lmao

(nah I just need sleep, or cooling down from the rush of having finished this)

It might come off as a surprise if you’ve only seen my art on Tumblr, but I’ve always preferred to draw feminine-leaning ladies. I’ve always loved drawing their curves, whether it’s the figure, the clothes, or the (long) hair. But I’ve grown to like drawing masculine gentlemen as well with their sharp edges and straight lines, and now my ladies start to look more androgynous lmao

Anyway, I was pretty stoked to be able to draw adult!Ieiri! I… I kind of miss drawing long hair so here have some more before you go on your day ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

[inexplicifics]

3 lambden

Lambert doesn’t get it. He just genuinely does not understand why the hell Aiden puts up with him. Lambert knows his own flaws: he’s short-tempered and foul-mouthed and prone to violent overreactions to minor insults. He gets obsessive about projects and occasionally burns down his backyard shed by accident and can’t cook and probably drinks too much.

And yet for some reason Aiden keeps coming around. Keeps buying Lambert dinner or making Lambert dinner and claiming Lambert’s breads and desserts more than make up for it. Keeps spending long evenings listening to Lambert rant about whatever’s ticked him off or caught his attention this time, and claiming listening to Lambert is fun. Keeps being there, when Lambert is far too used to driving people away.

It comes to a head on an otherwise unremarkable Saturday when Aiden has come over yet again to drink weird beer and watch Lambert tinker with a record player that he found at a yard sale and is trying to put back in working order for his Da’s birthday next month. Which can’t be interesting to watch, and yet here Aiden is on his couch, sprawled out languidly and grinning like he’s having the time of his life.

Lambert makes it through half an hour of Aiden telling stories about the absolutely fucking idiotic questions he gets to field as a website designer before he straightens up, puts down his screwdriver, and blurts, “What do you want from me?”

Aiden blinks at him. “What do you mean?”

“Why the absolute fuck do you keep coming over and - and - and being nice to me when I’m an irritable bastard and you could absolutely be spending time with anyone fucking else?” Lambert demands, gesticulating wildly.

Aiden sits up properly, brow furrowing into a deep frown. “Lambert, where the hell did you get the idea I want to spend time with anyone else? I like you. I like your ranting and your swearing and your absolutely brilliant brain. You’re good company.”

Lambert gawps at him, mouth opening and closing like a stranded fish.

Aiden gives him a solemn look, green eyes serious. “What do I want from you? I want what you’re already giving me. A friend, and a damn good one.” He hesitates visibly, and Lambert waits for the other shoe to drop. “I will admit,” Aiden says, with the same sort of care as a bomb technician might display while on the job, “that I have occasionally had real trouble not jumping your bones when you get really het up about something, because passion is sexy as hell, but that’s a me problem, not something you need to worry about unless you actually want to.”

Lambert boggles, too stunned even to swear.

“Shit,” Aiden sighs. “I knew I shouldn’t have said that.”

And he sort of…curls in on himself, shoulders slumping, looking sad, and that’s wrong, that’s bullshit, Aiden shouldn’t look sad about having said the most wonderful thing Lambert has ever heard in his damn life -

He lunges forward, skidding to his knees beside the couch and reaching up to take Aiden’s face in his hands, calluses rasping against Aiden’s beard, and pulls Aiden into the best damn kiss he can give.

Aiden is stock-still for a long moment and then he makes a startled, delighted noise and laces his hands through Lambert’s hair and kisses back.

Lambert still doesn’t know precisely why Aiden puts up with him, but if this is what Aiden wants - well, hell. It’s gonna be what Aiden damn well gets.

(Or here on AO3!)

[redbird-tf]

A fathers scent

Matt murdock x (platonic) teen reader

Summary: matt wanted nothing more but to get to know you better but didnt know his scent could hurt you so badly

Notes; short read

Warning;

Matt had taken you in almost a year ago, how could he not, you had the same abilities as him and he knew what it was like to be alone or worse, with Stick, he couldn’t let that happen. Matt did his best. He taught you how to let things in and keep things out, trained you, and most of all, fathered you.

Matt still didn't know your full story regarding your family, he knew your mom had passed tragically and that your dad was gone but he didn't know the details. He only ever brought it up once and when you declined to answer becoming upset he didn't pry. Matt trusted one day you’d feel comfortable enough to tell him yourself and if not that was alright.

Matt returned home after a long day at Nelson and Murdock, he had scoured the city trying to get information to help his new clients. “Mm that smells good” he announced walking through the door, placing down his stick. “Is that stake im smelling?” he asked cocking his head. “Matt!” You shouted enthusiastically walking into his embrace. Something went wrong though.

You inhaled his scent before sharply pushing yourself back from him. Matt could hear the sudden acceleration of your heart rate, and feel the sweat collecting on your face. “Y/n” what's wrong,” he asked holding his arm out “Where have you been!?” You asked holding your nose, trying to drain out the stench. “All over town. why? What's wrong-“You cut him off again. “Who have you been talking to!?” You shouted louder than before. “A lot of people, what going on?” He asked stepping towards you, but you darted towards the bathroom.

A few seconds passed before he heard the sounds of you puking your guts out, he walked toward the door cracking it open. Your heart rate had slowed but you shivered from the cold sweat coating your body. “Y/n..” he whispered. “Please leave me alone” you begged weakly, Matt was terrified but not wanting to make the situation worse he obliged. He sat at the table, listening to the clock tick and an hour later you emerged from the bathroom dashing into your room.

Matt went through the rest of his night routine alone, not leaving the house in case you decided to appear, but you never did. Matt couldn’t go to bed not knowing if you were ok. After his shower, he threw on his jacket and sweatpants and walked to your room. “May i come in?” He asked with a light knock. no reply followed, he let himself in and made his way to the edge of your bed where he sat. your body curled up on the opposite side.

“Y/n…are you alright?” He asked softly “i don't want to talk about it” your raspy voice replied. “Y/n I'm sorry if i did something to hurt you” he stated more worry in his voice. “You didn't-“ you paused before exhaling deeply “you smelled like my dad” you stated. Matt didn’t know how to reply but you continued “The half-drunken, concrete, musty smell. You were around him i could tell” you explained with a shake at the end of your sentence. “Y/n, i had no idea, im sorry” he apologized. “He's around, he’s back, he was near you!” you bit your lip. Matt climbed into the bed and turned you towards him. “Hey, you are safe here. He will never come near you” he explained in a stern tone.

your eyes watered and he wasted no time pulling you into his chest. Your hands went around his back as he engulfed you and you were finally able to inhale Matt's scents, the one you loved so much.“You’re my real dad, Matt” “your my daughter, nothing will ever change that”

[in-a-mountain-pool]

Supermassive Black Hole Ch1

Ettore x Reader 

pronouns: She/her (afab)

rating: Explicit/18+

warnings: NSFW/Minors DNI, masturbation, jealous!Ettore, 

word count: 1761

summary: Ettore found prison terribly boring, that is until the day that you showed up. When Monte takes a shine to you, Ettore finds a new way to pass the time, and he plans to drag it out just as long as he possibly can...

A/N: Yeah, yeah I know, Ettore is awful... Feel free to imagine Ewan Mitchell’s lovely Derbyshire burr whenever the f-bomb is dropped. Have that on me! I’m planning this to be around a 6 chapter short story so watch this space. Next Chapter

Masterlist

If Ettore was educated, a poet, or an artist, he'd describe his time on the prison ship by talking about the bleakness of space, the ever-looming presence of the black hole outside, the loneliness, the lack of humanity... but the thing he thought about most, was just how fucking boring it was.

If you didn’t kick up the occasional fight what else was there to even do? Wank off in a cup? Jack off in the box? Play favourites with Doctor Dibs? All of it fucking boring after a while. But his favourite thing of all, his favourite way to pass the time, was people watching.

The one good thing about the prison ship was just how weird and mixed up the group of people were, people of all kinds, all shapes, and sizes, all with their own ticks, and their own stories to tell. Not that he ever wanted to ever talk to these people, why the fuck would he waste his time on criminals in here? But it sure was fun to imagine. Especially with the girls.

And that was where he had found himself today, wiping the floors outside the canteen, sweaty, tired, and bored out of his mind. The AC on the ship had broken again earlier that week, so he had taken to walking around without his shirt, something that had made Dibs smirk and give him a few extra pills to pass the time. 

As he scrubbed the floor, he found his eyes wandering to the canteen door to watch the inmates go about their day. Boyse was sat against the wall on the floor playing a game with a piece of string, making shapes and whispering to herself. She was reciting some sort of kid’s playground song whilst Mink braided her hair behind her. Tcherney was sat at the table, he had brought some of his plants in from the garden and was getting soil bloody everywhere potting up some tomatoes... but amongst all of this, the most interesting thing of all, was Monte. He usually sat alone and kept to himself, and when he was not, he was usually being fawned over by Dibs, but today he was sat with her, the new girl, Y/N.

She was the newest inmate on the ship and to Ettore she was a pretty blank slate. She never said a peep, even if the food was bad, or at the shitty prison duties she was given, and not even when he would openly stare at her... and honestly, it was easy to stare at her.

Y/N was a small woman, just a little mousey thing with brown shoulder length hair, and these big green eyes which would peer at him from time to time. People seemed to like her, mostly because she kept out of their business, but every now and then he'd catch her picking things up after people, helping Tcherny carry his gardening tools around, or helping Boyse with her duties when she'd lose track of time. She just seemed incredibly nice. Far too nice for a place like this.

So, it was a surprise when he heard her laugh out loud for the first time on the ship, and an even bigger surprise when it was Monte who had made her do it. The two were sat side by side eating lunch, her resting her shoulder against his as he leaned down to tell her a story, her eyes lightning up, all animated and excited. She looked like he had hung the stars in the fucking sky or something, so taken in by him, it was almost cute just how melodic her laugh was.

Ettore just shook his head smirking to himself and going back to his cleaning. She was just another woman in a long line chasing after Monte like he was some kind of white fucking knight... until something caught his eye, something only he could see at this angle.

Underneath the table, Y/N was running her foot up the back of Monte's leg under his trousers, whilst her hand had dipped under the table to rub a path ever so gently from his knee to his thigh. Ettore was transfixed, pretending to pay extra special attention to a particular spot on the floor so he could continue to watch the secret exchange. Y/N continued to snake her hand closer and closer to Monte's inner thigh, all the while playing the part of the innocent girl, all doe eyed and sweet listening to Monte's stories so intently.

Who was this girl he was watching!?

Fraternising between inmates was strictly forbidden and would ruin the experiments Dibs was conducting, yet here she was having the gall to try it on with Monte out in the open for anyone and everyone to see. Ettore's throat went dry, and his trousers grew tighter just watching her small hand delicately stroke at Monte's thigh, drawing small circles with her index finger as she travelled closer and closer to her destination.

In the end Ettore just couldn't help himself, slowly starting to grind his hips against the hard surface beneath him, trying his best to pretend to scrub the filthy floor beneath him whilst he edged himself, imagining just how soft her dainty fingers would feel wrapped around his hard, weeping cock. He'd make her do it right there in the canteen, sliding her hand underneath the waistband of his tented boxers, whilst everyone else went on about their day.

He imagined how she'd stroke the pad of her thumb across his pink and swollen head, swirling around the wetness there before sliding down his shaft and gripping him tight. Just the thought of it made him groan out loud, muffling the pathetic sound into his shoulder as he rocked his hips, humping the floor like an animal.

The sweaty heat of the ship only made it headier, and he was pretty sure he must be soaking the front of his pants, precum already seeping out of his heavy cock. She just looked like such a good good girl... with some apparently very naughty tendencies. He could only imagine what that pretty little mouth of hers would feel like, what those inviting rosy lips might look like as she sucked-

Until Monte's hand shot underneath the table and swotted her hand away from his thigh just before she could graze his bulge.

What. the. fuck.

Monte's face was stern and passive under the harsh white light of the canteen as he suddenly stood up, his plastic chair screeching along the floor harshly behind him. For a moment, Ettore thought he'd been caught, and his rocking faltered, although the prospect of conflict only served to make him even harder.

But there was something else going on here, something odd. He continued to watch them, his lips parted slightly and panting as he strained against the seam of his boxers. Her face had dropped and she looked almost crestfallen for a moment, but when Monte finally whispered to her, something shifted, and she almost became …submissive. Y/N crossed her legs tightly, squirming in her seat as she forced a tight smile onto her rosy, pink face. She looked pissed to say the least, and after a short exchange she went back to her meal in a huff.

Monte sulked out of the room and past Ettore, almost slipping on the wet floor he had been so hurried and flustered. It was interesting, to say the least. All these women chasing after him and Monte clearly didn't know the first thing about what to do with a girl like her. She was really something, practically gagging for it... and yet he'd literally batted her away.

Fucking tease.

Ettore practically snorted with laughter when he saw how clean the floor was beneath him after her little show, and just how dirty the crotch of his pants had become from his activities. He'd definitely need to visit the box tonight, and that was exactly where he'd found himself a few hours later.

Somehow, an hour in the box was not enough to scratch the itch that watching Y/N had provided earlier that day. Ettore sauntered out of the box and leaned against the wall, exhaling as the air hit his bare chest and the sweat on his skin started to cool. He just couldn't get her perfect little hands out of his mind. The way that her eyes had flashed when she had realised Monte was breathing heavier, how her foot had crept higher and higher up his calf... 

Monte just didn't fucking deserve her. What exactly was the situation between them, anyway? Were they a couple? Were they even fucking each other? …Would Monte mind if he shared her?

So many thoughts were running through his head that it was some time before he even noticed the sound of someone climbing down the ladder into the basement of the ship. Out of the corner of his eye, a flash of orange appeared as another inmate made their way towards the box... it was her.

Y/N had her arms crossed tightly across her chest, with a tight scowl on her face and a flush across her cheeks and down her neck. Her head was craned down as she trudged through the corridor, like she was intensely ashamed and frustrated to even be seen in a place like this. She'd almost entered the box before Ettore finally started to speak.

“Quite the little show from you today, Y/N.”

Her eyes snapped up to his, turning to look at him like a deer in the headlights. She was even cuter when she was like this. All flustered and horny. After a short moment she gathered herself, but only a margin... she was such a little thing. He doubted she could even make her words out at this point, so dickstruck and begging to be fucked.

“... Mind your own business, and I'll mind mine.”

He couldn’t help but snort at her weak retort and got closer to her, leaning his arm just above her on the doorframe.

“I'm just thinking out loud here… but if I was Monte, I wouldn’t let you be seen dead down here... looking for release that he clearly can't give you.”

Ettore continued, Y/N's breath quickening as he leaned closer still to whisper huskily into her ear.

“If I was Monte, you wouldn't need to fuck a machine late into the night to get yourself off... Think about it.”

And with that he backed away throwing her a shit-eating grin over his shoulder as he climbed up the ladder.

He wouldn't have her just yet; he'd bide his time.

… Whoever said that life at the prison was boring?

[jonesyjonesyjonesy]

Wildflowers (pt. xxii.i)

a john paul jones x fem!oc fic (in progress)

summary: Julia Morgan knew nannying for three girls who had recently lost their mother would come with many challenges. But she never thought their father, the enigmatic musician John Paul Jones, would be causing her the most trouble. And while Julia is not in the business of saving broken men, her tenderness might be meant for more than little girls and wildflowers.

table of contents │ previous chapter

masterlist│ko-fi

notes: drug use, dubcon, attempted sa, violence, blood, nsfw

a/n: it seems unfair on such a beautiful day as this when i have witnessed joh in the flesh to bring you such an angsty chapter, but...here we are. the story, the fluff as we have known it, is about to take a turn. yet another two parter. please be careful with this one.

pt. xxii.i, jack-go-to-bed-at-noon

“'Damn. Julia. Right. Julia. Maureen is…' He laughed. 'She’s dead.'"

“The veins in your eyes. They look like…lightning.”

I pursed my lips.

“Did you know that?” he asked eagerly.

This wasn’t going well. “Lift your arms, John.”

The sheer curiosity in his expression turned into a smirk that would have been playful in a different moment, but for now made my stomach lunge to expel itself through my mouth. “Are you trying to get into my trousers?”

“I’m trying…to get you ready for bed. You need to rest,” I said as calmly as I could though my blood had been absolutely roiling for the past half hour.

John lifted a hand, unsteady like he was under anesthesia. He gripped the collar of my dressing gown and tried to pull me down toward him, but his strength was buffeted by whatever was in his system and his hand plummeted to the mattress. “You really ought to buy a lady dinner first, Maureen.”

I should explain from the beginning, shouldn’t I?

It started with one of John’s nightly phone calls, the ones I’d been surviving off of once again after he returned to Headley Grange after my birthday. Weeks had passed and the girls and me were…surviving would be the best way to put it.

This night’s phone call, this bloody fucking night’s phone call, was out of the ordinary because it was made from a telephone booth.

“I don’t have long,” John said, no, slurred into the receiver.

“You’re drunk,” I remarked with a giggle. Not the first time I’d dealt with him intoxicated or under the influence of some substance on a phone call. Speaking with him in such a state didn’t sit well in my gut, but clouded by the haze of what I thought to be love, I was willing to overlook it.

“Not drunk. Tipsy,” he replied with an obvious smile on his lips.

I had been awaiting his call on the sofa, nodding off several times before the phone finally rang. I was admittedly grateful the call would be short. “And I’m exhausted.”

“Oh, darling,” he cooed. “Of course you are. You should sleep.”

“I was waiting for your call.”

“Did I keep you awake?”

I let out a laugh, shaking low in my chest. “Yes, you dolt. Now say sweet things to make up for it.”

“Ah…let’s see…”

The seconds ticked by.

I lifted myself onto my elbows. “Have you forgotten all the things you like about me?”

“No, no, not at all. I’m trying to decide how to say what I want to say.”

I stared across the room without seeing, heart pounding at the back of my tongue.

“You’ll say I’m being…I don’t know.”

“Say it, John, just say it.”

There was a thunk on the line. John leaning up against the wall of the phone booth or accidentally knocking the phone against the holder. I wondered if he was really so drunk he was swaying back and forth.

“We should tell them, shouldn’t we? They should know.”

I furrowed my brow. “Your bandmates? What on Earth do they have to do with anything?”

“No, no, no, MmmJulia.”

I sat all the way up, my adrenaline pumping, completely erasing my previous desire for sleep.

“When I get home, I’m going to tell the girls. ‘Bout you and me.”

I sucked in my cheeks to hold in a squeal of delight. I wasn’t sure it was warranted. Had to remain coolheaded. Reasonable. “You’re drunk.”

“So?”

“So, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know what –” He hiccupped. “I know what I’m saying.”

“Mhm. Well, call me in the morning and tell me if you remember, alright?”

“Julia.”

I shut my eyes and pursed my lips. Damn him for the way he said my name like that with such need it made me forget myself.

John breathed harshly into the phone. “I’ll remember.”

I swallowed. “Just because you’ll remember doesn’t mean it’s the right thing to do.”

“You don’t want me to tell them?” His question was equally taunting and disappointed.

“I didn’t say that, I just don’t know if they’re…” The girls would never be ready. It would never be the right time. Regardless of their affection for me, I was explicitly in their eyes that I was Julia. The nanny. I would not fill the role of “mum”. But stepping into the spot next to John would change that. To tell them that we’ve been pulling the wool over their eyes, doing the things their mother did with their father, hiding behind a moniker.

Children are always smarter than we give them credit for.

I could already imagine the betrayal they’d feel.

“They’re ready,” John said firmly. “They’re – I’m ready.”

But I wasn’t going to argue with that.

“Running out of time, got to go.”

“Be careful.”

“Am. Always. Sleep.”

He hung up without another word. And though my heart throbbed excitedly at the idea that maybe our transformative relationship would transform even further, I couldn’t shake the emptiness I felt looking at the phone in my hand.

Being with John, really with him, would mean taking on all parts of his life. He’d have to take on mine too, but not in the same way. Not when mine was so small in comparison. Not when I had packed away my life to fit into his because it was my job. My duty.

As his employee.

As a woman.

I let my mind rove the place I had never let it go before.

To be with John. That would mean an eventual marriage, wouldn’t it? And an eventual marriage would mean a commitment to caring for his children. Having more, should he be agreeable to it. I would go from nanny to mother.

Ostensibly, nothing should change.

But it would.

Because I had not yet seen the hard parts of a musician’s life. Over those few weeks, John was only a phone call away. If something was wrong, he could make the drive back whatever time of day.

How would I survive with him across the ocean?

How would I survive knowing the kind of man he became when the woman he loved was out of reach?

I spiraled so fast for so long that exhaustion returned quickly. I buried myself in bed, trying to push away all of my questions. I could save those for the light of day. For a sober John.

At least that’s what I thought. What I hoped.

Instead, I woke up to a crunching sound outside. Brittle and hard against my eardrums. I leapt out of bed and hurried to the windows overlooking the driveway, peering through the curtains.

There was a dark blue car I’d never seen parked askew in the driveway, illuminated by the yellow lamplight. In its wake, one of the stone planters was left shattered across the ground, dirt in the tire tracks, flowers smashed up.

I held my breath and watched as the driver got out of the car. Feral haired and bearded.

Richard Cole.

An arm shot out from the passenger window and a bellowing voice cried out, “Ya thick fuckin’ wanker!”

A voice I'd recognize anywhere. The voice of Peter Grant.

Richard growled something in return before slamming his car door and tripping toward the front door.

I leapt into action, afraid that in whatever state he was in it would wake the girls, grabbing my robe and sprinting down the backstairs, past the studio, and into the foyer.

The banging began just seconds before I reached the door. Bang, bang –

“One moment!” I hissed as loud as I could, pulling my robe on to at least be somewhat decent. I threw open the door. “What the hell are you doing here?” I say, tying a defiant knot in my robe sash.

Richard, whose first impression had not been terribly pleasant back in Montreux, had a marked look of fear in his eyes. Rather than being tense at the corners, they were loose and…wide. “John, he’s –he made us come here.”

A jab of unease in my chest. “John.”

“Yes, yes, he’s –”

I pushed past Richard and descended the front steps, paying no mind to my bare feet, set on the backdoor of the car.

Peter emerged just in time to intercept me. “Julia, wait, I need to warn you –”

There was an inconsolable sob from the back of the car, one I had not heard since that night on the kitchen floor when John broke the glass and the world shifted on its axis. “What’s wrong? What happened?” I asked, trying to get past him as my insides did everything to lurch me into the car to get to John as fast as possible.

Peter grabbed my bicep. “Listen to me. It’s all just a bad reaction.”

“Please, please, please –” John begged.

His pain was my pain. All of my nerves trembled, desperation rippling through my muscles. I pulled against Peter. Need to get to him. Need to –

John went on and on. “I need to see her, I need –”

“Let me go,” I snapped at Peter.

John shrieked. I’d never heard a sound like that from a grown man.

But it wasn’t wordless.

It was –

“Maureen!”

My entire body went rigid. I stopped fighting Peter’s strength.

“Julia…” Peter said in a soft tone.

I finally looked up at the giant. I was surprised Peter was capable of such gentleness.

“He does not know what he says,” Peter went on, words clipped and precise.

“He misses her,” I said in a vacant tone.

Peter shook his head. “No, no. He thinks she’s here.”

The crying continued. The begging for her. “What did you do to him?” I asked, trying to buy myself time before I had to face the wailing mess.

“No one did anything –” Richard began to argue.

“Cole, fuck off,” Peter pulled out his Mr. Hyde impression before shifting back to Dr. Jekyll. “You know what it’s like? The drinking and then the pills and –”

I ripped my arm from his touch. “I do not know what it’s like.” Not even my torrid past could have prepared me for this.

Peter huffed, holding his last thread of patience for me. “It’s a bad trip. That’s all. He’s confused.”

“If it’s just a bad trip why did you –”

He grimaced. “He’s been going on like this for hours now. We can’t get him to stop. And we thought seeing you would bring him back. Remind him of the…the reality.”

I looked between Peter and Richard. Their expressions told me everything. They knew. Not only in a Montreux, “Let’s get John laid,” way.

They knew everything. 

Gathering my courage, I pulled away from Peter and Richard, grabbed the car door handle, and pulled it open.

John was splayed out in the seat, head resting in the lap of a man I’d never seen before whose exhaustion with the situation was split with a smile of relief at the sight of me. However, John didn't seem to notice me as he convulsed with full body sobs.

“John?” I said, interrupting the weeping.

It took considerable effort for John to lift himself and look at me. His face was streaked with tears, hair a wreck, and his eyes black as night with the kind of high that takes you low. “Oh. Julia.”

Is that disappointment?

A smile crossed his face. “Juuuulia." He slapped his palm to his forehead, a bubbly guffaw tripping out of his mouth. “It’s Julia, of course it is.”

“We told you we’d take you home,” the man says meekly, voice tinged with an Irish accent.

“Yes, but I didn’t – I forgot –” John wiped his hand down his face and collapsed back into the arms of the small Irishman. His expression looked like it was melting. “Not Maureen. Julia.”

My stomach twisted. I leaned down onto the seat and held out my hand. “John, why don’t we head inside?”

John reached out for my hand, fingers stumbling to interlock with mine.

I pulled while the man pushed until John was sat on the edge of the seat, the soles of his shoes landing against the gravel as if for the first time. He curled forward, his head making him top heavy. I braced his shoulders. “John –”

While his body lacked strength everywhere else, his arms looped around me, right under my backside, his face buried into my belly. He inhaled deeply and then, on the exhale, said again, “Julia.”

If we weren’t being watched, I would have reciprocated the intimacy. Instead, I tucked my hands under his arms and started to lift. “Can you –” I grunted. “Stand?”

“Of course, I can stand,” he mumbled, rising to his feet, dragging his face up the length of my body until I forced him away.

“There you go,” I said with an attempted smile, my hands on his shoulders. “Let’s go upstairs and get you ready for bed, hm?”

He nodded hardily. “Oh yes. Yes, yes –“ He spun on his heel and took a step forward. Immediately, his legs gave out, crumpling beneath him like paper.

“Easy, there,” Peter said, catching John by the upper arm before he fell to the ground.

In Peter’s grip, John looked like a toddler being dragged out of a store for throwing a tantrum. I couldn’t help my revulsion. “Let’s get him inside," Peter ordered, almost nonplussed.

Richard grabbed John from the other side and began to drag him into the house.

I padded behind them, trying to get their attention. “You have to be quiet, the girls are –‘”

“Uh huh.”

“Take him up the backstairs. To my room,” I said, no longer afraid of my lack of propriety.

John’s head bobbed backward.

“Jesus Christ, for a little guy he’s dense, isn’t he?” Richard strained as they dragged John to the door.

“For fuck’s sake.” Peter ripped John from Richard’s grip, a doll rather than a person, and threw him over his shoulder. “Lead me, Cole.”

“Please, just not the main bedroom,” I squeaked, trying to snake past them to lead them where I wanted them to go.

John turned his head against Peter’s back toward me, eyes gleaming. “Juuuuulia.”

I stopped in my tracks and contemplated running in the other direction. That was not John. Not the John I knew. This was his doppelganger. It must have been. Otherwise, this was an alternate personality, one I wasn’t supposed to see.

A part of him I had been blissfully ignorant to.

I watched them go inside, remaining planted in one spot, wishing I could go home.

But home was here.

“Mandrax.”

I turned to find the little Irishman at my elbow. He was rearranging his black locks, palming it flat on his head.

“At least some of it was Mandrax,” he said, dropping his hands at his sides and smiling sympathetically. “Pills. Mix them with alcohol and lord knows what else…”

We both stared through the open door, watching Peter and Richard struggling up the stairs.

“He’ll be fine in the morning,” he offered.

“Yes, but will I?” I said, attempting a joke.

His eyebrows lifted. “That is a question, isn’t it?”

I exhaled through my nose, something like a laugh, but pathetic.

“I’m BP. The boys call me Beep.”

I tried to smile. In better circumstances, I would ask for the rest of his story. But tonight I wasn’t allotted that privilege. “I’m Julia.”

“Mm. Yes, well aware.”

I wondered how aware. Was he aware in passing? By accident? Had John tripped into another realm of consciousness and waxed poetic about me? “Sorry you got roped into this.”

He shrugged. “Happens with them.”

“Fuck’s sake, Cole!” Peter boomed from inside.

My body lurched back into action, into the house and up the main staircase. “You need to be quiet!” I scolded in the loudest whisper I could muster.

Peter turned, halfway in the door of the master, causing John’s head to knock into the doorframe. John whimpered.

“Oh, fucking hell," Richard hissed.

I followed Peter and Richard into the master bedroom and monitored John as he was laid out across the bed. I didn’t even care at that point they hadn’t followed instructions. I just wanted them gone.

“There you go, mate. You’re home now, alright? Nothing to cry over. Julia's right 'ere. She'll take care of you, alright?" Peter said, dusting his hands together. “Julia, hope you don’t mind if we bunk up.”

“Here?!” This was sheer lunacy.

Richard snorted, “No, in the stables. Where else?”

“We can’t make that drive again, not after all this. We’ll be out of your hair in the morning and we’ll take ‘im with us,” Peter explained, jerking his thumb at John.

I glanced at John who seemed nearly catatonic with his eyes trained on the ceiling and his hands bunched up on his chest. He’d be fine for a few moments, I reasoned. “Fine. Follow me.”

I led Richard, Peter, and BP, who lingered in the doorway like a phantom, down the hall to the guest rooms, the doors directly across from the girls’. “I swear to god, if you make any noise at all, I’ll have you drawn and quartered tonight.”

"I'd believe her," Beep muttered.

“Promise, all we need is a place to lay our heads, love,” Peter said, giving me a squeeze on the shoulder.

I threw my hands up in the air. “Just don’t wake the girls and we won’t have a problem.”

I started back down the hallway, leaving them to squabble and figure out who would share a room since there were only two to speak of. Before I slipped into the master, I glared over my shoulder and hushed them once more with narrowed, deathly eyes.

In an instant, the three men disappeared into the guest rooms.

With that settled, I could deal with John.

The room was silent except for his breathing.

It was the first time I got a good look at the room. Everything was spotlessly clean, not a hair out of place. Just a thin coating of dust across the room. And a glass on one of the night stands with a dried up ring of dust in the bottom. The water had completely evaporated.

A chill went through me, imagining who might have put the glass there with the intention to return to it at a later date.

Whether it was Maureen or John didn’t change the tragedy of the object.

John began to hum and swing his legs. He flung one hand through the air. It landed on his belt buckle. “Get these off,” he muttered in discomfort. His hand flopped like a dying fish, unable to grip and twist the leather the way he needed to be able to free himself.

“I’ll help.”

And that’s how we got into the conversation of the veins in my eyes being lightning bolts and the attempt at me getting his shirt up over his head and the flirtations and the…

 “You really ought to buy a lady dinner first, Maureen.”

I ignored him though I strained not to cry. I removed his belt, but didn’t dare touch the closure on his trousers. His arms were slack enough that I was able to pull his jumper up his neck, then work it over his head. When he reemerged, he puffed hair away from his mouth, giggling. “Randy,” he said, unable to form a sentence around it.

“I’m not randy, John,” I say with firmness.

“You’re removing my clothes, M –”

“Julia,” I interrupted. “I’m Julia. Not Maureen.”

John’s lazy eyes crimped open, clarity forming somewhere in the back of his mind. “Damn. Julia. Right. Julia. Maureen is…” He laughed. “She’s dead.”

I wanted to get away from him as fast as possible, but I couldn’t just leave him half dressed in the master. In hindsight, I should have. I tried to tune out his repetition of the word, “Dead,” as if it was a beat to a song rather than a horrible truth as I pulled his undershirt up halfway, revealing his pale navel.

John’s hand slid around my wrist. “Jewwwwwwwwwel.”

I suppressed a smile for the nickname. Auntie Gin’s nickname. “Take it off the rest of the way if you can,” I muttered, then went to root through the dresser for a nightshirt or something to cover him up.

Measured breaths. Clenched muscles. Only a few more moments. He’ll be out soon.

John made sounds of struggle behind me. I didn’t turn despite wanting to help. There was the soft sound of fabric falling to the ground followed by a grunt of relief. “I feel funny.”

“Of course you do. That’s why you need to get some sleep,” I say, grabbing a very wrinkled nightshirt from the drawer.

John was no longer squirming; he looked tossed across the bed like a ragdoll. Breath thick and deep. The only thing that made it clear he was still alive.

I returned to him with the shirt. One more step to victory. John seemed unaffected, staring off at something. A hallucination or a waking sleep. I took this as my opportunity to remove his pants. It took a bit of effort to wiggle them out from beneath his body without his help but not much. My heart plummeted to see his bare legs, the slight of skin where his briefs shrouded his crotch. Because for the first time in a long time, I didn’t want him. The feeling of desire…all drained out of me.

Of course, it’s more than natural not to want someone at all times.

But since Montreux, before then even, all I had done was want. And I had had.

What emptiness would arise if desire was not there to fill it?

I didn’t want to think about it.

“Just the shirt and then you can rest, John, alright?” I said softly.

He cooperated as much as he could. Sitting up took all his might, but once upright, I was able to shimmy the shirt over his head, down his torso. It was long enough to hit midthigh, swallowing up his small frame. And his smallness made me even sadder.

“There you are,” I said. “Ready for bed.”

John started to lean forward. If I dared step away, he would teeter off the edge of the bed and come crashing to the floor. I remained before him, let his forehead clunk against my clavicle.

“You didn’t just pass out, did you?” I asked. My pulse quickened. I grabbed his arms to shake him. “John, you’re awake still aren’t you?”

“Yesssss,” he slurred into my chest. “I’m…” he sighed. “Awake.”

His lips traced my skin with each word, like a baby drooling against my breast and…it endeared me to him. I wish it hadn’t.

I tentatively scraped my fingers through his hair to the back of his scalp and dropped a kiss to the crown of his head. He didn't need my ire. Not right now. In the morning, I'd want him to remember the way I cared for him? Not the anger or disdain.

“Mmm…”

“Julia,” I said firmly. “I’m Julia.”

“MmmmJuuuuuuulia…” John self-corrected.

“Yes, that’s right.”

John’s mouth opened wider, a messy kiss against my skin, spit trailing over my clavicle.

“John…” I admonished. But I did not draw away.

A mistake.

I let him kiss the spot over and over. Juvenile. Inexperienced. Like a barrister’s son in a closet.

Something about it…so nostalgic.

I could have a brief moment of longing. Of realizing how good it was to hold him when I expected another week before he'd be home. Of remembering what he said to me earlier that night on the phone. If I was going to be his and vice versa in not only our eyes but those of the girls…I could do this. I was sure I could do this.

Only a brief moment, though.

Because in one singular moment in time, that delight was eclipsed by pain. Sharp pain, potentially skin splitting.

He bit me.

Teeth sunk into skin, viscous and full of claim.

John fucking bit me.

I yelped out, tried to jerk away, not caring if he tore the flesh off my body. Would be better to lose skin than be cannibalized by a lover.

John wrapped his around me, splayed his hands against my back, overcome by a sudden strength, and pulled me toward him.

“John, let go of me,” I cried out, pushing on his shoulders.

His mouth finally released the patch of skin he’d suckled. He growled. Something. Words I didn’t know, could not hear, did not care about.

I just wanted him to let go.

Something was coursing through him that reversed all the lethargy, something that propelled his strength to a level I’d never known and didn’t know he was capable of. Before I could squirm out of his grasp, John pulled me off my feet and rolled himself over me so we were clumsily pressed together on the bed.

He dragged his mouth across my chest to another open plot of skin.

With an open palm, I pressed his forehead away from me.

He laughed, muttered a garble of my name.

My whole body was hotter than hell as I tried to wriggle myself out from under him, inching further and further onto the bed. But somehow, John’s body had transformed into a lead curtain over me, pinning me to the bed, one of my hands unceremoniously scrunched behind my back.

I could not move. 

And he had all the control.

“John, don’t,” I said through a tense whisper. I could scream. I could shout. But I wondered who would come running first. The men. Or the girls.

I couldn’t risk it being the latter. 

John’s hands slid down my thighs, moving up the fabric until he cupped my bottom and squeezed. Hard. Until it pinched.

I again tried to squirm away. “You’re hurting me!”

“Randy…” he drawled, lifting his head and smiling stupidly.

John launched himself forward, toward my mouth, his hardened erection grinding into my belly, painful from the poor angle.

His teeth gnashed into my lips. I tasted metal in my mouth, blood drawn from a split lip.

I had only a moment to think.

One of us would be the villain in the morning. And I couldn’t bear for it to be John.

I forced my hand onto his chin, cupping it as hard as I could, then pressed him back away from me, enough that he couldn’t snag another kiss.

Our eyes met for a split second and I nearly lost my bravado.

I couldn’t live with myself if I did, though. That’s what I decided in that moment.

I released his chin, wound my open palm back, and slapped him hard in the side of his face, my palm connecting with his cheek and part of his upper lip, and my fingers clipping his nose.

He howled in pain, retreating back onto his knees.

I was released from the vise of his body and yet I felt as though I was moving through molasses as I dragged myself back across the bed to the opposite edge.

John’s hand covered his face, the wince still settled over his eyes.

I waited. A moment. Another. Praying he would find reality again.

Finally, he withdrew his hand to reveal a streak of cherry red blood pouring from his nose and down his chin. Quite literally dripping. Already a few dots blotted the fabric of the bedspread.

I didn’t know I had that kind of strength in me.

John was at a loss for words. Nonplussed, of course, by the mess. But his eyes were filled with that same distress he met me with when he was laid up in the back of the car, jerking back and forth, full of new tears. “I…” he started.

“I told you to stop,” I said icily. “I told you not to.”

He looked down at the bedspread spattered in his blood. It was a lot of blood, enough to give me cause to worry. Except I couldn’t.

Not with terror gripping my body.

What do you do when the man you know shows you the monster you didn’t think existed in him?

John folded his lips together, blood smearing through the creases. “Mm. Mmm.”

I would not, could not sit here and be called his wife’s name. Not after he nearly had the gall to take from me.

I tore up from the bed without another word. The floor traveled beneath my feet, something in control of my body I had never known before, until I had my hand on the cool door knob. It settled my temperature just enough to come back to reality.

“No, no, no,” John was moaning. Movement. Footsteps. “Don’t go. Don’t go.”

I threw open the door and turned to slam it behind me, getting one last glimpse of John to my horror.

His blue eyes were alert to the point I thought they might fall right out of his head. His hair mussed. His face…bloodied. And the fresh nightshirt looked like a smock he’d worn to butcher a pig.

And he was coming toward me.

I did not wait.

I shut it with all my might and held tight to the knob. It jerked and jittered in my hand, scraping my skin. But I didn’t care. The animal was to stay inside the cage. That was my only goal.

John put up a good fight, clawing at the door, desperate to pull it open. On more than one occasion, he managed to pull hard enough to get an inch or two of space for his fingers to slip through. If he could just wrench the door open, he could pull me back inside.

I leaned back, all my weight going into keeping the door shut, and tucked my head between my biceps, praying he’d give up.

Over my heart pounding in my ears came his sounds. “Please, please, please let me out. Please don’t leave me alone.”

A despondent cry shuddered through the door, so loud it vibrated the door knob. A thud against the wood. No doubt the weight of his body giving up. Giving in. The inching slide of his form to the floor. The repetition of the word “please” until it was shrouded by tearful sobs.

I fell to my knees in front of the door, my hand still on the door knob in case I needed to tame the beast again.

John was only an inch away. Weeping.

Not for me.

Not even because of me.

It was all for her.

All the same, I leant my head against the door and listened to him weep, held vigil. I didn’t have vespers for the mass, but I remained there all the same though I could still feel his fingers dimpling my thighs though I’d said “don’t”.

“What did I do wrong? What did I do? Why did you leave?”

“I’m sorry,” I repeated over and over to every question until eventually not a single question was left.

All that remained was soft, hollow breathing on the other side of the door.

"Go to bed, John," I said hoarsely, trying to smile so my voice sounded soothing. "It will all be better in the morning. Alright?"

There was no answer.

"John?"

Nothing. I thanked the lord he was probably asleep.

I dropped my hand from the door knob. My muscles and bones ached from keeping the position for so long.

“Julia.”

I jumped at the sound of the small voice. I turned to find Tamara in the hallway outside her door, her ruddy hair all askew.

“What’s wrong? Why are you up?”

She rolled her hands in the front of her nightgown. “What’s going on?”

I forced a smile. “Nothi—”

Something thumped against the door to the bedroom. Someone. A final rallying cry.

I grabbed the door knob again just to be sure.

“Who’s in there?” Tamara asked, her eyes widening with fear.

“No one,” I said without thinking. “Don’t…worry, alright?”

Children know more than you give them credit for. They are also children. And sometimes, though it hurts, the children must be lied to.

“Go back to bed,” I said. “Everything is fine.”

Though the hallway was dim, I could see her eyebrows knit together. Her eyes flicked from me to the door and back again. Then, she nodded and did as she was told, disappearing into the other room in an instant.

I sat with my back to the door and closed my eyes. It had started with a drunken promise. One that might break my heart, yes, but a break so minor compared to this.

Lifting a hand to my chest, I carefully slid my fingers along the inflamed bite mark.

The depressions made by his teeth remained.

tag list: @jimmys-zeppelin, @kari-12-10, @grxtsch, @ritacaroline, @kyunisixx, @salixfragilis, @jimmypages, @dollyvandal, @cassiana-on-dark-side, @faisonsunreve, @sastrugie, @seventieswhore, @mayspringcome, @barrettavenue, @foreverandadaydarling, @glimmerofsanity, @montereypopgroupie, @lzep, @jimmysdragonsuit13, @n0quart3r, @larsgoingtomars, @paginate54, @leveeisbreaking, @callmethehunter (let me know if you’d like to be added 💋)

[simmeons]

fourteenth story for @badthingshappenbingo's bingo :)

characters; Leonard McCoy, Sea Monster!Montgomery Scott, Christine Chapel, and some unnamed people who aren't entirely important

words; 2,384

warnings; major character death, threats, grief, drinking to cope with loss, taxidermy, and sexual suggestions. I DID NOT WRITE SEX. NO DICK IN ASS.

prompt; Drowning Their Sorrows

FYI; for this prompt, the au takes place in the 2000s, so it's not futuristic like other stories with this au. thank you :)

“Scotland? Are you sure? I heard the weather is horrible.”

“Christine, it can't be that bad.” McCoy spoke aloud as he folded some shirts against the bed. “Besides, the scenery makes up for the poor weather.”

The female nurse just put her hands on her hips, watching her friend work. “Well, if you really want to. I want a souvenir, though.”

The southern man just rolled his eyes with a smile as he put the shirt in his suitcase. “Fine. I'll keep an eye out.”

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

“Ye know that tall cliff near here?”

McCoy looked down at the large scaled beast laying on his chest, seeing the soft brown hair and green scales. Scotty. That's what the sea monster called himself.

“Yeah. What about it?”

Scotty had been burrowing in a cove when McCoy found him- the human had been simply trying to find a more secluded place on the beach. Scotty had been aggressive at first, but after some time, McCoy showed he wasn't there to hurt him.

Then the friendship started to grow when the doctor visited more. He brought gifts for the sea monster, and talked with the creature. Scotty talked about his home in the ocean, and McCoy talked about his on the land.

McCoy had a month to be in Scotland, and it was unfortunately nearing an end. He wanted to stay forever- stay with Scotty on the beach.

“Sometimes people jump off the damn thing. Fall into the ocean, and get stuck in the waves. People say mermaids save them, but it's really me.” Scotty looked up at McCoy, the two of them laying in the sand. The human’s chest moved with a short laugh.

“Really? I heard that rumor, but I would've never guessed you were the one saving them.”

“I feel bad, that's all.” The sea monster gently ran his hand over McCoy’s slightly hairy chest. “I know they want the trill, not the death.”

The doctor’s gaze softened. “For a beast, you have a human’s heart.”

Scotty smiled, his brown eyes holding some longing in them. “The month's nearly up, isn’t it? Ye’ll be going back to yer land, yer world.”

McCoy swallowed hard. He hadn’t wanted to think about it, hadn’t wanted to acknowledge the ticking clock on their time together. “Yeah... Yeah, it is.” His voice was quieter now, a tinge of sadness creeping into it.

Scotty shifted, moving off McCoy’s chest and sitting up in the sand, his large frame casting a shadow over the doctor, who sat up as well. “Ye could stay. Forget about the world ye come from. It’s just a thought.”

“I-” McCoy’s heart ached at the offer, torn between duty and desire. “You know I can’t, Scotty. I have responsibilities. A life waiting for me back home.”

“I know,” The sea monster sighed, but he spoke without resentment. Only sad acceptance. “But ye still have me for tonight.”

Yes, he did. McCoy still had tonight with Scotty, and he wanted to soak it all in. He wanted to use every second to it's max- cram the beast into the time until there was nothing left to do until he had to leave.

“I want to make the most of it.” Reaching up, McCoy cupped Scotty’s cheek, watching as the sea monster leaned into it.

“We can,” Shifting closer, Scotty positioned himself over the doctor, the human laying back down in the sand as the large beast loomed over him. “And we will.”

The man swallowed harshly, unable to stop himself from looking down at Scotty’s lips. He's always wanted to kiss them- for days now. “Yeah?” He asked, voice trembling slightly.

Scotty noticed McCoy’s hesitation, his gaze flicking between McCoy's eyes and his lips. A low rumble escaped from deep in his chest, half amusement, half something deeper, something hungry. “Ye’ve been wantin’ to do it, haven’t ye?”

“Yeah… I have.”

The beast smiled, leaning in just enough for McCoy to feel the warmth of his breath. “Then do it, human.”

The doctor didn’t need any more convincing. He surged up, closing the gap between them. Their lips met with a tenderness McCoy hadn’t expected- softer than he’d imagined for a creature so large and fierce. The world seemed to still for a moment, the ocean’s waves fading into the background as all McCoy could focus on was Scotty- the way his lips moved with his own, the faint taste of salt lingering on his skin.

When they finally pulled apart, McCoy found himself staring up at Scotty, breathless, his heart pounding in his chest. “God... I’ve been wanting that for a while.”

The large scaled beast just gave a hum in response, feeling there was no need for words now. He could feel as the weather around them grew colder, the night starting to creep in. He wasn't bothered, but he knew McCoy's body couldn't handle the cold as well. Still, the doctor didn't care about anything like that.

"Is it wrong that I want to do that again?" The human asked, a short nervous chuckle leaving his lips when he finished speaking.

Scotty’s brown eyes softened and he let out a soft laugh of his own. “Nothing wrong with that.”

McCoy happily took the hint, and his hand moved from Scotty’s cheek to behind the beast’s head, gently gripping the brown hair there- his other hand joining soon after. Giving a soft tug forward, the doctor pulled the sea monster back for a kiss, humming into it as he could taste the salt again.

This kiss was slower and more attentive, but there was still an underlying feeling of urgency. As the wind gave a soft kick up, the smell of the ocean filled their noses, the air from the ocean cooling the human down considerably.

When they finally broke apart again, both men were breathless, panting softly. Scotty’s eyes searched McCoy’s face, as though to remember everything. “I wish ye could stay. I’ve never met a human like ye, McCoy.”

The doctor swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump in his throat. “I’ve never met anyone like you either, Scotty.” His voice cracked just slightly as he said it, his fingers still brushing over the rough edges of Scotty's scales. He didn’t want to say goodbye, but it was coming- inevitable and cruel, like the tide pulling back into the sea.

Understanding the mutual sadness, the sea monster tried to keep up a positive attitude. His large scaled hands came down to McCoy's hips, grabbing them- claws resting peacefully against the soft skin there. “Yer mine tonight.” He growled out, leaning in close to the man’s ear, feeling how McCoy's body gave a very obvious shudder.

“I’m yours,” McCoy whispered, the words slipping from his lips before he could second-guess them. They felt true- so true it hurt. For tonight, there was no world beyond this cove, beyond the feeling of the creature above him. “Just for tonight.”

It was painful to know the fact it was only for tonight, but McCoy forced himself to stop thinking about tomorrow, and instead focus on the feeling of a warm hand moving up his chest, causing goosebumps to raise on his skin. Focus on the kiss that was soon placed on his neck, focus on the feeling of a leg between his, and the way his hips immediately rolled to meet Scotty halfway.

Focus on what you have now.

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

Two years later, McCoy sat in his small clinic in Georgia, rubbing his temples after another long day. The familiar sounds of the town outside his window were a comforting hum in the background. His life had returned to a semblance of normal after his month in Scotland, though something always felt like it was missing. He knew what it was- but his life was so busy to ever return.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the thought as he sat in his office. “Focus, Leonard,” He muttered to himself, scribbling notes on a patient’s chart. But just as he was getting back into the rhythm of his work, a knock on the door pulled him out of his focus. It was Christine Chapel, his longtime friend and nurse.

"Got a minute, Doc?" Chapel asked, stepping into the office, holding a tablet in her hand.

“Sure, what’s up?” McCoy leaned back in his chair, grateful for the break.

“I thought you might find this interesting,” She said, glancing at her screen. “Ever heard anything about the Loch Ness Monster?”

The doctor frowned, leaning forward, brow furrowed. “The old legend? Sure. Why?”

“Well, it’s not just a legend anymore! Look, they found it.”

McCoy looked down at the tablet, seeing a big bold headline, his stomach almost immediately dropping.

“Monster Found, Killed, and Preserved in Museum Display!”

“I hate how they killed it.” Christine frowned, letting the doctor take the tablet from her as he scrolled. “I mean, what's wrong with just taking photos now?”

He scrolled through the article, fingers trembling. There, in the photos, was a taxidermied creature with green scales and soft brown hair, encased in glass, cold and lifeless. The beast's eyes were shut, but McCoy recognized the form instantly. It was him. Scotty.

McCoy pushed the tablet back into her hands and stood up abruptly, his chair scraping the floor. “I-I need to go.”

“Go?” Chapel blinked. “Go where?”

“I'll be back in a few days. Cover me.”

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

The flight back to Scotland felt agonizingly long, every second dragging on as McCoy’s mind spiraled. He kept picturing that photograph in the article- those familiar green scales, that unmistakable frame. Deep inside McCoy knew it was Scotty, but he held onto the hope it wasn't.

By the time he landed in Edinburgh, he was running on adrenaline alone. McCoy took the first available cab, urging the driver to take him to the museum mentioned in the article. As the car sped through the rainy streets, his mind wandered back to the nights he'd spent with Scotty. Maybe it was a different sea monster, and Scotty was safe. Then McCoy could find him, and apologize for never visiting. Make it all okay again.

When he arrived at the museum, McCoy rushed through the entrance, barely registering the curious glances from tourists and staff alike. He navigated the halls until he found the exhibit.

And there, behind the glass case, was Scotty. It was undeniable now. His body was seized up in a standing position with some poles, and he was posed like some doll in an attacking position- claws stretched out, jaw open with his teeth bared. McCoy never saw Scotty act violently- he was not a violent beast, and the fact the museum portrayed him as one made the doctor’s blood boil.

He pressed his hand against the glass, his chest tight with grief and anger. “I’m so sorry,” He whispered, his voice cracking as tears welled in his eyes. “I should’ve been here.”

“Hey! Don't touch the glass!”

McCoy turned to see a worker shouting at him, walking closer. The anger flared more, and the doctor couldn't help but snap back.

“You're all monsters!” He shouted at the worker. “You killed some innocent creature! What if it had a family?!”

“Sir, you need to step away from the glass.” The worker said again, his tone firm.

McCoy obeyed, but he wasn't happy about it. “I hope karma gets you. I hope you get murdered and displayed.”

The worker’s face tightened, clearly uncomfortable with McCoy’s outburst, but he held his ground. “Sir, I understand you're upset, but-”

“No, you don’t understand!” McCoy cut him off, his voice shaking with rage and grief. “This creature was innocent. He saved lives, for God’s sake!”

“Please step outside, sir,” The worker insisted, now joined by a security guard who appeared ready to escort the doctor out.

McCoy clenched his fists, heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to keep fighting, to scream at the injustice, but he knew there was nothing more he could do here. Not now. Taking a shaky breath, he shot one last look at Scotty’s lifeless form before turning and storming out of the museum.

He quickly found his way to a liquor store, buying whatever he could get his hands on. He kept the contents inside the brown bag as he walked back to the beach, tears already spilling from his eyes, but he didn't stop.

Walking through the sand, the human only stopped when he reached the hidden away cove. Barren and deserted, McCoy sniffled as he plopped down in the sand, sitting against a big rock.

Shaky hands reached into his bag, pulling out a bottle. McCoy unscrewed the cap with trembling fingers, taking a long swig before resting his head back against the rock. The alcohol burned on its way down, but it didn’t dull the ache in his chest. His vision blurred with tears, and the crashing waves in the distance only served as a bitter reminder of the time he’d spent here.

“I should’ve come back,” He muttered under his breath, staring up at the sky. “I should’ve stayed.”

He could still feel Scotty’s touch, the way the sea monster had held him, kissed him, made him feel alive in a way nothing else ever had. He hadn’t realized, not then, just how much he’d lose when he left. It wasn’t just the creature- he’d left a part of himself behind on this beach.

He took another swig, and then another, the alcohol dulling the edges of his grief but never fully numbing it. So, he took another drink.

And then another.

More after that.

Alcohol has always been an escape for McCoy, but usually it was for dealing with a hard day at work. Now it was for dealing with the grief and regret of letting a lover slip through your fingers. Tears kept spilling from his eyes, no matter how many times he wiped them away.

The doctor kept drinking himself stupid until his body felt like putty, and he was too drunk to do anything besides sit there on the beach, staring at the ocean as the waves rolled in the distance.

“Damn you, Scotty,” McCoy whispered, voice barely audible over the wind. “Damn you for making me fall in love with you.”

[nine-of-words]

Something Borrowed (Part Ten)

M Gargoyle x M Reader

PREVIOUS || STORY TAG || NEXT

Wordcount: 5127

Content Warnings: Discussion of a Breakup

The horrors have been numerous and persistent for me lately, so this part took its sweet time getting written. Not much else to say about this chapter, other than I’m very excited to write the next one!!

It seems that things are determined to go sideways today. 

“Sorry to drop all of this on ya so early, but I knew you’d be awake.” Your sister’s voice comes through the speaker of your device.

You are indeed awake. You haven’t been sleeping well lately, despite it feeling like what you do the most these days- no idea why that would be- so you were already up and slowly trudging through your morning routine. But now you’re distracted with the call, going through making yourself a desperately needed cup of coffee mostly by feel in your dimly lit apartment kitchen.

“It’s okay- So, how exactly did this happen?”

“She took a wee tumble down the stairs. Got up in the middle of the night to get water, fell ass over kettle.”

“Oh, spirits. But you said it wasn’t serious, right?”

“Eh. Fractured her wrist, or so the doctor says. Right, Ma?” You hear a bit of noise in the background that sounds remarkably like your mother being quietly muttering in a displeased manner. “She’ll be right as rain soon enough. But she’s going to be in the cast for a tick.”

“Do I need to book a flight?”

“Hmm. You know we love to see ya- but nah. It's really not all that dire. Think she's tired of all the fuss by now, really.” She explains, before immediately switching into compulsory older sibling teasing. “Plus won't your new fella miss you? Unless you want to bring him along to meet what he's got to look forward to joining up with.”

“Haha… Yeah, you’re right. I suppose you’ll just have to wait…” You haven’t told them he’s not exactly your fella at the moment. What would you even say?

After a bit more conversation, Emer puts your mother on, and you speak to her for a short while. It assuages your worry a little, but not nearly enough to take the edge off. Though she's adamant you don't let her little mishap scare you into making sudden travel plans, you can't help but let it add to your ratings worries.

Maybe… you should go home?

You hang up your voci and look down at the brewed coffee that’s just started to drip through the filter. In your absent minded state, you’ve managed to put the exact mug you’ve been avoiding into the machine.

But there it is, the pink and white curves of ceramic reminding you of everything you're trying to push out of your mind.

You let out a long, frustrated sigh, pausing to stare vacantly at the mug.

Maybe putting an ocean between you and here will help you forget what you could have right now instead, if you weren't cursed.

You have all day to sit on it, you suppose, and can make a decision later. But you do have a business to run in the meantime, so you return to the process of adding your usual milk and sugar. 

It doesn’t help the bitter taste at all today.

Things don’t really go much better for you the longer the day progresses. 

“This is too sweet,” The older woman across the counter says, brandishing the mostly eaten cupcake in its paper lining. “I want a refund.”

“Well, it's a cupcake, m’am. It is mostly sugar…” You don’t even have the energy to muster your usual level of pleasantness. You barely keep from grimacing as you ring up the refund, just to get this person out of your hair.

Your customers are usually not this problematic, but you’re beginning to think that no one is having a good day today. You can deal with grumpy or picky people, but usually they’re not quite so many of them in a concentrated blast. Every little interaction is finding its way under your skin, and that’s not even taking into account how hard it is to concentrate and get any meaningful progress done.

Though, this is a task you’ve been pointedly avoiding that you’ll have to start sooner or later, today.

You’ve got to finish putting together Devin and Trevor’s cake- if you want it to be solid enough to put flowers in before delivery tomorrow night, which is rapidly approaching the longer you dawdle.

As in, nearly can be measured in hours instead of days soon.

It was different when it was just… anonymous cake layers you were cutting out and leveling. That could’ve been for anyone’s cake! But the more personality that goes into it, the more the subtle, nagging grief makes it difficult to work on.

You sigh and glob a stabilizing dollop of the vanilla buttercream- Trevor's choice- onto the base with your offset spatula.

It’s not as if you’re jealous that your ex is getting married at this point. You’re far past the stage of wanting him back by now. It just… all seems so unfair. Hopeless. He was able to wound you so deeply when he left- and just when you thought you had healed and moved on, carved out some new happiness for yourself- that got taken away, too.

Why should he get to be happy when you’re on the short end of the stick again?

You center a cake layer, then slather some more buttercream, spreading it out to make a glue for the next layer to adhere onto.

You’ll just have to think about it as Devin’s cake. It’s for your friend. That’s how you’ll get through this. You’ll do a good job, for your friend. Even if she’s marrying your ex, she should still get the best cake you can make for her, like you’d do for any other client.

Another layer of cake. A layer of elven berry compote that you made fresh yesterday- also Trevor’s choice, naturally. Another layer of cake. Then, repeat it all again.

As much as you try to rationalize that to yourself as you work through applying the crumb coat, you can’t help but realize you’ve been white-knuckling the spatula handle by time you’ve finished applying the buttercream.

Eventually, you have all of the crumb coated tiers ready on cake boards, to be given another coat and assembled after they’ve firmed up for a bit.

You mercifully shut the disassembled cake in the cooler, relieved that you don’t have to look at it for another few hours. Though, you have to hand it to yourself, even when your life is falling apart, you can make a bang-up gorgeous cake.

The demands of your business don’t stop just because you’re having a bad day and have other things to do, unfortunately. You’re not sure what portal to Hell has opened nearby, but it seems like all of the most awful customers have all decided to come to your shop today to take out their anger on you.

“No, we don’t do tiered pies here. I don’t even know if you’d be able to do that without making a mes- Well, okay. Have a nice day-” You say, though the person on the other end of the line has already hung up on you.

You turn to face the customer waiting at the counter, but before you can even greet them, they interrupt you with a snapping of their fingers.

“Where’s our waiter? I put our order into the kiosk twenty minutes ago and no one has even been by to so much as pour our water!”

“Oh, well, you can eat-in here, that’s what the seating is for, but we’re not a full service-”

“Ugh, fine! Just get me my order already, then.” The customer barks and you have to bite your tongue to restrain yourself from snapping back.

By time you reach another lull in activity and get back to work on Devin’s cake, your jaw and shoulders are fully tensed.

Since it’s slow, you take out the gumpaste. You have another tray of roses to sculpt so they can dry on time to place them tomorrow, so you might as well knock it out sooner than later.

Maybe none of this would be getting to you so much, but the full weight of the wedding being tomorrow is bearing down on you. The one saving grace is that Kirby will be there to distract you- at least you won’t be alone. You’ll deliver the cake, you’ll get through the ceremony, you’ll stay for a brief yet socially acceptable amount of time at the reception, and then you’ll go home and this whole excruciating ordeal will be over.

You just have to finish this cake and get through tonight first.

Only a few more hours until close. 

You can do this.

You make it another hour, rolling thinned pieces of sugary paste into delicate petals, before the bell door rings, and the person you see walk through the door gives you pause.

It’s not Carlyle, as you’ve been hoping it was every single time you hear the shop bell jingle since the last time you saw him. But it certainly looks like him, in everything but personal styling, and of course, the shape of the quartzose horns protruding from his brow.

Today it seems he’s left his body glitter at home, however. He’s dressed in relatively casual clothing; a hoodie (midriff still intact), untied slim joggers, immaculately clean sneakers. The difference is so staggering you might not have even recognized him as the same person, compared to his last visit, if he didn’t have Carlyle’s face; which you can now see clearly underneath his loose brown curls, this time not covered by the shadow of his hood.

“Hey.”

He gives you a tilt of his chin in acknowledgement and smiles an uncannily similar, fanged smile to the one you’ve grown accustomed to seeing. It’s a stab of pain, how sorely you miss it right now, and seeing it again, but just different enough to not be it.

“Uh. Hi, Marcus?” You say in a stilted manner, not really sure how to proceed. “You are… looking less gilded today than last time.”

“Hahahah, yeah. I didn’t have work last night, dude. No hangover!”

“Hah. Right…”

“But good to see you again, man! …I was wonderin-”

“Listen, if you’re here to deliver a message or something, I really can’t do this right now.” You cut him off, begging more than anything at this point to not have another thing go wrong or a twist of the knife today. You scrub at your face with your forearm to keep your hands sanitary, the deep pit of frustration starting to bubble out of you unintentionally. “And he knows to not-”

“Hey, no man, listen! It’s nothing like that.” He pats his curls down, the same way that his brother occasionally does with his dreadlocks when he’s smoothing out a misunderstanding. “He’d be PISSED if I knew he was here, hahah. He told me never to come here on my own after last time!”

“Well, maybe you should follow his instruction on that matter.” You say dryly and continue to roll the soft substance in silent judgement. “He usually knows what he’s talking about.”

Marcus seems to take this as a bad sign, his face twisting into a look of exasperation.

“Fine! Gimme a dozen cupcakes then. Fuck, make it any flavor, dude, I don’t even care.” He starts rifling through his pants pockets, finally pulling out his wallet, and then a card that he puts on the counter. It’s got his name printed on it, rather than Carlyle’s, so you suppose he’s gotten it replaced since the last time. “You’ve gotta talk to me if I’m a customer ‘n shit, right?”

“You know I do have the right to refuse service to you…?”

“Yeah man, but I don’t think you’re gonna! You’re too nice, from what I’ve heard.” Marcus says with the sort of shit-eating grin on his face that absolutely makes you want to refuse service to him, but with a vengeance.

“Well if you’re not here on your brother’s behalf…” You sigh in your own matching exasperated look and set down your gumpaste project to start boxing a dozen cupcakes. “Why are you here, then?”

“I’m gonna be totally honest with you, dude. He didn’t send me, but it is about him. I’m like, super worried about him.”

“Oh…” You can’t help yourself, you have to ask. “Is he alright…?” 

“Hell no! He’s all fucked up, man! The other night, I left at 8pm and he was still in the same spot at 11am when I got back in. Same book, same fit, same stale cup of coffee. He had sat still in the same place reading whatever nerd shit he was reading for so long that he deadass went half solid.” 

You can’t find the words to respond to that. The guilt gnaws at you like you gnaw at your bottom lip, but in a strange way, you feel validated that he’s still as messed up about things as you are.

“Look, whatever he did, it can’t be that bad, right? It’s Lyle!! He like, never fucks up like that.” He leans over the counter, talking with his hands in another show of familiar, yet foreign-in-this-context expression. He taps his chest with the fingertips of a spread hand for emphasis. “And I would know, ‘cuz I’M the family fuck up here. So, maybe you could like, just forgive him and junk? Make up or whatever?”

“It’s not…” You take a second to steady your breath. You’ve been trying to suppress these feelings for weeks, and now they’re getting dragged up so suddenly. “It’s not something he did. It’s… outside circumstances…”

You hesitate for a brief moment before you pick out the last of the random assortment; an orange and mixed spice flavor you found yourself trying out.

“That’s it? There’s no gettin’ around it, huh?”

“No. I'm sorry. It's complicated. I just can't.” You say with weakened conviction as you tape the box up, and then hoping to persuade yourself once again, add; “It’s better this way.”

“Right-” Marcus straightens up and rocks back and forth on his feet, his sneakers squeaking slightly against the tile with the motion. “Sorry if pushing was out of line, dude.”

“Don't worry about it- honestly, I'm sort of glad you showed up.” You smile, bittersweet. “It’s good that he has someone looking out for him.”

“Yeah.” Marcus smiles a conflicted smile back, then takes his cupcakes to go. “See you ‘round, dude.”

You find yourself having a silent argument with yourself as you finish the rest of the roses.

There’s the guilt, of course. Are you a bad person if you know that this separation is hurting you both, and yet you’re continuing to enforce it? Maybe you should have just let Marcus convince you to reach out?

Seeing someone with such familiar features has only made your heart ache that much more for what you’re missing.

Perhaps it’s for the best that you don’t have any customers in the shop at the moment, because they’d be able to clearly see you sneering at empty air and grumbling to yourself.

By the time you finish the last petal on the last rose of the tray, you’re no closer to having resolved your internal disagreement.

You put the roses away, and pull out your fully set, crumb-coated cake. Now just to put the final layer of frosting on, and then you’ll be done for the night.

As you set the tray down on the counter, your voci starts ringing in your pocket. You remove your gloves and answer the call, seeing that it’s Kirby. They’ve been checking in on you a lot more often lately, like you’re a sickly pet needing constant supervision. They're not entirely wrong.

You greet them as you put them on speaker. Then you wash up, and reglove as their voice comes through on the other end.

“So! How is your day going so far?”

“Oh, you know. Typical weekend customers. Ma broke her wrist.” You say flatly, smoothing out the buttercream on the top of the lowest cake tier with a spin of the stand with well-practiced motions.

“Oh no! That’s terrible! Is she okay??”

 “She’s fine, but it’s still stressful that I can’t be there to help out.”

Once you’re finished getting a perfectly even, level surface on the lowest tier, you begin the process again on a slightly smaller scale on the next largest cake tier.

“Mmm. Yeah, it must be, being so far away.”

“And Carlyle’s brother came into the shop earlier.” You continue, now lathing more buttercream onto the sides.

“Whaaaat??? No!! Glitter Boy?! Oh my SPIRITS you’ve gotta tell me all the details right now!”

“There’s not a lot to say, really. Told me Carlyle’s not taking it well either, and now I feel like a villain.”

“You’re not a villain,” Kirby sighs. “Sometimes things are just. Y’know. Messy.”

You continue to make your way through doing the final coat on the cake tiers, each one going progressively faster as they diminish in size.

“Oh, and how could I forget- I’m making a cake for my ex’s wedding that social pressure is forcing me to attend. So you know. The usual.”

“Hahah- Ooh, bummer. Well, when you put it like that, it does sound like, toooootally miserable! You’re having a pretty horrible day, and I’m… definitely not about to make it worse, hahah!!”

“Oh no.” You hiss through gritted teeth. “Something’s wrong, then?”

They laugh nervously, a little giggle-whimper that you can’t possibly be irritated with.

You’re silent as you begin to fill a piping bag with buttercream, waiting for Kirby to divulge their information.

“I MAY have some bad news.”

“Oh. Lovely. Just grand! More bad news is exactly what I need at this current moment.” You say, dripping with sarcasm.

“I know!!! Believe me, I know! But I wanted to tell you as soon as I found out.” Kirby sighs. “I just got out of a meeting with my boss and they’re sending me out of town on a case. I have to get on a red eye in a few hours.”

“But… the wedding is tomorrow…”

“Yeah, that would be the problem! But I can’t exactly tell my boss to fuck off and still have a job, y’know??? Soooooo. We are in. damage. control. mode!”

“It’s okay.” You say, it not really being okay at all, but not wanting to lash out at your friend who’s only ever tried to help you in any given situation. You’re simply too stunned to even start to panic.

“Nope! It’s ABSOLUTELY not! But I’ll be there in like, an hour!! I’ll bring dinner and we can totally figure out a plan B, okay? Or I guess plan C or D by now- But bestie, I don’t care if I have to HIRE an escort to take you to that wedding, you’re not going alone! Especially not because of stupid work interference!!”

“Hah- A-Alright.” You laugh weakly and speak through a sharp intake of air, but manage to not sound like you’re about to burst into tears, even though you desperately want to. “See you soon.”

The call ends, but you continue working, despite the rapidly expanding pit of terror in your gut and the sting at the back of your eyes.

This news, surprisingly, does not help your ability to finish this cake.

You keep going, but not without roadblocks. Your eyes screw closed in frustration and pain. Your teeth grit. Your hand clenches around the bag, nearly squeezing the frosting out of the back end of it.

As a small mercy, closing time finally comes and you turn off the light, though you leave the door unlocked, given you’re expecting Kirby sometime in the next hour or so.

You need to move on to piping some of the finer details- But you can't even think about piping an even line right now, not with the way your hand is trembling.

Still, you persist, pushing the bag back taut and re-twisting the open end. 

“Stop. Shaking.” You hiss out loud at yourself, your body refusing to obey even your own verbal instructions.

You just need to get this cake done. Is that so much to ask?

Kirby is coming over and you’ll find a solution for the wedding. You won’t have to go to your ex's wedding alone. It will be fine.

The tremor in your hand nearly causes you to stab through the layer you’re working on with the piping tip, so you take a moment to straighten up your posture and try to loosen your locking muscles. You take a few calming breaths, then go back in and manage to finish the last few filigree details on the tier you're working on.

Your hand is already shaking again. You ignore it. You’ll get through this. You have to.

But every time you regain focus, the thought of Carlyle as a miserable and inert statue keeps creeping back unbidden into your mind.

It’s all too much. Too much. Too much.

The lights above you flicker. A buzz of energy ripples through the room.

The pressure on your chest is unbearable now. Blood rushes in your ears. 

You can’t deal with this anymore.

You can’t even think-!

POP-

In an instant, something cold and cloying splatters across the side of your face and the bridge of your nose, the front of your shirt, your clenched hands and outstretched forearms.

You bring a hand to your face in shock, blindly testing the sudden change in texture.

Your fingertips come away coated in sticky, sugary goop, and bits of shredded vanilla sponge cake.

And where the cake tiers were sitting on the counter, there’s a conspicuous absence of a cake, only the sparse large chunk of shrapnel- a bloodless crime scene, the mostly empty, frosting smeared cakeboards evoking the essence of a chalk body outline.

Well. You’ll be damned.

The cake exploded.

Hoarse, incredulous laughter escapes your throat- first in disbelief, then in bitter resignation. No other reaction really seems to suit this situation more.

Because your life is a joke. A bad joke.

Your laughs thin out, turning into choked sobs. You sink down until you’re sitting on your cold shop floor with your back against a cabinet, and bring the lower clean edge of the apron up to cry into.

Eventually, the unrestrained weeping quiets into silent tears Time has passed, as evidenced by the sky beginning to darken outside. 

“Heeeeellooooo~! I’m heee-” You hear a familiar voice call out and then equally familiar hoof falls on the tile. There’s a rapid change in their tone, making a 180° turn into hushed concern. “Oh. Well fuck, that doesn’t look good-” 

After a few moments, Kirby rounds the counter, an inquisitive look on their face.

You can’t even muster the embarrassment to be seen like this, too tired and emotionally drained and just simply done with it all.

You expect a look of pity or maybe some awkward fussing, but instead, Kirby simply gives you a knowing smile.

“What a mess!!” Kirby shakes their head, curls tumbling as they assess the damage. “You’re not hurt, are you, honey?”

You shake your head weakly, rubbing at your eye with your inner wrist.

“Good! Well then, let’s get this all cleaned up!” They chirp and reach out their hand, palm up.

After the moment it takes to recognize the gesture, you take their hand. Kirby’s grip is surprisingly strong for being such a petite faun, and they easily manage to help you to your feet.

“You don’t have to-” 

“Well I’m NOT going to let you sit here and cry covered in frosting all night.” Kirby laughs, beginning to roll up the sleeves of their work shirt. “So. Yes I do~”

“...Thank you.” You sniffle.

“Don’t mention it!!” They laugh. “You go get cleaned up and I’ll start tackling this absolute disaster zone!”

You trudge upstairs and debate on the benefits of a full shower before deciding that it’s worth it, even if ten more cakes explode. You’re uncomfortably sticky down your neck and arms. 

Maybe you can wash this day away, while you’re at it…

Before long you’re redressed and coming back downstairs- if not feeling completely refreshed, you at least now have it in you to face the (suddenly much longer) list of tasks ahead. Kirby has gotten most of the cake into a trash bag, and is wiping down the counter.

“There, you look much better! Now, come tell me what was happening when this happened, will you?”

You join them, grabbing a sanitizer rag and beginning to help wipe down the closest surface. You describe as best you can exactly what you were doing, feeling, and thinking about when the cake exploded, just as you’ve explained to them about the previous incidents that you weren’t physically present for.

“Hmm.” Kirby hums quizzically. “Well, the good news is I’ve got a potential solution for the wedding dilemma.”

“Oh?” You’d be lying if you said that the promise of a stressor being removed didn’t sound divine.

“Actually, I’ve already convinced Rosario to go with you, if you want, while I was on the way over. Did you know that she’s surprisingly easy to bribe?!” Kirby giggles. “But to be honest- I didn’t even need to bribe her!! She agreed before I offered anything in return. Apparently wedding cake and an open bar is enough reason for her to turn up, or so she said. But I think it’s because she likes you.”

“That’s… very kind of her.” She wouldn’t be the worst companion for the event- you’ve grown quite fond of her presence in your shop, prickly attitude and all.

“Yeah! She’ll easily make your ex just as uncomfortable as I was planning to, all on her own merit, hehe!! BUUUUUT, I think you know what I’m about to say-”

“Don’t…”

“You should call him!” Kirby says in the most obnoxiously sing-song sweet tone they can, and you wince hard.

“I can’t-”

“But you can~!!”

“But I don’t think I should-”

“Well, maybe you should think again, sweetie!! You absoluuuuutely should! Because if this-” Kirby motions to the partially cleaned up buttercream splatter still coating the vicinity. “Isn’t proof enough that it’s not a him problem, I don’t know what would be!!”

You drag a palm across your face, overwhelmed, and heave a sigh.

“At the end of the day it’s your choice! I can’t make you call him. But you miss him, and he misses you! I know this for a fact! And SPIRITS is he being SO insufferable about it!! And so are you!!!! And it’s just a BIT silly to keep drawing this out like this.”

“But… I don’t want him to get hurt…”

“Listen. We know there’s something attached to you- Rosario’s exorcism attempt confirmed that much. But there’s no like, actual indication that any of that is related to what’s happening with the curse. It’s just not how this kind of magic works. We’re almost certain we’re dealing with two unconnected, non-standard issues complicating each other at this point- some sort of spirit attached to you, and some sort of ley-based magical compulsion in play- but we don’t know the source of where either of those things are coming from. Yet.”

“Right.” You say, pausing your cleaning work to take in the new information.

“Though, someone has some very promising ideas about the later being some sort of messed up geas, and Rosario seems like she has a hunch on what is in the shop.”

“But… it just feels like it’s getting worse. Not that I don’t appreciate your efforts, of course…”

“I know it feels that way. But I am good at my job! And I’ve been keeping track of the numbers this whole time, y’know?? I’ve got the DATA. Do you know what I’ve noticed the most as a trend over the time I've been working your case?”

You simply shake your head to give them time to build dramatic tension before they continue.

“The cakes explode more when you’re upset!! Like, a whole, whole lot more! And quite frankly at this point, in my professional opinion, you being separated from him is making it WORSE!!”

“...You really think it’d be okay to ask him-” To go back to how it was before, to be with me again; you want to say, but end up continuing instead; “to come with me to the wedding?”

You have the feeling Kirby understands what you wanted to say, anyway, based on their pleased expression, like they’re finally getting the message through to you.

“You’re my friend!! And as your friend, I am HEREBY giving you the permission that you’re not giving yourself! I wouldn’t be suggesting this to you if I didn’t think it was safe.” Kirby squarely lays their hands on you on the shoulders, though they need to reach up slightly to do it. “If anything, having him there might keep you from getting bent out of shape at your ex and blowing up the second cake, like, at the actual wedding.”

“That would be horrible.” You rasp and find yourself genuinely smiling for the first time all day, trying to blink back the sting of more tears threatening to spill, though this time more out of a sense of appreciation than despair.

“It. Would. Be. HILARIOUS.” Kirby says with a mischievous grin, patting your shoulders with each word for emphasis. “And if it were to happen, I would hope you were recording it. Y’know, for data collection purposes, hehehe!! But it would also be, let’s say: bad for business.”

You manage to finish getting things looking clean, as if nothing bad had happened at all, Kirby has called their ride to the airport.

“Now, I have to go or I’m going to miss my flight and my boss will probably-actually-literally murder me.” 

“And I have a cake to remake.” You quietly lament. “If you want, I can get on the plane and you can make the cake…”

Kirby lets out a string of giggles, picking their carry-on bag off the seat at the counter they stashed it on..

“Hahah- No thanks!! But- Call him.” Kirby repeats as they give you a squeezing hug goodbye. “Or Rosario, if you must. But don’t make yourself go alone. And keep me updated!! All of the juicy wedding gossip, please. I’m definitely going to be bored out of my mind otherwise, hehe!!”

Then they release you from their grip to head out the door with one last wave and a jingle of the shop bell. 

You, on the other hand, let out a long, withering sigh and pull out another set of white cake layers from the cooler.

…It’s going to be a long night.

>> ✨ MASTERLIST >> ☕ KO-FI

[sabookey]

I have a thought, about character creation. I hesitate to claim this thought is some sort of advice, it's just a thought, though I think it merits further exploration and practice to see how it goes. The thought is this:

I think sometimes, when a writer struggles to actually sit down and write, but has a lot of OCs, it's because you think of your characters too much as people. I think some people struggle to tell stories because they are more interested in coming up with people.

Let me elaborate.

I've always been very focused on character creation as the foundation of good writing. When I was younger, and just starting to write, I remember someone proposing the question - which is more vital to creating a good story - a strong plot, or a strong character? At the time, I answered strong characters, hands down. My argument was that a strong character can still carry a weak plot, but a strong plot can still be boring af if the characters are weak. I do still see some merit to that line of thinking.

When it comes to actually writing down my stories, though, I've always really struggled with first drafts. I would fill notebook after notebook with detailed notes on plot points, worldbuilding, and most of all, on characters. Elaborate backstories, personality breakdowns, strengths and weaknesses, hopes and dreams and fears and every other thing that you've seen on a character profile template. I would take my time with things like choosing names, and I would flesh out their families and the people around them because to know their relationships is to know them. I've been protective of my characters, cherishing them, as many of us do, as if they were my children, as if they were dear friends of mine.

But I have yet to complete any long form projects. I have yet to complete any rough drafts for novels. When I was younger, it was because I was determined to do my stories justice. I was determined to do my beloved OCs justice. I didn't feel my writing was strong enough so I just... didn't write for my original works. I would play around with fanfiction, and I read a lot, and eventually I got into writing RP. But I didn't do anything concrete with my OCs beyond making plans for their stories.

Then I entered a short story contest — NYCMidnight's short story contest. They go in four rounds, and give you a prompt, a word limit, and a time limit in which to write your story. You get a week and 2500 words for round 1, three days and 2000 words for Round 2, two days and 1500 words for Round 3, and 24 hours and 1250 words for Round 4. The first year I participated, I went 3 rounds before being knocked out. Last year, I wrote for the first 2.

Which means I've produced five completely original short stories for the prompts given. I was absolutely shocked by how productive I was in such a short span of time. You are given your prompt the moment your clock starts ticking for each round, so you don't have time to prepare ahead. Which means that not only did I have to come up with a plot very quickly, I was also creating characters on the spot.

When you have three days to write a story, you can't spend months carefully crafting a character. So when it came to drafting, I just started slapping very quick characters together that could do what was needed for the plot. My prompt is genre: ghost story, character: a best man, and subject: temporary? Okay, then I need a bride, a groom, a best man, and a ghost. My bride is (picking a random name) Victoria, she's checking out venues with her fiance, and she realizes the place they're checking out is haunted. And off we go.

And you know what? I figured out who Victoria is as I wrote. She's conflicted, she's on the verge of breaking things off. The ghost is reaching out to her, helping her come to terms with the end of her relationship. I didn't need to know her favorite color or her childhood trauma or her blood type to write the story. Some of those things might come out in the writing. Many of them just never become relevant.

Now, I'm not saying that character profiles are trash. I don't hold with blanket advice, and this isn't advice, remember, this is just a thought. But for me, doing these fast exercises even though I always had thought of myself as a planner not a pantser, showed me that I can still write a damn good story even without writing a novel's worth of notes and plans alone.

Getting back to the original thought... I guess what I'm trying to get at here is, sometimes I think authors can get so tangled up in the create-a-character stage, or the world-building stage, that we forget that we aren't meant to be writing a travel guide, or designing a fully-realized person.

At some point, you have to say okay, now lets put that person in some situations and see what they do. You gotta stick them in a scenario where they are not just spouting backstory at another character, but are making a choice. Okay, they have trauma. They have complex personalities. But what are they doing? What choices are they making and what waves are they making? That's where the plot comes from, and how you make it go. That's plot. And the plot is where the story happens. And you're just writing it all down as it goes, and that's your rough draft.

Every time i get stuck on a story, I instinctively reach for the background notes. I just need to know what makes them tick, I think, and that's how I'll fix it. But nine times out of ten, I don't, actually. That way leads to Not Writing (tm). And I still struggle with that more than I'd like for my bigger projects.

Trying (again) to bring it back to the initial thought... I just think it's interesting that the stories that were easiest to complete were ones where the characters were made up as I went along. I just wrote. Added new characters when needed. Oh, protag needs a friend to carry out a conversation? Guess we have a new character. They continue on their merry way, surprise, someone's stalking them, new character! Meanwhile the stories where I've outlined every character and know who each of them are, still sit unwritten.

That's not the sole factor in why a story has or hasn't been written out, mind you. It's more a comment on, if your OCs are too dear and you're taking too much time with designing them, you are losing valuable time that you could figure out who they are as you write their story. By you I really mean me. Or whoever might find this useful, I suppose.

Anyways. That's my thought. If anyone has any thoughts of their own about this, I'd love to hear them!

[blue-mostacho]

~Cherry Bomb~

Warnings: mentions of SA (not detailed), alcohol and drug abuse.

I decided to just change up a little bit the introduction of the prologue. I hope it doesn't disappoint you guys, it doesn't mean that the Billy romance is completely out of the table. That's not the case AT ALL, like, not even close. I just chose to change it up a little bit so it fits better the fic as it could lead anywhere.

I chose two songs to accompany this first chapter, you will find a symbol with the name of the song right at the beginning. As you read the chapter, the symbol will appear signaling the moment you need to play the songs and when to stop them.

Before you start reading it, please read the prologue for full context.

You can find it here.

I hope you enjoy!

Previous part (prologue), just in case bc I panic xd

Chapter One - Bruises and burgers.

★ Afraid - The neighborhood

☆ Kickstar my heart - Mötley Crüe

The tick-tack coming from the clock hanging on the wall is giving me an eye tick. I roll my eyes as the boredom is driving me nuts, yawning I stretch my back, lifting my arms. Another shitty day at work with shitty customers and shitty coworkers. I'm not very fond of people, I've never really had a lot of friends, in fact, I don't even recall having friends as a little girl. Of course, I had a couple of kids with whom I would play at recess, but that was it. In high school, I would hang out with different groups of people, but I never felt like I really belonged to any of them. It wasn't their fault though, I just didn't feel that way, you know? Like, I never had no one to rely on. On the other hand people didn't seem very pleased with my presence either, so...

It never bothered me too much, I liked being alone. I used to spend a lot of time in my head, making up stories of all sorts, fake scenarios and adventures. I had fun that way. My whole life revolved around books and comics, movies, and any other medium that would enrich my imagination. Although I must say that over the last few years, I have met some wonderful people, like Don. I met Don a couple of years ago, I'd landed a pretty decent job at an arcade in California, and the paycheck wasn't bad at all, he was my coworker. He wasn't into video games or comic books, but he needed the money to pay for school loans. Since I liked working there, the thought of settling down, getting a small room in a shared apartment, and starting a new life didn't sound bad at all. I did for a while, I was 20 at the time. I'd spent two years on the road and it was starting to take a toll on me. Everything was going well, but remember what I said about never having a real group of friends? Yeah, well, I actually had one for a short time. ★ I used to do night shifts at a local bar since I needed the extra cash to fix my car, which had broken down. When I said I had a rusty car, I really meant it. Every night, a group of six people around my age would come in and spend the night playing cards, drinking, and doing the usual shit people in their 20s do. I was the only one covering the nights, so it wasn't long until we became friends, especially since one of the guys in the group had his eyes on me. I liked hanging out with them. Soon, my shifts stopped feeling like work. Most of the nights they were the only customers, so I would just sit at the table with them and play poker until the end of my shift.

In the beginning, everything was fine, just a handful of wannabe adults having fun here and there, nothing special. But as the weeks went by, I started to notice small but weird details, I brushed them off. After all, they were in their twenties, living in a place like California, so of course things like alcohol and drugs were something usual.

During my first months in California, everything went well, I was convinced I made the right decision, but life wasn't planning on making it so easy for me, so eventually things started going south.

Don tried to warn me the few times the guys showed up at the arcade. I guess he could see something that I didn't. There's not a day that I don't regret not listening to him. I was so caught up in my own world that I missed all the signals until it was too late, and I know I deserved everything that happened.

With each passing week, everything turned more and more sketchy. New people started joining them at the bar, some of them were older, way too old. I just knew that they weren't just playing poker anymore. Slowly, they were going down a really dark path, and I was being dragged down with them.

I tried to stay out of it, but one night, one of the guys, Axel, showed up at my door. He was covered in blood, his own blood. That was his first mistake because after that they wouldn't leave me alone. I guess they assumed I was his girlfriend and tried to send him a message through me. We were actually pretty close, that's why he came to me when he needed help.

That night, he told me everything that'd been going on while I was nursing him up. After that, I understood why it's said that young people are stupid. Because we are.

Long story short, they got involved with some nasty drug dealers. I'm not talking about Eddie type of dealer. It was more of a drug network, they used to party a lot which led to them experiencing with strong, exotic substances. Safe to say they became addicted quickly, which resulted in consuming every day, and those substances were also expensive. So by the time Axel found himself knocking on my door, they were all in deep debt, and that's why he got the beating of his life. They did fuck him up real good, I was freaking out trying to convince him to go the ER to check for possible concussions. Needless to say, he refused.

After that I distanced myself from him and the rest, but as I said they already fixated on me.

Weird things started happening to me. It didn't last long though, just a couple of weeks. But I guess that's what you get when you ignore the red flags.

Don was there the whole time, he knew everything and kept insisting I cut off any ties with them, that just distancing myself wasn't enough.

I still saw them from time to time, especially Axel and Nadia, a breathtaking blonde with baby-blue eyes. I will never understand how she managed to fall into something like that, I swear she is the sweetest girl I've ever met.

I tried to help them both as much as I could, but it was to no avail.

Everything got too much for me on Axel's birthday, we all gathered to celebrate. I wasn't sure about going, but he insisted. That was his second mistake, and it was also mine. Don tried to talk me out of it, but we were just going to have dinner. They were planning on going to a club after that, but I'm not a party person, so I would just skip it with the excuse of having to work the next day. And that's exactly what I did. I had dinner, and then I went home, or at least I tried.

I will never forget that night. It was dark, the dining place we chose wasn't far from my home so I didn't take the car.

To this day if I close my eyes I can still feel the pain radiating through my body.

I would've ended up worse than Axel the night he showed up at my house if it wasn't for a couple of passers-by, but i was too late anyway. By the time the two strangers interfered, the other men had already managed to rip off my clothes between punches and have their fun with me on time. My entire body was aching, and the cold air didn't help soothe my already shaking figure.

After that I just left, nobody knew except Don. He was the only one I called once I managed to get into my house.

Eight months. That was the duration of my time in California. After that, I spent three months driving nonstop until I found Hawkins.

Today marks one year since that night, and I still shudder at the memory.

You're probably wondering why I decided to stay here after what happened, why not keep on traveling and avoid any attempt at a more stable life, or maybe go back home? Honestly, I don't know. I guess the contrast between this small town and a big city was too appealing after everything that's happened. Not gonna lie, my friendship with Eddie did help too. Of all the people that I've met in all these years of traveling, he's my favorite one. But I'll never tell him that, the fucker won't stop pestering me about it.★

The ticking of that goddamn clock still drumming in my ears pulls me out of my thoughts. I zone out a lot more than before, but I got used to it.

I groan annoyed, looking at the time. I still have thirty minutes left and I pray to God that I don't get any customers.

It's almost Christmas, so everything is decorated with tinsel and colorful lights, the streets smell like freshly lit fireplaces mixed with aromas of holiday sweets that had just been taken out of the oven.

I love Christmas, but like, obsessively. Although this year is kinda hard to get into the festive spirit, around this time is when I miss home the most. Reliving that night doesn't help either, it feels like my body knows exactly what day it is and decided to keep bringing the memories back on a loop. It's not like I think about it all the time, but sometimes it just comes to my mind like a slap on the face.

I shake my head, pushing those thoughts away, tired of the subject. I realize that I can start with my closing routine, first flipping the sign on the door as always. Soon enough I'm on my way to my car, not before grabbing some instant ramen and a few other snacks from the store. Sometimes, I walk to get to work, but the cold air of Indiana's winter is unbearable at this point.

It's a ten-minute drive home, it's already dark outside, it's almost 10 pm so my headlights help me see enough so I don't crash.

As always, I drag my feet to the entry of my roulotte, cigarette hanging from my lips like a ritual. My eyes fall on Eddie's trailer as it's parked thirty feet away in front of mine, just like every day. He's home, so as soon as I set foot in my house, I just throw my bag on the bed and rush outside again.

I make my way to the long-haired boy's door, I don't even bother knocking. Once I open it, the warmth of the house hugs my body as I make my way inside.

–Momma's home!- I shout, to make sure he can hear me. But I get nothing in response. I can hear some struggling, a frustrated 'fuck' coming from the living room. I look to my right just to find him lying on the floor with his arm under the couch, his neck hurtfully bent as his head rests on the front of the piece of furniture.– What are you doing?

–What does it look like I'm doing?- he tries to turn his head to look back at me, but clearly, he fails. I walk over there, swinging my legs over him trying not to step on him. I crouch, so now I have a perfect view of his face, it is red, and the vein on his forehead looks like it's about to explode. His bangs are bathed in sweat as he keeps struggling.

–I don't know, you tell me.‐ I try not to laugh as the words leave my mouth.

–My fucking arm is stuck under this thing.- he punches de couch with his free hand.

–How did it end up there Eds?- I don't even bother to keep it in anymore and a laugh comes out from the bottom of my chest.

–Oh it's just something that I enjoy doing...what do you think? My fucking guitar pick fell under it!- he starts out with a calm tone full of sarcasm and ends up yelling with a pitched voice.–Could you just help me already?

I laugh even harder, but I get up and place my hands under the side of the couch, lifting it up, freeing his arm. He rubs his now red, almost bruised, bicep as he mutters a "fucking couch" under his breath.

–You're welcome.- I let it down again and let myself fall on it.–Didn't it occur to you to just move it to the side?‐ His eyes snap up at me.

–Well, obviously not smartass.- getting up to sit beside me. I lift my hands in a surrendering.

–Okay okay, chill.- but I am laughing hysterically, which only increases his bad temper. His face turning red again.–Anyway, I brought ramen. Do you have any clean pots?.- I turn to look at the kitchen only to find the sink full of dirty dishes.–Nevermind.

His back is now laying against the cushions, he's lookin at the ceiling, putting on display his side profile.

Eddie has long, curly hair that falls a little lower down his shoulders. Big brown eyes, right under the waves of his bangs. We actually have the same haircut... kind of. The only differences being the orange dye in my hair compared to the chocolate of his locks, and mine has a lot more layers and volume. We're pretty similar in a lot of things, even in clothing.

His skin is pale making his pink lips stand out more as he bites on his bottom lip thinking.

–I'm too tired to cook right now.- he says with a dramatic sigh.–Why don't we go out?‐ He tilts his head to look at me.–I could use some fresh air.-I roll my eyes.

☆–Okay but I'm not driving.‐He shruggs nonchalantly.

A few moments later I'm handing him the keys to my car, as he enters the driver's seat. The sound of the engine roaring in the trailer park as he speeds off.

–The guys really want to meet you, you know?- I'm deep in thought when his voice fills the car, gaze lost in the window while i suck on a cherry lollipop.- Dustin wouldn't shut up about you after he met you.

–I mean, I will be having a few days off from work during the holidays.- I say, taking the sweet out of out my mouth, focusing on him. He's been trying to introduce me to his friends for a while now, I usually work double shifts so I barely have any free time. I kept promising him that I would find some time, but it's nearly impossible. After all, we are short on people at the store. But I did meet Dustin one evening after work, I'd stomped into Eddie's place unannounced as always. They were so focused on the videogame they were playing that I almost killed them from a heart attack. Kid's pretty cool though.

–Maybe you could join the D&D Christmas campaign.- My eyebrows rise in surprise, he's very picky about the people he allows into his D&D club. I've been pestering him about it since I came here, but he always would spit out something along the lines of it not being just a game, life or death situations and not allowing himself to recruit nothing but the best warriors he could find. Everything in a very dramatic way, just as he is. Even after I told him that I've been playing for years now, he wouldn't change his mind. Saying that the key word was "playing", and that it was enough for him to know I wasn't worthy of a place in his fantasy world or the Hellfire Club.

–Are you okay? Do you have a fever or something?- I tease placing the back of my hand on his forehead, fake concern lacing my voice. He pushes it away, not moving his eyes from the road.

–Shut up.- he laughs.–I'm just tired of listening to you bitching about it.

–Yeah, sure.‐ chuckling I place the candy back I'm my mouth looking outside the window again. I don't need to look at him to know that he rolled his eyes. He stretches his arm to reach the cassette of the car, turning up the volume and banging his head to the beat of Mötley Crüe. He speeds up the car almost to its limits, enjoying the thrill of the adrenaline as he laughs vibing to the song.

It only takes us two more songs before my car is far behind parked as we reach for the door of Richie's, I swear they make the best burgers here. The place is full, diferent groups of teenagers spread throughout the ample space. We make our way to a table and just as we were about to sit down, someone shouts behind us.

–Munson!☆

Next chapter.

[dizzybizz]

you have unleashed a demon. i warned you.

i don't think this is going to have any structure whatsoever but i will pretend it does for my own sanity.

i want to start with some behind the scenes stuff bc obviously i do

like i only named guy that because i didn't want to think too hard about names and he has always been a silly little guy. his farms name is sail away farm,,, like the enya song. that's where it came from but really it's a SSS reference cus i will bring other SIs into this somehow. (it was from one of the ai dungeon streams... when julia wrapped up yet another accidental psychological horror story by sailing away whilst listening "to the tunes of enya")

and with remy i had already planned on romancing harvey so i wanted a name i could make a funny shipname of. their shipname is harmy (ironic isn't it ^^). stowaway farm came from some thoughts i had about remy's life before moving to pelican town. where he didn't feel welcome and like the people around him weren't keen on being seen with him. and i just liked the ring it has to it :) the two of them both having farms with "away" in the name was accidental and didn't hit me until after it was too late to change it.

here they are at the character creation screen !!!!

GUY IS MY SILLIEST LITTLE GUY. he's like a hamster or a chipmunk or other small rodents

him asf ^^^^

he's also like ponyo to me, he is very ponyocoded. his theme song would be the full version of ponyo on the cliff by the sea.

he is a biter, a chewer. he's kirby, a chainchomper... he would snack on rocks if he could. he's the breakdancing sims cat. he has bad volume control. he is an octopus, a koala, a monkey. he names a lot of his farm animals after fictional characters. but his hens are named hip, hop, cherry and pop after the lemon demon song. he would take a sip of a joja cola and go "oh, that is vile" and keep taking sips like he needs to confirm it multiple times.

him and elliott are so silly..... their shipname is gull which worked out so well it almost seems intentional. they both got ties to the ocean and beach... we love to see it. they got together the day after elliott's birthday, not only that but it was also right before elliott's 8 heart event. so it was really like guy came in before his book reading, asked him out and then was all "THAT'S MY BF EVERYONE I LOVE HIM SO MUCH" during the reading... he is his biggest cheerleader

he is best friends with emily and shane. and when emily mentioned that she would make a good clown during the stardew fair, he said "this is why we're best friends. we would be the best clowns." and he ate three burgers in a row that day. one day during blackberry season he collected 93 blackberries and was just running around the town with them on his person. him and gus have history together which i will make a whole comic about some day. whilst gaming with abigail he ran into enemies twice and got himself killed. he accidentally bought a pirate sword from marlon. he has died once. he is trying to goad alex into actually shaving his hair off because of that one throwaway comment. HE HAS TWO GARBAGE HATS. (tootsies is SO getting the other one once 1.6 is out)

^ this is what he wore for spirit's eve, called it "farmer in a rush" (he literally just took off his shorts)

i have way less on remy cus he isn't as far along and has had a mostly average time in pelican town so far.

remy is just a big dog who is scared of most things. he is a baby giraffe trying to walk for the first time. he feels very out of place in social interactions. his limbs are too long for him. he is trying his best.

he can come off as very... displeased... his resting face just looks slightly ticked off. really he's a big softie. he has some real unfortunate luck too.. except the night of the egg hunt when he had a fairy visit. he holds onto that little bit of luck there. a glimmer of hope. he had a meteor crash in the middle of his farm, luckily his crops were safe and sound tho, small mercies. weeds damaged his farm the same night the scripted earthquake hit. one day in the mines he got so lost in the dark he had to give up for the day and head up to the surface again, he was one level away from an elevator. he is financially struggling. he names his animals after food. his theme song would probably be cave in by margaux or something.

harmy is a slow-burn, strangers to friends to lovers scenario. they're delightful, i can't wait to see their relationship develop. remy kinda wanted to ask harvey to dance during the flower dance but chickened out (totally not because i only had 3 hearts with him stfu) (also those two pages aren't canon in my headcanon cus i think both of them would be oblivious and dumb as a rock. i just wanted to draw it lol. i think it takes a whileeee for either of them to ever catch feelings.)

he doesn't know many of the villagers too well. he is taking his time settling in fully and is so busy with the farm and mines and fishing and whatnot. oh y'know when sam asks you what his next song should be about?? yeah, remy said trains which has planted the idea that he is a former train kid in my head. and that's something he and harvey can bond over- i think it's really sweet :'). train and plane autism couple. remy has a sweet tooth. he feels intimidated by most villagers. i have a whole hair arc planned for him where he ends up growing his hair out once he really settles in. it's gonna be so epic. he went through 3 of emily's heart events in a row which was wild.

his chest lineup >>>>>

here's an expression sheet i started and will hopefully finish one day

i think that's all for now- I TOLD YOU IT WAS GOING TO BE A LONG POST NO?? ARE YOU HAPPY??? I AM. INFODUMPING IS AWESOME.

i ain't proofreading this are you kidding me.

y'all summoned this. my mutuals summoning my infodump demon with their summoning triangle. feeding my hyperfixation.