#soapy scribbles

[writersdrug]

I NEED waitress!reader accidentally letting it slip that she’s got a date after her shift and so when bartender!simon overhears, he suddenly has a list of things she needs to do after work, causing her get to stay late ))): missing her date ))):

ANGST TIME

He's been watching you like a hawk for the past two hours - and rightfully so. You've been rushing through your tasks, rolling more than enough silverware, keeping your tables happy and stocked - you somehow managed to convince Soap to mop front of house for you. He doesn't like it. Why are you trying to get away?

"Got a date tonight." You tell him, skimming through your receipts as you sit at the bar and calculate your tips. You're not off the clock yet - you still have thirty minutes left. But the restaurant's empty, and all your tasks are done. Your makeup is a little nicer today, softer and less "morning after a deftones concert".

Simon's thankful for the mask, or else his frown would be impossible to miss. Is he dumb? Haven't you been flirting with him all week? Was this another one of your games, pretending to act innocent and coy, messing with him, then announcing you're going out with someone else?!

He feels his shoulders tensing as he watches you tap away at your phone's calculator. He shouldn't be so bothered by this - some things just need to be let go. But he can't. He wants to keep you in his back pocket, or in an empty whiskey bottle on his liquor shelf - not the one behind the bar, but the personal collection in his room on the third floor.

"That's nice," he grumbles, slicing through a lime. "Jus' make sure you finish your chores 'fore you head out."

"Already did!" You chirp at him with a smile. "Just need to do my tips, and I'll be done."

"Did ya clean the ice bins?" He asks.

You furrow your brow. "Huh?"

He jerks his head to the whiteboard on the wine fridge - sure enough, your name is scribbled in, right next to "drain and wash/sanitize ice bins + buckets", along with today's date.

You look back at Simon, your expression now crestfallen. Your date is in an hour, and you still have twenty minutes on your shift. "Don't you usually do it?"

Truthfully, he does. He could do it today, in fact. But his brain is acting on thoughts before he has the chance to consider the consequences. "Can't today, luv. Preppin' for a bigger crowd tomorrow."

Your shoulders slump. "How long does it take?"

"Well, you got to turn 'em off - one by one, I can't have two empty ice bins durin' a shift - then ya dump the ice, wait for 'em to warm up, then ya go in there with soap n' a rag, rinse 'em out, then-"

"God, can this please wait until tomorrow? I'll come in early and do it, I promise."

He looks at you sternly, and you suddenly feel ashamed for asking. "Wot, so I can pay you overtime?"

"Simon, please - if you do them, I'll give you half my tips for today."

"Now y' dumpin' your work on me?"

"I've got a date!"

"I've got my own shit too!"

You snap your mouth shut. He's never been this stern with you, but you know it's well deserved. It's your chore, after all. You'd been wrong to assume he would do it himself, despite that being the usual. You quickly hop out of the barstool and make your way behind the bar, unplugging the first icebin.

Simon watches as you scurry around, running to and from the ice bin into the kitchen, filling up bucket after bucket of ice and dumping it into the sink in the back. You pace as the machine warms up, glancing at your phone every few minutes, then touching the inside of the ice maker to check the temperature. After a few minutes, you're scrubbing the machine as fast as you can with a soapy rag and a bucket of sanitizer eater next to you.

Twenty minutes have gone by. You're supposed to be on your way to your date, but you're biting your lip, staring angrily at the ice machine as it cools down again. You need to wait for it to be cold before you refill it with ice, and only then can you start on the other machine.

You make another attempt towards Simon. "If I just do one tonight and do the other in the morning-"

"No." Simon snaps, his eyes angry as he drops a container of sliced fruit onto the bar. "This is part of havin' a job."

You look away from him, tears stinging your eyes now. You're so frustrated you want to snap back at him - but he's right, isn't he? Maybe you could ask him if you could just call Max and let him know you'll be running late - but the thought of asking Simon for anything right now (other than more chores) makes you queasy.

Simon doesn't know where the anger came from, but it's still simmering. He watches as you continue to run back and forth, filling up the old ice bin, unplugging the second one, dumping the ice in the back... he's refilling the bloody Mary mix and restocking the bitters. Simple things. He's got nothing to do after this besides go up to his flat and sit in front of the telly, or maybe chat with Soap before he heads home. Why didn't he just do it? Because you had a date, and that was a problem for him. Why? Now you're upset, and it's that knowledge that makes him finally feel the shame that he'd been swallowing down.

You finish dumping the last bucket of ice into the second machine. It's forty minutes after your shift ended. You still have to get to the restaurant you and Max were meeting at, which is a twenty minute walk. You were supposed to be there ten minutes early - now you're going to be an hour late. Frustration mingles with anxiety and burns in the forefront of your mind. But you can't be mad. You should've done your job.

Simon doesn't say anything when you run to the back, your phone pressed to your ear and tears in your eyes. You barely manage a wave to Soap as you grab your bag and jacket and flounder back into the restaraunt. You don't look at Simon.

"I'm leaving now, I'm so sorry- I had to finish up at work and it too longer than I-" you slowed to a walk, then a stop, standing in the middle of the floor. Simon was frozen, watching your shoulders shake.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize I had-... it's not an excuse, I promise I'm-... listen, we can go for a walk or something, right? Or go get fast food, someplace still open, just you and me, and we can try again another-"

His eyes burn in his skull as he watches you stand there for a few more seconds, staring at your phone as the call disappears from the screen. He wants to say something - but what can he say? He's already fucked you over. And he doesn't feel any better than when he first discovered your little date. He feels worse.

You stuff your phone in your back pocket, unable to hide the single, choked sob that escapes your throat. You shoulder your bag and stomp your way out of the restaurant, door clanging behind you. Your bike is still in the alley out back, and your unfinished tips are still on the bartop. He wouldn't be surprised if you never come back to collect them.

Soap emerges from the kitchen breaking Simon from his thoughts and wiping his hands on a rag. "Real feckin' kind of ye, Ghost. Never seen such a right cunt." He glares at Simon, before slapping the rag on the table and heading back into the kitchen. His shift was over, too.

Simon has three more hours left to deal with himself before the bar closes.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

in the sugar and spice universe, the boys know that she cams and i assume that she’s aware that her roommates watch, but does she know about ransom watching?

a/n: i. am. gnawing. at. my. cage.

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

sugar & spice au masterlist | 101, intro to the au

masterlist | join my taglist

we’ve already established that his discovery of your little hobby was what ended your relationship. i imagine that he fell over your stream while just browsing for something to jerk off to and then BOOM, there you were. 

in true asshole fashion, he of course confronted you about it in a big ol fight:

“choose. come on. me or that.”

“ransom,” you sighed as he kept on pushing.

“come on,” he roared, “just pick goddamn it!”

“that!” you blurted as he kept on yelling, “i wanna keep camming!” though that statement hadn’t been what he’d predicted, “it makes me happy and you–…”

“…i don’t?”

“not lately…”

“well how else would you think i’d react to finding out my girl has secretly been whoring herself out to anyone with an internet connection?”

the slap you then crack against his cheek echoed throughout the whole room, “fuck you,” you spat, “don’t ever talk to me, don’t even look at me, ever again.”

and then you tried to stay as far away from him as possible even though i think he would have kept trying to worm his way back into your good graces (because he obviously fucked up)

you also moved in with steve, bucky and curtis after the breakup and i imagine they began to act as your bodyguards when it came to your ex. keeping an eye out and helping you avoid him at all costs. 

but the thing is, from the moment that he first discovered your stream, and honestly also as a way to lick his wounds post-breakup, he kept going back to it, kept opening up the website till it was permanently open on his phone, always ready for when you went live or posted something (a pic or vid or just flirty message)

it was like an addiction and he couldn’t stop

he wasn’t even ashamed about it because to him it was a way to keep your faded relationship alive, keep you with him and for a generous tip (which he could more than afford as the trust fund kid he was) you’d still do as he wished, still follow his sinful commands.

turn around, let me see that ass

be a good girl and turn up the speed

send me those panties after you’ve soaked them with your cream, i’ll pay double your usual rate for the underwear you sell.

did you know that TittyCokeKingXXX, one of your most loyal followers and top tippers, was your ex? hell no.

how would you finally discover his true identity? maybe it would be at a party you’re both at, a celebration after the football team’s latest victory (of which both your roomies steve and bucky are on, but unfortunately so is ransom) 

he probably gets too drunk and then the truth starts slipping out

maybe he thinks he still has a shot, but just as you turn him down, he gets petty and accidentally blurts out, “well you didn’t seem to have a problem with me last night when you were calling me sir and making yourself squirt in the shower.” 

the image of you crumbled on the tile floor, shower head blasting in your hand as you ripped it away from your overstimulated clit was still seared into his brain. tits all soapy, yet he could still make out the faint letters of the possessive scrawling he'd paid you to scribble with marker the week before reading daddy’s girl

“…how do you know that?” you uttered and he suddenly realised that he’d actually said those words out loud and not just thought them as usual, “ransom, how the fuck do you know that?”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[mj-iza-writer]

Can you please write something were the caretaker has dyslexia and the whumpee notices and wants to read to the caretaker?

Institutional pet whump

Caretaker gently shielded Whumpee's eyes while they poured water over their soapy head.

Out of instinct, Whumpee would hold their breath every time the water would fall over them.

"There we go, all nice and clean", Caretaker smiled, "got all of the street gunk off finally. I don't know what your master was thinking dumping you before the cold hit."

Whumpee looked up sadly.

"Not to worry though. My home is a safe place for pets. You can rest here while we figure out what to do with you", Caretaker reached for a towel, "your owner may have some explaining to do."

Caretaker got Whumpee dried off and comfortable on the couch. Whumpee quietly rested their head on the cushion.

"No, that's not how you spell that Caretaker", Caretaker scribbled on some of their notes.

Whumpee looked up nervously to watch them.

"I'm sorry, I can't spell very well. It's okay though", Caretaker smiled weakly, "you can rest your eyes. I'll wake you when dinner is ready."

Whumpee cocked their head to the side curiously, "you want this pet to rest, Master?"

Caretaker nodded, "yes, you can rest. I'm sure you are very tired from shivering on the streets.

Whumpee rested their head on the cushion again. Within a few minutes they were fast asleep.

Caretaker looked over and smiled weakly, "poor thing", they sighed.

Whumpee jumped up when Caretaker's phone went off. They looked around for Caretaker, but didn't see them.

Whumpee quickly grabbed the phone and hurried to find Caretaker.

"Oh, such a good pet", Caretaker turned when they heard Whumpee coming, "thankyou for bringing me that. You get an extra treat tonight."

Whumpee beamed at the praise, "th-thankyou, Master."

Caretaker took their phone and looked at it, "oh they seemed to have been able to find some information on you after all", they squinted, "my eyes are having a time adjusting, but it looks like good news. We might have answers by tomorrow."

Caretaker climbed into bed, Whumpee watched from the doorway.

"You can sleep in here if you feel comfortable", Caretaker welcomed them, "I don't normally let the foster pets in my bed, but if you look in that corner, you'll see a cozy set up", Caretaker smiled when they pointed, "you honestly may be more comfortable there anyways."

Whumpee leaned into the room and looked. There was a giant pet bed; it was covered in blankets and pillows.

"I even left a few new toys on the side if you like to pick a friend from them. It's yours when and if you leave my care", Caretaker looked at the toys, "I know being in a new place is scary, sometimes a friend makes it easier."

Whumpee slowly crawled to the bed and got settled in. It took a few moments of thought before they finally glanced at the toys.

Caretaker watched as they shakingly reached for a teddy bear.

"Very good choice", Caretaker smiles as they watch Whumpee cuddle it close, "I'm going to shut the light off now. There is a nightlight that will come on right after."

Whumpee nodded, and looked around.

The light turned off, and right away, the nightlight was on.

"There is another in the hall, and another in the bathroom", Caretaker started to lay down, "you have permission to use that bathroom at any time tonight."

Whumpee rested their head on a pillow.

They try to hold back a few tears as they listen to Caretaker's breathing.

'Please, breath', Whumpee thought to themself, 'just keep breathing.'

Whumpee woke up several times through the night, and would as quietly as possible crawl to the bed and listen to Caretaker sleep.

'Just breath', they would relax again.

The last time they did this, Caretaker caught them.

"Go to sleep Whumpee", Caretaker warned, "you don't need to check on me."

The morning sun shown in as Caretaker's alarm went off.

Whumpee's head jumped up to see if they would wake up.

Caretaker looked up, and thought the alarm had startled them.

"I'm sorry, I should have told you there was an alarm in the morning", Caretaker smiled as they sat up and stretched.

Caretaker reached for their phone to see if any notifications came up.

"It looks like we are going to have a visitor", Caretaker looked up after squinting.

"Is the master okay?", Whumpee looked at them with concern.

"Yes, I just have a slight difficulty with reading sometimes", Caretaker sighed, "nothing to be concerned with."

A knock came to the door right as Whumpee started to eat.

"Of course. Their timing is always impeccable" Caretaker set their coffee down.

"Hello, Caretaker? Did I come at a bad time?"

"Well, this is breakfast", Caretaker studied them, "may I ask who you are?"

"I'm Detective Grace, I'm studying Whumpee's case. We came across some saddening information. I need to talk with you, and ask Whumpee some questions", they frowned, "may I come in?"

Caretaker sat down with Detective Grace.

"So late yesterday, we made an attempt to meet with Whumpee's owner. The house seemed to be deserted. We had to wait to receive proper papers to enter the premises. This morning, we were able to enter. We unfortunately found Whumpee's owner dead. It seemed they passed in their sleep. Autopsy shows from natural causes...."

They both heard movement; someone had fallen in a different room.

"Whumpee?", Caretaker called, "are you listening?"

"Whumpee, you may come in here", Detective Grace frowned, "I wish to ask you a few questions."

Whumpee peaked in shyly. They hugged the teddy bear close.

"Did you know your master had passed away?", Detective Grace turned.

"I-I did, they didn't wake up... they weren't breathing", Whumpee's lip quivered.

Detective Grace frowned, "what do you remember from the night before, then waking up?"

"We did what we did every night. A few minutes of good puppy training... dinner... cuddles. We both got into bed, I got more cuddles. My master wouldn't wake up", Whumpee sobbed, "I-I didn't know what to do so I-I ran.... I needed help. I got lost, and few days later I was caught."

Caretaker listened with a broken heart.

"Is that why you kept checking on me last night?", Caretaker sighed with a heavy heart as they realized.

Whumpee looked down shamefully and nodded, "I wanted to know you were breathing."

"Your Master has a good record with you, they took good care of you", Detective Grace smiled weakly, "I'm sorry you woke up to them being gone like that."

Whumpee sniffled, "what happens to me now? Am I a bad pet?"

"No, you're not bad at all", Caretaker hurried to answer, "there is still a few things that need to be taken care of for the case. I'll still take care of you. You will probably be able to be adopted out very soon. You are so well behaved, anyone will be happy to have you."

"Would you be happy to have me?", Whumpee whimpered.

"I-I would, but I mainly foster the human pets. I've never had one personally", Caretaker sighed.

"It would be easy to do. They're the states problem now. You have such a good report... the state would probably sign them right over to you. That way, the pet is off their hands. I could help get you started", Detective Grace looked at Whumpee sadly, "I'm sorry I couldn't deliver better news."

"I'll... uh.. I'll think about it", Caretaker nodded, "I'm not sure about bringing a pet on full time. It's not that easy to do so suddenly. Lots of planning goes into it."

Whumpee looked down sadly and cuddled the toy, "the pet understands", their lip quivered, "I don't want to overwhelm the master."

Detective Grace sighed, "come here dear. Let me hug you. I'm sorry for the stress you are going through. You seemed to have had a great master. Then to wake up to them dying."

Whumpee nodded as they settled into the hug.

"I-I want my master", Whumpee admitted, "I miss them."

Caretaker sighed, "they knew they were thinking about themself at the moment, but it was still so sudden. They didn't need to take on this responsibility."

Whumpee barely ate dinner that evening.

"Whumpee, I'm going to have you drink this. It's a protein drink. I understand you not wanting to eat, but I still need you to have something in you. This is sweet, it should taste good", Caretaker sat down on the couch beside Whumpee.

Whumpee looked at the bottle sadly, "I don't want it. I'm not hungry."

"Please just a little. I know your heart is broken. I wish I had known about what happened earlier", Caretaker sighed, "I would have taken measures to help you. Now we know, and we can start... you know, healing. You'll be here for a while, and that's alright. We'll get you comfortable and on a schedule. It will get better."

Whumpee side glanced them sadly, and slowly reached for the drink.

"There you go", Caretaker sighed in relief.

Whumpee took a few small sips.

"Does it taste good?", Caretaker leaned back and looked for their notes.

"Ymhmm", Whumpee hummed as they took a bigger drink, "i-it's yummy."

"That's good, sometimes something sweet... helps.... sadness", Caretaker studied their notes.

"Ar-are you okay Master?", Whumpee looked up quickly.

"Uh.. yes. I guess I can't hide it any longer. I have something called dyslexia. It affects my ability to read, my sense of direction, and a few other things", Caretaker sighed, "that's why I squint a lot while I read. I'm making sure I read it correctly."

"My... Master had dyslexia. They had me read to them every night, that's why we cuddled so much. I got hugs, they got to be read to", Whumpee looked at the notes, "I-I can read to you... if you want."

"I appreciate that", Caretaker smiled comfortingly, "but I don't want to bother you."

"It would help take my mind off of my master. Plus, it would give me a sense of normalcy", Whumpee pleaded.

"You really want to do this?", Caretaker smiled.

Whumpee quickly nodded.

"Alright", Caretaker sighed, "hopefully you can read my writing", Caretaker handed them the notes."

Whumpee quickly began reading out loud to Caretaker.

Caretaker leaned back and listened.

Whumpee looked up momentarily and studied Caretaker.

"Are you okay?", Caretaker looked at them worriedly, "did you read something you didn't like?"

"H-has this pet earned the right to cuddle with master?", Whumpee frowned.

Caretaker paused in realization, "yes you can cuddle. Cuddles are important to pets."

Whumpee excitedly scooted over and rested against Caretaker.

Caretaker smiled after a little while, "maybe... maybe we can make this work."

Whumpee looked up from the notes.

"You are helping me a lot by reading those notes. I'll be able to file them a lot faster now", Caretaker smiled, "every pet deserves a job. Maybe that can be your job."

"I'm sorry Master... I don't know what you mean", Whumpee frowned.

"Would you... like to be my pet Whumpee?", Caretaker grinned, "you can help read things for me. Plus, you can help when a new foster comes in. It is easier when there is a friend to help", Caretaker patted Whumpee's head.

"Yo-you mean it? You really want to adopt this pet?", Whumpee sat up quickly.

"I do... if you want, at least. We can call Detective Grace and start the process", Caretaker gently cradled Whumpee's head, "it's all up to you."

"I very much want to be your pet, Master. I will be a good Whumpee for you", Whumpee excitedly smiled.

"I know you will be... you already are", Caretaker grinned.

Whumpee beamed at the praise, "thankyou master."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@weirdthingweee @the-beasts-have-arrived

@sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

@monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz

@bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

@notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots

@whumpbump @everythingsscary

@skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr

@theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

@candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers

@starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

@lumpofsand @watermeezer

@indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains

@risk606 @electrons2006

@paperprinxe @whumprince

@kaz-of-crows @mis-graves

@decaffeinatedtimetraveler94 @sausages-things

@isikedmyself878 @daffyduckcommittedtaxfraud

@valravnthefrenchie @glennemerald

@jasperthecapser @does-directions

@jumpywhumpywriter @blackbirdsinatrenchcoat

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @thenormalestever

@whatwhump @galatic-worm

@starmoon-constellation @bacillusinfection

[oneforthemunny]

Older!eddie, reacting to hearing both his girls swear for the first time for the blurb request 🤭

i'm assuming you're talking about brielle and delilah, so that's what i did haha! a little parallel type blurb since i know the older!eddie crowd loves it lmao. tw: gina

Seventeen Years Before

"Brie, where ya at, Munchkin?" Eddie's sing-songy tone floated through the small home, over the hum of his boombox in the window.

"In here!" Brielle's little chirp of a tone came from the other room, where she was 'cleaning up', which really meant moving her toys from in front of the TV to the hall.

Gina was gone for the day, and Eddie felt sick at the fact that he was so relieved. They'd been going through a rough patch, endless fighting and bitter remarks behind the toddler's back. So when Eddie had the rare Sunday off, he encouraged Gina to go out with her friends, promising he'd take care of everything.

"Can you come in here, please?" Eddie craned his neck to try and look into the living room, hands still elbow deep in dish water. "I need some help in here. You wanna dry for me?" Really, he wanted to make sure she hadn't somehow found the magic markers, scribbling on the walls again.

"Yes!" Brielle shrieked in laughter, tiny footsteps bounding on the carpeted floor towards the kitchen.

Eddie's head whipped around at the crashing sound, a solid thud that shook the doorframe. Brielle looked up at Eddie from the doorway, hands on the ground, braced from her fall.

"Oh, shit." Eddie muttered, shaking his sudsy hands off, wiping them on his shirt. "Uh-oh. Did you fall?" He tried to keep his voice level. He had learned if he freaked, then she would too.

Brielle looked up, face contorting with a grimace that looked freakishly similar to Gina's. Eddie cringed, crouching in front of her. "Let me see." He picked her up gently, turning her hands over. "No scratches. You're good. All good." His tone lifted, standing with a groan, the toddler on his hip.

"Sit up here and help me dry. Can you do that for me?" Eddie asked, grabbing the rag from the drawer, handing it to Brielle. "Hold it with two hands, alright?"

Brielle's little legs swung on the counter, carefully wiping down each dish Eddie would hand her, his hand hovering over the bottom in case she dropped it.

Eddie turned for a moment, going to finish the stack of sippy cups he hadn't washed out yet. "Are you excited to go to Grandpa's in a few days?" He hummed, looking over at Brielle.

Her face lit up, squealing with excitement, legs kicking faster. "Yes!" She squeaked, arms flinging the towel, knocking over a cup. It toppled before tipping over the side, Eddie's soapy hand splashing out of the water, barely catching it before it crashed.

Brielle's wide eyes met his, matching rounded expressions. "Oh, shit?" Brielle repeated, her tone so adorably soft that Eddie almost thought he heard her wrong.

"What?" Eddie gaped.

"Oh, shit?" Brielle repeated, a slight lisp, the word unfamiliar to her. "It falled?"

"No, no, no," Eddie shook his head, setting the mug down. "Jesus, no, Brielle, look at me." He tried to even out his tone. It would've been funny- really fuckin' funny, actually- if he didn't think Gina might kill him over this. Throw it back in his face and prove her point that he was already not a good father, like she already loved to do.

"You can't say that word." Eddie shook his head. "That's a bad word. A really bad word."

Brielle frowned in confusion. "You says it." She tilted her head to the side.

"I know, and I shouldn't say it." Eddie shook his head. He didn't even realize he'd said it, that she'd heard it. "Look, that's not a good word, ok? And if you say it..." He hesitated.

"If you say that word, Santa doesn't come to visit you." Eddie said seriously. Brielle's face dropped, eyes widening in horror. She was finally old enough to realize the magic of Santa, that he'd bring her toys, all kinds of toys - too many toys, thanks to Santa Wayne who insisted on spoiling her.

"That's why Daddy doesn't get gifts from Santa, because I say bad words." Eddie wasn't entirely sure he should say that, sure parenting books would go against that, but still, he was desperate for her not to say it in front of Gina.

Brielle's face fell, crumbling with fear. "I-I didn't means too!" She wailed, more dramatics than real tears.

"I know, hey, it's ok. You didn't know. That was Daddy's fault." Eddie cringed; definitely not the best thing to do. "It's ok. Now you know, so just don't say it anymore ok?" By some miracle, Brielle managed to forget the word, or at least not say it in front of Gina, which Eddie was beyond thankful for. At least that was one thing she didn't have on him, couldn't throw back in his face and guilt him with.

Seventeen Years Later

"Ed!" You called, flinging through the racks of clothes in the closet. "Eddie! Did you make sure to pack her floaties?"

"Yes, honey." Eddie called back, dragging the next suitcase down the hall towards the front door. "I put two pairs in the beach bag."

"And sunscreen?" You leaned back, eyeing him from your place in the closet.

"Also in the beach bag." Eddie nodded.

"Uh, your sunscreen." You glared at him lightly. "You better make sure that SPF 70 is in there, Munson."

Eddie rolled his eyes. "It is." He grumbled, leaning on the doorframe of the closet, arms crossed over his chest. "Even if it's not, I'll be alright. Never used it before-"

"-And that's why you had to have that place cut off." You glared at him with finality. "Your derm told you to use that, so you better use it, Edward. I'll hold you down and spray it on you if I have to."

Eddie grinned, lines by his eyes crinkling gently. "Don't tempt me with a good time, bunny." He growled lowly, playfully pinching your ass.

You jumped, rolling your eyes at him lightly. "Lilah!" You yelled down the hall. "Do you have your tablet charged? It's a loooong ride, baby. Make sure you've got your charger."

"Okay!" The five year old called back. "I have it in my backpack!"

"Good. Can you bring your backpack here so Daddy can take it out to the car?" You nodded, looking over at Eddie. "Check her bag and make sure."

"I got it." Eddie nodded. "Relax, sweetheart. If we forget something, we'll just stop and get it when we get there."

"I know, I just hate that feeling. I feel like I'm forgetting something, and it's driving me fuc- crazy." You cut yourself off with a small smile, Delilah's bright backpack entering the room before she did. "Thank you, Lilah. Do you want to go potty before we leave one last time?"

Eddie unzipped the backpack, looking in it. "Hm, I don't see your ear phones. Did you pack them?"

"Oh, shit. I forgot." Delilah said flippantly, jumping off the bed. "I'll go get them!"

You and Eddie paused, stunned at the ease and the accuracy that she said. "Did she- you heard that too?" You whispered, eyes wide in shock.

Eddie's lips twitched, swallowing back a smirk. "Yeah." He snickered.

"Eddie!" You gasped. "Don't encourage that." Your own lips were curling, trying to keep your stern composure.

"I'm sorry! But you gotta admit, that's a little funny." Eddie laughed, rubbing a hand over his face.

"She used it correctly too." You rubbed your temples, swallowing back your own smile. "That's somehow worse."

Eddie giggled into his hands, ducking into the closet to compose himself. "Holy shit, never been prouder in my life." He laughed teasingly.

You smacked his shoulder lightly, lips pressed in a tight line. "You're so immature." You shook your head. "Wonder where she got it from." You glared at him lightly, sending him into another fit of giggles.

[soapoet]

how are you, october?

+3 Taylor Swift songs each because she's striving and so should you.

like & rb if it resonates ♡

Soapy scribbles: I already did a general energy reading for this autumn season here, but there's quite a bit of energies at play this autumn, so I felt the need to look at October specifically as it feels very important.

01.

Shufflemancy: Taylor Swift ‐ Don't blame me, I did something bad, Red.

How long have you kept the light on? Sitting there, staring at the door, waiting for someone who never seems to come? The radio is on, playing two stations at once. The flower petals all say maybe, not he loves me, he loves me not. You are frustrated and confused, yearning for clarity but outside the sun just won't rise and the only light is the one lit outside your house. Have you given your time at a discount, or is the free trial still running? Someone needs to draw the line in the sand further from the waves that keep washing them away. You want more, and for love to not feel like agony. Red is the colour of passion, both love and hate. I see you wearing their white t-shirt, your heart bleeding and staining it red as you watch them sleep. Safe and sound, whilst you howl to the moon. You're growing territorial. A desperate act to ward off the wolves that prowl your prey. You saw them first, but they don't seem to see you.

It seems as though your thoughts and feelings are silly until somebody else echos them, word for word, and then they're liquid gold. You're not a ghost, but you feel your outlines blur. Where do you end and where do they begin? You haunt their halls, but they're fast asleep and never notice a bump in the night. You've felt powerless, like the quietest poltergeist, unable to move and shake the silverware, never able to rattle the cupboards or the picture frames. Somebody treats you like they would give you their last name, yet make no such commitments, not a single step in that direction. It is all up in the air, and you feel like the rug beneath your feet will get pulled at any moment. Is it not tiring to lie awake, watching the shadows, wondering what beasts may strike if you let your guard down in slumber? Without certainty, you're the one in fear under the covers, certain it wasn't just the wind. Because in your experience, it never really is.

Do not sign the dotted line without examination of the fine print. Better yet, do not sell your heart and soul to someone who will keep you on a shelf, saved for a rainy day, but will not puncture breathing holes into the lid and care for you truly. Do not let yourself be kept for a season, wings clipped and left to asphyxiate in a jar. You have given enough benefits of the doubt, but nobody is so daft, so oblivious, they would not embrace love they find worthy and good. Do not let yourself be kept as an option or as something good enough until something better, new and shiny, comes along. Close up shop and demand full subscription for your time and effort. If they won't pay the price, you'll find better in no time whilst karma chews them out. Especially if you feel like you can't do better, or have felt like love keeps avoiding you and you're somehow faulty and too broken to be loved, there really is someone around the next few corners who won't play you like a game or stick around only in fair weather but your storms too. So don't settle, you deserve better than okay and fine and good enough. For a select few, there really is love here, but may be drowning in addiction or fears of some kind. Remember that you can't help someone who doesn't want help, because change is made when they want change. This change may very well be coming up in the near future, and wrongs may be made right slowly. If this is somebody you love, whether romantically or platonically, even in a familial sense, make sure you keep your head above water and put your own oxygen mask on first before helping another. You can extend a helping hand, but do so when they ask, not because you're expected to do it because you always have. New beginnings in old relationships are possible if you want it.

Additional details: Amethysts, Ayurveda, moths, mixed signals, love languages, uquizzes and other such tests, purple, blue, red, bus rides, tattoos, job offers, writing, poetry, thesis, message in a bottle, missing an ex, addiction, healing, birds and squirrels, starting over, second chances, reminiscing, old photos or journal entries or ig posts, synastry charts, girl in red, Phoebe Bridgers, Noah Kahan, Bishop Briggs, YA book series, maladaptive daydreaming, BPD, lighters, short trips, parties or other get togethers, double dates, life path 8, birthdays, sanrio, studying, Scorpio/Aries/Virgo/Capricorn/Pisces, 3H/4H/5H/12H, Saturn/Mars/Uranus, Lilith/Chiron, 25/89/222/555.

02.

Shufflemancy: Taylor Swift - Gorgeous, Paper rings, I think he knows.

Luck seems to be on your side, or it soon will be. After a long drought, you have stumbled upon an oasis. Prayers whispered in the dark, sometimes choked out by tears, are now proven to have been heard after all. Endless night and harsh winter is over, even though seasonally speaking it's right ahead of us in the northern hemisphere. In your life, however, you're coming out of a very long and hard winter. You have felt cold and lost, sometimes frozen in place, as though your icicle bones and frosted skin wouldn't let your body decompose when you thought you were dead. You were stuck up to your thighs in snow. Every step was a challenge, and harsh winds threatened you like frail branches bending and snapping in storms. Now the snow is melting, trampled into slush beneath your boots and making way for spring flowers to bloom.

Forward movement is happening in many areas of your life. New beginnings are popping up like wildflowers in a meadow for you to frolic in. You're making changes and changes are making you. Immovable objects begin to roll down the hilltop where you've felt stranded like a lone celltower sending and receiving signals. You may have felt in your heart and soul that the winds are changing. Your intuition has been wide open and receptive for some time now, hasn't it? But rooted in place unable to move you have felt unable to take action. That is changing now as not only can you move forward, but things you have wished for begin to arrive like ships to your shores. You sowed and nurtured the seeds and it is time to harvest your crops. If you have dealt with mental terrors and grief, you should see those slowly begin to heal, circumstances improve, and help becoming available to you and you finally feel ready and able to take it.

If you've been engaging in some good old fashioned yearning, know that it's a case of mutual pining. Someone whose freckles, birth marks, or scars you have mapped out like an astronomer the night sky in stolen glances has stolen just as many of you. Either one of you, perhaps both, have been closing doors as of late, gone through endings and made space for the new and found the keys to the doors once shut and chained and locked. There is a distinct sense of leveling up here, like entering a new region in a game at last when the requirements have been met, and you're now free to explore new and unknown territory. I see unwavering eye contact where before it was a game of cat and mouse. I see a church, two people side by side in the pews sharing quiet confessions. Words previously only thought find a voice and get spoken, not to the moon but the heart they were meant for. There can be some secrecy involved, but less like the tragedy of Romeo and Juliet it's keeping something sacred between two souls, keeping each other like an oath. Sheltering a flame, for some of you one rekindled, between four hands and promising to meet in the woods at night. This secrecy is not one grown from shame, but one of dedication. A solid foundation, a home and sturdy fortress is being built or rebuilt in the dark of the night so its eventual beauty and intricacies may be admired by all in the sun. You may have manifested this, or simply known this was inevitable. All you really had to do was accept it as fate and wait for it to unfold. This is a cozy kind of love, but also devout like two souls looking upon each other in reverence. It feels as close as it feels free. There's something to lean on but also room to grow. You hold each other tightly, but loosen the grip as needed, and always ready to catch the other if they fall. For some of you this marks the end of a third party situation, an entirely new love, and for others this is reworking an existing or past love with a new set of rules and making magic together after tough challenges.

Additional details: Full moon, abundance, sudden income, lottery luck, gifts, receiving or giving flowers, dancing, swimming, guided meditations, listening to higher frequencies, therapy or counselling, lists and plans, entrepreneurship, editing, finishing tasks, cats, rabbits and ferrets or rodents, pancakes and waffles, sunflowers and dandelions, espresso, heavy rain, holding hands, nostalgic scents or environments, coughing, PTSD, neurodivergence, artificial intelligence, fidget toys or stress balls, colouring books, arts and crafts, dainty jewellery, body language, law of assumption, dreams, blue, green, black, glasses, kpop, punk, indie, Stray Kids, Ateez, Dreamcatcher, Daft Punk, Sabaton, Avenged Sevenfold, Korn, Virgo/Leo/Cancer/Aquarius/Sagittarius, 1H/3H/5H/11H, Jupiter/Moon/Mercury/Pluto, North and South Node/Ceres, 12/13/33/555/888.

03.

Shufflemancy: Taylor Swift - The archer, Mean, Anti-hero.

Narcissus and Echo, a tragedy of old. You may have been at the mercy of fluctuating between the two. This can be a dance between you and another, or you and your own reflection. You may have pushed someone away. A friend, a family member, yourself, or an authority figure of sorts. Demanding they leave you alone, left them on read or never bothered to open their letters at all, after so long of clinging to their every word. Certain of your independence, a need to put yourself first, desperate self love wholly unrequited. Or perhaps you fought viciously for yourself, but your voice was never heard. As though you always needed someone else to speak your words for them to be taken as right and true. Perhaps you were sent on a glitched quest, "ask your mother" only met with "ask your father", leaving you in the uncertainty of the in between, alone and filled to the brim with unanswered questions and no sense of direction.

You have sought help, asked for assistance, asked all the right questions and really pushed your own cart forwards though it has been uphill. And something or someone always cast stones on your path forward, shoved stick between the wheels to make the process feel so hopeless. There are wounds that you bear that have been left unhealed for years. Still raw and bleeding you dry whilst you try to keep yourself together like cupping water in your hands as it spills through your fingers. But though your path is full of traps and spikes and is uncertain and winding, you know the way forward all within yourself. Because you carry with you the only light you need to find your way. You may cross paths with kind advisors who unseathe their swords to fight for you, and some of them may already be in your life. Those who see the injustice and tear down the thicket ahead to make way for you and protect you whilst you stitch your wounds and ready yourself for battle yourself. Accept the help, encouragement, and follow these kind mercenaries when you get lost. Allow them to carry your burdens when as Atlas you need a break from carrying the world upon your shoulders. Soon you'll be strong enough to do what you need to do. Be better, stronger, healthier, if not for you right now then for those who need you and cherish you and want you by their side in the quests of life. Eventually your actions will prove to be the best for you, and a faint portrait of a future you smiles upon your present self for your decision to keep moving forward.

If you need to put your foot down, do so in earnest. Shoo away guilt and shame, and let go of the idea that you must suffer in silence and weather unnecessary storms, speak when spoken to and follow another's commands so often not in favour of your own well-being. Fight your inner demons, but know you need not fight them alone. Dip a quill in ink and rewrite the rules. Break into the library which holds the book of life and black out that what does not serve you, and take ownership of your own story. If Narcissus treats you poorly, trample him under your foot on your way out the door. He is only a flower now and seasons change, and he will wilt and wither away as you no longer shine upon his petals.

Additional details: Violins, literature, art galleries, sisters and fathers, divorce, babies or children, psychotherapy, CBT, law, changing your name, lgbt+, jazz, classical music, Regina Spektor, Kate Bush, Tori Amos, Fiona Apple, borzoi, dog videos, playing instruments, writing a book, storytelling, unknown address, exotic animals, spiders, ED, OCD, teddy bears, squishmallows, studying for a test, doctor's appointments, funerals, chill covers/lofi, slowed/reverb/acoustic versions, subliminals, affirmations, lace, fuzzy socks or woolen socks, bruises, house plants, monstera, ivy, pothos, tea collection, cold hands, Taurus/Gemini/Libra/Scorpio/Capricorn, 2H/6H/8H/10H, Saturn/Pluto/Neptune/Venus, IC/MC, 17/23/95/11:11/000/444.

[thornsnvultures]

eddie munson x curly haired!reader

cw: lightly nsft (no minors, 18+), baby/marriage mention at the end but I kept stuff pretty gender neutral, <500 words

-----

Eddie prides himself on taking good care of his curls. He uses shampoo AND conditioner. Not those 3 in 1 combination bottles like every other guy. He has dedicated washing days so he doesn't dry out his curls. He even uses a leave-in conditioner that smells like coconuts!

He wasn't perfect, he still had bad hair days now and then and he definitely doesn't have the dedication to style like Steve "The Hair" Harrington. But he took pride in how he looked in his own way.

And he thanks his luscious locks every day for helping him meet you.

As corny as it was, you and Eddie had reached for the same tub of moisturizing conditioner at the same time and your eyes met in the Walmart beauty aisle. At meet cute he thought only the likes of Harrington would ever achieve.

Eddie was stunned speechless. Your curls were even prettier than his. Their glossy shine and bouncy texture wowed him, and made his dick hard, which he should've probably been concerned about. But then you smiled and laughed and apologized for bumping into him and Eddie knew he was in love.

He let you have it, but only if you gave him your number. So you reached into your bag for a pen and scribbled it on his hand. Eddie started at it, shocked that his line actually worked.

He called you later that night, too excited to wait any longer and before he knew it he had a date.

It's been months since then, since your first date, and now Eddie knows for sure that he loves you. You, who helps him wash his hair when he's too tired to bother. You, with your special hair wraps and satin pillowcases.

He bought you new ones just last week. A fancy brand that put a hefty dent in his wallet, but it was worth it seeing you smile. That and he felt guilty after accidentally, uh...ruining your last ones.

Eddie loves laying in the tub with you on days when you don't want to wash, your curls piled up on top of your head. He lets you put his hair up too, knotted in a bump on the back of his head with a soft scrunchie. He takes his time with you in those moments, takes care of you with soft, soapy hands that slip under the water to play with pebbled nipples and dimpled skin. Your laughter turns to sighs under the bubbles. Eddie buries his face in your curls and breathes you in, rocks against you as you twist and writhe under his fingers.

Later, when you're warm and tucked in his arms, all lotioned up and smelling so sweet, Eddie thinks about keeping you for forever. Picturing little curly-headed babies running around. Teaching them to love their curls too. He falls asleep with a smile on his face, and a ring tucked in the bottom of his sock drawer.

[patrollingboston]

Amidst The Chaos

Chapter 2!! I have changed Sarah and Casey's ages to around 6? just to make the involvement in parenting make more sense :)

Pre-Outbreak – Austin

The evening Austin sun filtered through Della’s windows, catching on the dust that clung to every surface like an old memory. She stood at the sink, hands wrist-deep in warm, soapy water, absentmindedly scrubbing dinner plates as she gazed out at the quiet street. Trees arched over the cracked sidewalks while kids raced each other up and down the gentle slope of her driveway, bike tires skidding against concrete.

“Mom! Quick!” a small voice called from upstairs, edged with panic.

Della dropped the plate back into the sink with a splash. Warm water hit her cheeks as she turned and bolted up the stairs.

At the top stood Casey, her hair pulled into messy pigtails, streaks of pen scrawled across her cheeks like war paint.

“Sarah threw up. Look!” Casey pointed urgently down the hallway.

Della exhaled hard through her nose. She was already regretting the Tuesday night playdate idea. Of course something would go sideways.

She followed Casey’s finger to where a little girl stood frozen in place, her curls limp, her face pale with embarrassment.

“Oh, goodness me…” Della muttered, rolling up her sleeves. “Alright. Casey, take Sarah to the bathroom. I’m going to call her dad to come get her.”

Della rushed downstairs, grabbing her phone off the coffee table. Her eyes darted around the room until they landed on the post-it Joel had scribbled his number on earlier. “Just in case,” he had said. Hands slightly trembling, she punched in the digits. The dial tone rang in her ear like an alarm bell as the stress started to spiral.

No answer.

���You have got to be fucking kidding me,” she muttered, pushing hair out of her face with a frustrated huff. She hit redial.

“You’re through to Joel Miller. Leave a message, I’ll get back to you when I can.” His voice filled the room, deep, unhurried, that southern drawl like honey on a hot day.

Della stared at the clock hanging crooked above the kitchen door. He was supposed to pick Sarah up soon anyway. It was a school night. He wouldn’t forget.

She wasn’t exactly a fan of playdates, but when Casey came flying out of school that afternoon, hand-in-hand with Sarah, both girls beaming like sunshine, Della didn’t have it in her to say no. She remembered how awkwardly she’d turned to Joel in the parking lot, standing stiffly across from him while the girls chattered between them. He’d been polite but unreadable, his face tight and posture coiled like small talk was foreign to him.

Still, he had jotted down the number and thanked her. And now here she was, elbow-deep in chaos.

“Everything okay up there, Casey?”

“Mommy, she won’t stop throwing up. She wants to go home!” Casey called down, her voice high with panic.

Della sighed and jabbed at her phone again, frustration bubbling beneath her skin.

“You’re through to Jo—” She hung up mid-sentence, jaw clenched, and stormed back upstairs. She tied her hair up like she was heading into battle.

“Alright, Casey, downstairs. Keep an eye out the window for Sarah’s dad, will you, darlin’?”

Casey nodded seriously and dashed off. The fairy wings strapped to her back bounced with every step, lending her exit a dramatic flair.

Upstairs, she had already done her best. She knelt beside Sarah, dabbing gently at the girl’s flushed face with a paper towel. She carefully gathered Sarah’s curls and held them out of the way, her little hands awkward but kind.

Sarah sniffled, lips trembling. “I want my daddy.”

Della crouched beside them and reached out to steady Sarah’s shoulder. “I know, sweetheart. I called him, but he’s not answering yet. I’m sure he’ll be here real soon.”

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Two Hours Later

A loud knock jolted Della from her half-doze on the couch. Casey was curled up against one side of her, and Sarah lay fast asleep on the other. Careful not to disturb them, Della eased herself up, glancing at the clock as she passed the hallway. 8:30 p.m.

The front door creaked open with a groan. There he was, hands shoved into his jeans pockets. His T-shirt clung to his frame, expression unreadable, just like it had been earlier.

"Howdy," he said, voice low and leathery.

Della didn’t bother to hide her glare. “Hi. Your daughter has been vomiting nonstop for two and a half hours.”

Her tone was clipped and controlled, but her clenched jaw gave her away. Maybe he had a good reason for being this late. Still, her patience was on its last legs.

Joel’s face shifted. His brows pinched with what looked like guilt. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“If you’d bothered to check your damn phone, you’d have seen the multiple missed calls. And texts.” Her weight leaned into the cracked, red-painted door behind her. The peeling surface was still warm from the day’s heat.

He ran a hand through his hair. “I was out. Didn’t realize my phone was off. I’m real sorry.”

“Yeah, well, thanks. Whatever she had for lunch is now all over my upstairs carpet.”

“I’ll send you money for a cleaner,” he muttered, then called inside, “Sarah, come on.”

The little girl stirred, rubbing her eyes as she peeled herself away from the cushion. Joel bent to scoop her up effortlessly, holding her close.

“Well, it isn’t just my problem,” Della said, arms crossed. “Next time she’s crying for her daddy, maybe make sure your phone’s on.”

“I said I’m sorry,” Joel snapped. A flicker of heat rose behind his words. “I had something important to do tonight.”

Della scoffed. “More important than your own daughter? Right.”

Then, softening just slightly, she turned to Sarah. “Hope you feel better soon, sweetheart.”

Joel shot Della a sharp, defensive look. But he didn’t say another word. He just turned and carried his daughter out into the night.

With the quiet wrapping around her and moonlight spilling in through the slats of her blinds, Della moved her brush slowly across the canvas. She painted a soft, scenic melody in muted tones. This was her outlet, the place where the weight of the day slipped off her shoulders with every stroke. Her daughter was often her muse, and tonight was no different.

But he wouldn’t leave her mind.

The way he brushed her off. The way his shirt clung to that toned frame. The way his careless attitude clashed with her calm resolve.

She shook her head. A few strands slipped loose from her braid, as if trying to physically rid herself of the thoughts that pulled her away from the moment.

Instead, she let her focus drift to the other room, where her daughter lay curled up, fast asleep beneath soft blankets. Della’s expression softened. With a quiet breath, she lifted her brush again and let her hand move, finally returning to the painting.

[viskarenvisla]

The Night Is Ours: Chapter 2 - The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner

My hands squeeze the steel lance; I thrust it upward, a bladed threat at the pyramid's heart as an ebon banner flutters from the blade. Four golden crowns limned in flame burn upon the black field.

I hear Celais' Valkyrie-voice singing in my ear: "do it for the undying glory.”

The pyramid shiver-steams dread silver against the Moon; its wail-gaze haunts the sky, heavy as venom.

The priestess wears a girdle of soulless iron and slither-dances. Slice-and-shimmer flick her claws, flaying open their chests. Three of them, my own kind, she tears their hearts forth like grizzly babes from their chests.

One lays pinned facing West; his War-Form death-spasms and froths, eyes burst in fury to tear down his face and reform, covetous-green.

One lays pinned facing East; his blasphemy is one long stream of colored smoke escaping his lips, hypodermic-quills dagger-struck along his veins.

One lays pinned facing South; she stares at me with stoic, violet eyes that mist with tears only I can see. Her jaws quiver-clench around chains.

The Priestess hurls their screaming-babe hearts into the silver pyramid's furnace belly; smoke billow-belches from its top, blackening the sky, blotting out the moon as it tears down the middle and bleeds. They howl in woe as their flesh regrow, and the priestess repeats her dance.

My hands squeeze the steel lance; I thrust it upward, a bladed threat at the pyramid's heart as an ebon banner flutters from the blade. Four golden crowns limned in flame burn upon the black field.

I hear Celais' Valkyrie-voice singing in his ear: "do it for the undying glory.”

“Do it for the undying glory,” I let the words float from my lips like red smoke. One moment I was a prisoner of some real fucked up dreams; the next I was staring up at the ceiling, tracking the motion of the fan blades, mixing the air with a steady whump-whump-whump. At first I didn't quite get why my body was all tightened up, teeth clattering together because it'd just been that long since I was cold enough to shiver.

The temperature in here was well below 70°. Once that would have been no-shirt-just-shorts weather for me, but the Gulf heat was fetid and wet. I'd gotten so used to it that this chilly bliss was a shock. 

The weight of the dream still sat heavily on my frontal cortex; it was tempting to just lie there and contemplate it, to search for meaning but there'd be time for that later.

Time to get my ass up.

I heard my tendons pop and crackle as I unwrapped myself from the blanket. Yawning like a lion, I kept it quiet out to the main room to check on Galen, and sure enough he was still snoring. The male impulse to do something shit-headed to him in his sleep came and went, and instead I pulled his quilt over his feet and pulled the curtains shut.

There was a pad of sticky paper on an otherwise empty shelf, and with a bit of quiet hunting I found a ballpoint pen. I scratched out a note and stuck it to the arm of the couch: 

dear wanker,

I'm going to see if Tanner is gonna be a thing tonight, figured he'd be more likely to stay in one piece if I went alone, besides you were sleeping like a princess, see you when I get back your highness, call T's mom's number if you need me, drink water you sweat-stained pig

I took a moment to scribble a googly-eyed boar all drenched in perspiration for good measure, and then took my bad self back out into the heat. A washing machine would have been nice, but a good soak in soapy water and a few hours hanging in front of a fan meant clean clothes. Hygiene, cleanliness, these were human dignities I was just unwilling to abandon. Celais and Galen poke fun all they wanted, I didn’t smell like bog and sweat (thing is I actually loved when Celais went for a while without showering, the smell drove me and Galen wild).

Tanner lived with his mom now out in Baycrest, which was located curiously far from the Bluewater Bay. If I took public transit straight out there it’d probably be a roughly thirty minute shot, but I couldn’t just go directly because the line cut through other Hunting Grounds. It was dangerous for a lone Firstblood to cross territorial boundaries, perilous for us to even use public transit unless lines were clearly under our control. Seeing as Penn’s Point belonged to us, that meant the Red Crows wouldn’t dare set foot there or even take the train through unless they wanted to pick a fight… once I had eyes and ears on that station, that is. Lesser Therids would know to keep their distance as well so… no cats or bats running wild.

To get out to Tanner’s place I’d have to circumvent the River District; I had no doubt the Red Crows had set up wards around the area that, like arcane cameras, would alert them if I crossed and trap my scent. The train would be going through what amounted to urban wilderness, but I was pretty much safe as long as I didn’t step out of the train. Still, going without Galen was a bit stupid… but you live only once.

Besides. If I’m being perfectly honest, Tanner’s chances of survival were considerably higher if Galen didn’t come along. It wasn’t like the guy was unhinged or anything but we all had that trigger-point, something that just put us over the edge. For Accursed Beings that usually meant a loss of control, giving in to violent impulse… it wasn’t something I wanted to take contingency against or even have to think about. Dodgy or not about his past, Galen had his reasons to be impatient with addicts. I saw part of what lay at the root of his descent though, and the sorrow of that guy’s tale moved me. Tanner had lost something beautiful in a night of sudden terror, and where he found oblivion in heroin, our second guitarist discovered solace in music. I had no right to steal that from him, and if G didn’t either.

Galen kept me on my toes because our bro-llegiance had so much to do with constant competition, and because we were rarely apart I didn’t have a lot of time to contemplate. Celais and the other Alphas had conscripted seven of us in the beginning. We all knew what she really meant when she told us a pack was only as strong as its weakest link, driving us to hunt in the equivalent of warzones for Therids. Angel wasn’t the only one resting in power; we’d gathered what pieces remained of Kendra and buried them in the woods. Corinth was probably still somewhere out there, screaming his jaws apart whenever he saw the moon screaming back. Snowy and Tinsel made it, they were off in New Orleans and nobody knew what happened to Left-Eye.

Right now, with the way I was being, the pack’s weakest link was me.

I felt like I never had time to cope with the things I’ve had to do out there, the people I’ve had to kill and the horrible shit I’ve seen crawling out of the Jungle. Ever since I met Galen and Celais it’s always just been go go go, never stop Hunting or running.

A rain-thick wind from the gulf clawed the train window, storm scent and heat plucking at my memories. I hummed the song quietly before the lyrics came to life of their own accord.

"Ruuun, on and ooon,"

"Ruuun, on and ooon,"

"The looonelineeess of the looong distance runner…”

I sang it quietly, didn’t want to disturb the other faceless, nameless passengers. Celais loved that song, big Iron Maiden fan. Her absence was like a sharp stone in my chest, cutting into me with each pulse of my heart. Galen felt the same way, how couldn’t he? In the bloody context of our lives she was like Great Kali given flesh, a whirlwind of divine violence and a prophetess bringing word of a better future. She was the ultimate alpha, a mutual lover.

The arrangement was complex but for some reason everything had just fallen into place - neither of us felt jealousy or rancor over the fact that she adored us both, that we shared her affection.

I opened my wallet and pulled out an elegant fang, pale as a piano key. It was heavy with Celais’ scent, sharp with memory. I pressed it against my lips, drawing a bead of blood. 

I remember when she gave it to me on the last night I saw her, she’d pressed it into my palm and curled my fingers around it, hard enough that the tip bit into my flesh. 

“The Curse changed me from the person I was into the monster I am,” she’d murmured in a voice reverberant with reverence, stepping close to speak against my lips. Her scent was blood spilled by steel, flash-burnt cinnamon, her sweat tinged with the wild bite of her pheromones. “You, Yusuf, helped me become more. I lost this when I made my first kill. After the Jungle swallowed me down, I kept it to recall the human I’d once been.” She’d kissed me, tasting of storm-ozone and iron. “The woman, Celais, is yours Yusuf, but so is the monster.” Her nails had hissed along my jawline, as if to mark me as hers. “If you waver, my beautiful prince, breathe deep - remember the monster you must be.”

Another alpha who went by Lucas ‘Last-Laugh’ told me we were effectively immortal and wouldn’t ever age. He also told me that as the years trudged on, it became hard to remember much besides the Hunt and the secrets of Prey. I could never forget Celais, not if I made it another million moonrises. I pressed the fang against my tongue, sharp with her taste. Memory bled from it, and I recalled -

- November’s sylvan hush, cracked by firelight and the chirrup of crickets… my fingers idly plucking guitar strings.

It was just she and I… Galen was a day’s run ahead with Snowy, chasing down a foolish snitch who thought the Feral Brood would protect her after informing on us.

She’d built the campfire in whose light they lay, basking in each other’s light after their earlier lovemaking beneath the stars. The intensity of the experience had been sharpened with the need to keep it (somewhat) down. I stared at her face limned in firelight, lain against my chest… how would I describe someone like her? A jawline elegant as a saber’s blade cuts, skin warm as amber, smooth as lacquered brass. When she stood she was nearly eye to eye with me, imposing as a Khan, supple as an acrobat.

Earlier I’d found this old guitar in an abandoned cottage and insisted on bringing it. It sang an old Andalusian melody my mother taught me. “Yusuf,” she purred in a voice edged with husky heat, “when Fall comes, I’m taking off on my own Hunt.” She pushed back a lock of short crimson hair, beryl eyes sharp as a brush stroke.

I’d suspected she would… didn’t hurt any less to hear. “What’s the Prey?” I asked quietly in a futile attempt to hide my disappointment. 

I could tell she was debating whether or not to extrapolate. The details of her comings and goings were always a secret, like a wizard she’d appear from the mist and vanish just as suddenly. “We found a Banner in Gansu.” 

My fingers froze, my heart syncopating in shock. 

“Harkness has it, and he’s coming back… but he’s being chased by its former keepers, and there are many to kill.” She watched me process the news, that we’d found one of the actual Black Banners, the artifacts that were a namesake of our conspiracy; artifacts that could protect us from Outsiders, our only real predators.

“Let us come,” I entreated on reflex, even though I knew she’d reject me gently; it wasn’t because she wanted space between us, or that she doubted Galen’s or my acumen on the Hunt. “Celais please, just consider - ” but she silenced me with a fierce kiss, swift as a blade drawn. Her slender lips carried that steel-and-cinnamon taste, and she straddled my lap like a conqueror claiming me as hers.

“Yusuf my love. You’re so strong and un-fucking-scared of anything. I want you with me. I want you both with me, my handsome kings…” her eyes fluttered shut as I hungrily sought the candy-pink hardness of her nipples. “The Banner… it needs a place to stand, and you two will secure it for me. Picture it Yusuf, nnf… a… mustering place for the packs, but first - ” her breath hitched, “you’re going to ride me again…”

I knew I was smiling like a fool - dreamy, wistful, a bit sad. Celais and I had something that went beyond lovers or even Pack - in that way she lived the Black Banner ethos, uniting us in ways that went beyond our primal drives. The Jungle was everywhere, seething with conniving Prey and curse-wracked Beasts, but Celais Song had shown me when we worked as one, we Firstbloods were unstoppable.

Hunt like a Wolf; make war like a Human. With the fell magic of the Curse and the protection of the Black Banner we could make and take whatever we wanted.

I won’t lie… sometimes when Galen and I got drunk, we’d talk about why we loved her. Do you think that kind of thing happens easily between two guys? Let me just be real clear: both of us were regularly having unprotected sex with her and competing to get her off. Both of us were smitten with her, real hearts-in-eyes stuff. It never once occurred to either of us that by her loving one and the other, we’d somehow lose her. Beyond that she represented hope for stability, a life where we held the torments of the Jungle at bay. As it was, nowhere was safe.

We’d seen it with our own eyes, what could happen in places like Baton Rouge when the Lunar Strain got out of control. They’d built a cluster of fanes along the Mississippi, places where the moonlight bent into something the Outsiders could climb down to feast on their souls. I tried hard not to picture them, the gibbering beasts lost of all reason and self, ruined husks of Werewolves whose minds the Outsiders had ravened clean.

The aspect of the Curse impressed on us by the Moon was as much a boon on the Hunt as it was a danger; all of us used Lunar-wrought imprecations and hexes just to survive. If you delved too deep into that stuff, didn’t prepare yourself with protections, the Lunar Strain could take hold. Before you knew it, you weren’t Enkindled or a Night-Howler anymore.

That could change with a Banner. Holding one of the Qing Dynasty relics was more than just glorious victory; they could protect every Werewolf for miles and miles from Outsiders, from Moon-Madness.

That’s why we had our mission: clearing the way in Ashland for a Hunting Grounds where the Banner could stand safe. More than just a territory…a fortress of the soul, safe from Outsiders, from Empyreans and the Primordials.

-KSSsSST- NEXT STOP IS BAYCREST AND HOFFMAN, -wheeze- BAYCREST AND HOFFMAN-

Right, right. There was my signal to come back down to Earth. All of this was in pursuit of that goal. From slaughterhousing that Spider-Ogre to making sure Tanner was in tip-top shape for tonight, every step of the plan had a purpose.

The train car was crowded with Mortals; large groups simultaneously smelled sweet and stank to high heaven which was something Celais had little tolerance for. A small island of space had formed around where I sat; human-instinct was still sharp enough that they either subconsciously kept their distance or were unerringly drawn to us in some cases. They parted around me as I waded to the door.

Baycrest occupied one of the few hills that could be found in Pomdufond Parish. It was a collection of cookie-cutter condos and country clubs that had formed a little bubble of space at the edge of the urban decay. Tanner had grown up there, and it was there he returned; I couldn’t blame him for taking the free bed. Renting in Ashland was becoming a nightmare. It wasn’t like he worked in any real sense of the word so Tanner had to be home, if he wasn’t out trying to score. I hoped he wasn’t. His mom, on the other hand, did work… some menial office lady job with local government.

The two of them lived in a condominium that had a sort of washed-out white cast that looked like bone under the cloudy sky. A cross hung above the doorway, like it would somehow keep the Night at bay; far as I knew that didn’t work against anything in the Jungle, least of all me. Wasn’t like I was here to hurt anyone.

Being out here made chills run up my spine, and I glanced over my shoulder to make sure I wasn’t being followed. The well-kept streets and picket fences were a disguise - the Jungle was everywhere, and I had no doubt I’d traipsed through someone’s turf everytime I came to see Tanner. I knocked, waiting impatiently before trying a second time after I heard Tanner inside trying not to make noise. I could smell his unwashed body from the foot of his driveway.

For fuck’s sakes. If Tanner wasn’t answering it could mean that he was zombied-out or in trouble… maybe he owed a dealer money. I’d taken care of that sort of problem before quietly by just paying the guy off and not-so-calmly instructing him to never sell to Tanner again.

“Yo. Tanner open up, it’s Mizrah. Come on dude I know you’re in there.” I tried my best to keep my agitation at bay; I really didn’t want to be outside longer than needed.

The chain-latch and turnbolt clicked open, and Tanner swung the door open. "Sorry man I was sleepin'," he lied.

I immediately took his measure. Tanner was a good three inches over six feet but didn't look it because of his perpetual slouch, like the weight of his trauma had turned his spine to taffy. I felt this unkind urge to snap at him and shove his shoulder so that he’d stand at his full height. Celais’ words about the weakest link gnawed at the back of my mind.

Tanner’s eyes reminded me of a sad cow’s. His pupils weren’t dilated at least, and with a bit of focus I could hear his regular breathing, his even heartbeat… good, no indication he was heaped out.

“It’s all good brother, just wanted to see how you’re getting on.” I tried to give him a reassuring smile, remembering not to show too much teeth… they didn’t like that.

Tanner reflexively straightened his mustard-and-soda stained hoodie, as if that would somehow serve to render him less slovenly. I could see his pulse throbbing at his throat, quickening. "Good. No problems here," he answered a little too quickly. My bullshit barometer ticked, but not loudly… mostly I was just glad to see he was outwardly okay. "You know you didn't have to take the lines all the way out here, coulda just called."

"I wanted to see you for myself, you'll always tell anyone you're doing fine even if your house is burning down around you." I gave his shoulder a gentle tap; it only seemed to make him more nervous, barely flinching at my touch… had to remember that the things I once thought were comforting might just unsettle people now. "Sooo. Can I come inside?" I asked after a second.

“Oh! Yeah, sorry again, shit.” He slinked back inside - I caught him glancing warily beyond me - and shut the door… literally inviting a monster into his house.

“It’s good man,” I promised him lightly. I couldn’t expect Mortals to just let me into their homes anymore, not since I Changed. It was the same with Galen, the same with all of us but most humans could be prompted by social etiquette to look past their survival instincts. "I'm not sticking around long, got a busy afternoon, and then...it's showtime."

Tanner’s place seemed to have inherited its decor from Generic Interior Design Weekly. The only hint of individual personality took the form of photographs along the wall that told his family’s saga… I’d made the mistake of looking at them for too long and remembering the life I’d lost. There, a picture of Tanner as a fat little kid with his well-meaning, haggard mother. His father, who looked just like Tanner but with that all-American dad ‘stache, had his own little section of wall with its own altar… never did find out how he died, never asked.

No weed stink, no booze reek… the only thing that stood out was the fact that Tanner wasn’t showering regularly but that wasn’t my concern.

Tanner came back from the kitchen with a Josta… supposedly these things woke you up like coffee. “Thanks,” I muttered, wrinkling my nose at the syrupy red flavor. Whenever I drank soda these days I had to resist the urge to sneeze.

"I wanted to see for myself, you'll always tell anyone you're doing fine." Mizrah gently tapped Tanner's shoulder with a fist; the motion seemed to only make the other man more nervous… had to remind himself that a lot of the things he'd once done to comfort others would only unsettle them now. "Sooo. Can I come inside?"

"Oh! Yeah sorry again, shit." Tanner stepped aside and motioned for Yusuf to enter - literally inviting a monster into his home.

"It's good," Yusuf reassured him. Mortals no longer simply allowed him or Galen to enter their living space since they'd Changed, they had to be prompted for social etiquette to overcome muted survival instincts. "I'm not sticking around long, got a busy afternoon, and then...it's showtime." "Let's just cut to the chase. I came down here to see if you were gonna be in good shape for tonight's show… and you're looking pretty good bud." Encouragement and expectation mixed into one; sometimes hard not to just dominate him which would have been easier but soul-tainting. "You'll be there tonight right?"

“Of course I will. I swear Mizrah, I haven’t used since the thing in Tallahassee. Honest.” His voice quavered a bit, never taking his bovine eyes from me - like he was worried I was going to lunge for his throat… shit I was just sitting on his couch. “Things are getting better for me. It’s good being with my mom again, y’know?”

Yeah, I did know… I missed mine pretty bad, actually. I quaffed the Josta in one fell swoop and belched draconically into my elbow. “You been sleeping alright? Lora said you were having some bizarre dreams.”

I tried to keep my face from falling as Tanner mumbled a mess of glossolalia… he didn’t do that before the attack, apparently.

“Come again Tan?” I prompted him gently but he still flinched, like he was red and raw all over.

"Uhh… I actually sleep okay, unless I see this one cat. Two cats, not others, just… thooose two cats. Yeah, twoooo of em, one’s… orn…." Tanner trailed off. His eyes got all glassy, like his brain was struggling with a memory suppressed by the Shrouding Effect - it was what kept Mortals from remembering us clearly if they saw a Therid do something otherworldly like shapeshift. More than likely those two cats were more than they seemed - the Jungle was always close at hand.

Even if Tanner managed to describe them in perfect detail, it wasn’t like I’d just be able to find two cats without a scent trail, a tracking dweomer or a shot of Haemovectrin. The Hissers that had gotten his girlfriend and her kid were still out there; they’d probably gone after the two of them over some petty grudge cuz they hadn’t eaten the bodies. It'd actually been Galen who got to Tanner first, untouched but sobbing incoherently over their broken, slaughtered bodies; he said their guts had been bitten out, left to steam while they died from blood loss and shock.

That was why I felt so bad for him; what happened to Tanner’s girl and her kid weren’t my fault, but I somehow felt a responsibility for him because it came from my world. 

"Alright well… guess you better keep a spray bottle with you." Tanner stared at me without comprehension. "Y'know. To squirt them if they get close,” I explained weakly.

"Ohh right, yeah, heh." Tanner fidgeted with his Josta bottle, an awkward moment of quiet passing between us. I could smell fear in his sweat… he seemed particularly on edge, which didn’t exactly help me restrain myself around him. I won’t lie, I felt a bit uneasy myself, like something had been watching him for a while before I came here.

"If they're hanging around you, call me or Galen and let us know… and practice for tonight, okay? We're playing Capitalist Facefuck, Corpse Golem, and Ashen Banners." It felt good to see him rally a bit; Tanner had helped write his part for those songs. "I'm glad you're doing good man… you're doing good, right?" It occurred to me that I hadn't actually asked the other man, just kind of presumed and pushed how I wanted the guy to feel.

His eyes met mine, and in his sad gaze I read a complex of messages.

I'm not okay. I suffer.

I will never be who I was.

The Night took from me, and I'll never be whole.

Guilt stabbed me in the heart without clear cause; it was hard not to apologize. Nothing I could do for him would bring him back to who he was.

“Yeah man. I’m alright. I’ll be there at tonight’s show and it’ll be a Jimmy-rustler.” Tanner gave me his best smile, an effort that didn’t reach his eyes. I bumped his fist and gave my farewells, relieving him from the pressure of my presence. Yeah… he’d be alright, long as I kept checking in on him. Maybe I could Enthrall some local Prey to keep an eye on him; we needed that second guitarist, and it kept me in tune with the echoes of my humanity. I wasn’t ready to just throw that all away at the feet of the Nameless God of the Hunt… not even for Galen. Not even for Celais.

As I made my way back to the bus stop, I caught sight of a pair of mean looking cats watching me from under a rusty Mazda 5 across the street. One was a big, scarred thing with bristling orange fur, the other smaller and gray.

Someone’s rickety old mansion loomed behind them. They watched me unerringly in that way cats do, but their attention never shifted from me; I could feel them watching even when I got on the bus. “Just some fuckin’ neighborhood critters,” I mumbled to nobody but myself; it wasn’t like every stray was a Therid lying in wait.

When I sat down, I hazarded a glance out the window once more. My blood froze when I saw the orange cat collapsed on its side, tongue lolling out from its jaw. Its guts were splayed beneath the Mazda, the gray cat’s maw dark with blood. It looked at me through the window with its pale eyes, shining with unmitigated hatred as the bus pulled away.

[anxiousfanchild]

Annie and the Blue Fairy pt. 2

Word Count: 760

A/N: You guys wore me down!!! heres part two!!

Warnings: N/A

Annie and the Blue Fairy pt. 2

Annie was royally pissed now. She couldn’t do anything but hang her head in shame every time she passed a group of cadets. That stupid.. That stupid thing! She was certain it was a fairy, but no one believed her. Even listening to herself tell captain Levi, she sounded crazy. He was so confused by her story, barely even listening to it as he stared at her now foot-long nose. 

She was nothing but an anxious mess for the following days, knowing nothing would take the attention from her nose. She would spend the nights trying to physically remove the size, from pushing down so hard it caused her nose to bruise to trying to pull it off. Each attempt made her groan in a fit and sleep with a pillow over her eyes to try and block everyone and everything out. 

She had just about given up, cleaning up one night after dinner, when the familiar blue light flashed next to her. She turns her head to face the fairy again. The familiar looking fairy had a stupidly cocky smirk on its lips, wand already tracing the bridge of Annie's elongated nose. The movement caused Annie to flinch back, swatting at the fairy with the spoon she was washing. 

“It’s you!” Annie yelps out, causing the fairy to tut her tongue and wiggle her finger, as if it was scolding a naughty child. 

“Yes its me. Did you think I would leave my experiment to fend for itself? Look at it!” the fairy hums, now running her finger up and down the nose. 

“Just get rid of it!” Annie once again tries to grab at the creature, but was too slow. 

The fairy crosses its arms and huffs. “You can’t make a demand then attempt to attack me! It’s obvious now that you are uneducated, you dolt!” 

Annie couldn’t contain her rage, her cheeks fading to a bright red. Her hands clench by her sides and she takes a deep breath to attempt to calm herself. 

“What..” she starts, trying to formulate the words. “Do you want? I’ll do anything.” She finally pleads out. 

“I just want the truth, dear child.” The fairy defends, waving her wand so her notepad appears again. “Tell me about your education level.” 

Annie groans, tossing the spoon into the soapy water. “I told you! I didn’t go to school!” 

“Did I even mention school?” The fairy counters, waving her wand. There was a tugging sensation at her ears and her hands clamp over them. 

“No! You can’t stretch my nose and my ears!” She protests, tears already pooling in her eyes. “Please! I only know how to read basic things!” She admits. 

The fairy finally seemed satisfied with this answer, the tugging halting. Annie bit back a sigh of relief. She takes a breath and continues. 

“I was only taught combat. Only enough reading and math to get through life.” She didn’t want to spill all of this, the risk of someone finding out that she was uneducated would cause them to pick on her. She could handle bullies, but shame was another bully altogether. 

The fairy writes that down, nodding. “History? Biology?” 

Annie shakes her head and her ears start to go back to their normal size. The creature smirks at this, scribbling aggressively on to the notepad. The creature continues to fire off rapid fire questions from school subjects, even asking some math related questions and spelling challenges. Annie, of course, took too long to spell water adding a silly h after the w. 

The fairy was having a blast, laughing but slowly returning her nose to its normal size with each humiliating answer. 

“Final question,” the fairy taps her pen on the notepad. “Why did you not attend school. A real answer.”

Annie, desperate for the last inch to fall off of her nose, could only shrug. 

“I don’t know! I was never given a reason. Please, I’m telling the truth!” She begs, hands clasped together. The fairy only clicks her tongue and vanishes with a flash of blue light. Annie desperately grasped at her nose. It was still too long, but it was a lot less noticeable. An extra inch? No big deal right? She could live with an extra inch. 

She sniffs, before freezing. She couldn’t smell anything. Not the soap in the sink, not the leftovers from dinner, not even the dirt on the floor. Nothing. 

That damn fairy gaver her her nose back, at the cost of her smell.

[blackwallmancer]

I missed a couple days of posting my Ifan scribbles here but here's the most recent. Soapy!

[terraliensvent]

I just saw a new item from a new terraliens artist, and I'm just in shock. It's just awful, it's not at all the level that the artists of the first set have set. I was looking at the asset and didn't understand why they allowed such soapy and low level shading. Especially when they have trapecia and hannipw in their staff who are ten heads higher than the new artist.

Considering they explicitly admitted in the responses that they get artists who are friends of someone in the staff, and the fact that they also pick artists based on activity among other things!!!!

Maybe choose artists by examples and not by activity on the server?????

im gonna assume youre referring to the thing in staff-wips (but this ask very well could be referring to something else so please dont witchhunt artists or dogpile anyone)

personally i dont think it looks too bad, granted the lineart and details are very small and thin for something thats supposed to be an item icon, it look like it would work better as a prop instead of an item because typically for items you want them to have large, easily noticeable details. thats one thing bug and coy were very good at doing, and to their credits some of the new artists on the team are very good at as well (karma and trapecia’s items are very well done)

on closer inspection of the asset i mentioned it does seem like shoddy work though, lots of lines go over the threshold where theyre supposed to end, missing pixels, colors escaping the linework in some areas, scribbly linework on the bow

you can maintain that it is supposed to be an item and wont be looked at too close, but i do want to take into consideration the last point you made, “maybe choose artists by examples and not activity on the server”

this is the one of the biggest qualms so many people have with terras, they just keep picking their friends over and over, and its a huge conflict of interest to me when you keep picking people for the staff team who are IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH ONE OF THE MODS. like it comes off as nepotism and only facilitates a community where all people wanna do is suck the farts out of moderator butt

adding these screenshots again to show that staff have literally admitted that their friends have a higher chance of getting picked for positions. plus, most of the staff are people who werent even there for the beginning of the species, and keep hiring people who have relatively new join dates. what if theres members who have been there since the beginning, do they deserve less of a chance than people who joined the other day just because they dont talk as much? (i may be biased because i used to be super active in the server, but now i mostly lurk. ive been there since April of 2023 around when the species started, but the new community is ass so i dont talk to them)

being a social butterfly is not an indicator of how good your art is or how good of a moderator you would be, we saw that with bug and coy’s whole staff team.

[flowersfromthevoid]

I'd never doodled with paint before a few days ago, but I needed somewhere to practice some letters before adding to something I've been working on in another art journal and then I kept going for a couple nights and it was really nice to do.

[image ID: an open book, both pages have been painted with gray, blue, purple, and a little pink. the right page has lots of practiced S's, painted scribbles, and the word "gasp" a couple times, and lyrics painted in, using the existing S's. specific lyrics listed at the end of the description. the left page is more sparse, with simple bubbles painted all over, and more visible lyrics as well as practiced words and letters. the lyrics on the right page are: "dreams started bursting at the seams" and "and it's low tide at serotonin bay" and "soapy water no sign of you" "party's over boo fucking hoo." the quotes on the left page are "...so find some alternate spots for your favorite contraband..." and "I will never ask you for anything except to dream sweet of me" and "everything is lit except my serotonin, yeah" (using the same "except") and "I'm not sad anymore..." "make no plans and none can be broken" and "if our love was just a circus, you'd be a clown by now." end ID]

[tryskomys]

Wet Sand

Stone Gossard x OC

Chapter 4 - Watermelon In Easter Hay

Summary: you get me. that’s why.

masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫

notes: chapter foooour! disclaimer: this one is quite tough, so be careful about the tw’s and look out for each other, guys <3 tough times always end and we come out the other way stronger than ever before.

tw: a lot of hurt. mentions of the thing that rhymes with kegs, brief mentions of drug abuse, addiction, brief hint at s*1c1de, description of panic attacks/trauma dissociation. comfort.

i promise that the next one will be so agressively fluffy you’ll drown in it.

songs:

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫

Somehow, time suddenly started to pass quicker than usual, especially in the context of prolonged winter nights.

The number of oat milk lattes pressed was slowly rising into the low hundreds over the next three weeks, the lunch feasts weren’t as flashy as the first time - it was more of a lunch snack split between three people.

But Keeva didn’t mind.

I could get used to this.

The mantra played on a loop in her head when she got up each morning, the entire bike ride to the parking lot, the whole walk from there to the café.

She was so excited about getting used to this that despite her crippling insomnia, she began to arrive to work about half an hour before Jeff, who was a self-proclaimed morning bird.

She just couldn’t wait.

To get there and wipe the tables. To scribble the dailies on the menu blackboard. To hear Jeff’s adorable righteous fury when he started yapping about yesterday’s ball game - in fact, she was looking forward to learning all the details.

Most of all, though, to catch a flash of wild ruddy hair through the window and hear a knock on the door. See Stone shaking a paper bag in the air with a wide smile as she let him in, receiving a delightfully warm croissant and an even warmer hug.

“That, sir, is illegal. Do the higher-ups know that you’re nicking under their noses every day?”

“You said I’m a punk, I gotta protect my reputation.”

Still, the Christmas holidays couldn’t come fast enough. So, right after her last shift of the year, Keeva beelined to the laundromat to pick up her clothes as quickly as she could.

She stuffed the few pieces she had into her backpack and headed straight home. She was already running late to a meet-up with Stone back at Pioneer Square. It was the day of a long awaited holiday night-out.

When she got back to her apartment, she grinned as she rummaged a t-shirt out of the bag. It had a big Nets logo on the front. Jeff brought it to her yesterday, it still had a pleasant soapy scent.

“Don’t worry, it’s fresh from the laundry basket. It’s a bit big but it’ll do. Now that you’re starting to warm up to it, I have to sway you to the right team.”

“Jesus, Ames, you’re tasteless. Always with the propaganda. Let her form her own opinion.”

“You’re just mad that you didn’t get one.”

Keeva was giddy when she caught herself calling the unlikely duo ‘friends’ in her head.

I could get used to this.

She was whistling an Aerosmith song - another consequence of daily hanging out with Jeff - while she cuffed the baggy sleeves of her newly acquired NBA apparel.

Tightening the shoelaces of her combat boots, she softly cursed when she bent down - she felt a stab in her stomach. No lunch today.

It was the beginning of a holiday break, meaning all money goes to cheap beer and 3 AM Doghouse fries to-go.

And the rent was due.

No, asking him for another help-out isn’t an option. Not again. You won’t die if you only eat once a day for a week.

And besides, she was planning to return everyone’s hospitality by buying at least one round tonight.

The two of them had a rendezvous at the Off Ramp with Chris, Jeff and a couple of guys. A cherub-looking jester called Andy, who occasionally washed the dishes at the café, and Stone and Jeff’s sweet gangly bandmate, Bruce.

One thing she’d learned over her multiple visits to the Off Ramp - it was probably the worst excuse for a bar she’d ever seen.

The upside was that the music was impeccable and the alcohol was ID-free.

That was about it.

First of all, it was Stone’s money laundering headquarters. He lured in unassuming patrons to make bizarre bets with him while knowing the payoff like the back of his hand.

His favourite was guessing how many dead cockroaches there were next to the vodka shelf - it was usually between five and eight.

One of the most successful schemes so far was when he got a group of French girls to each bet a shot that Matt from Soundgarden would break a stick within the first song.

He broke two in the first thirty seconds.

Stone won four shots and Keeva mocked him for missing out on an ‘authentic French kiss’ when he turned his cheek as one of the girls went in for a passionate bonus prize.

Plus, only she knew that he’d sneaked backstage before the show to file a weak spot in four of Matt’s flimsy drumsticks - she was the one guarding the back room so no one would walk in on him.

Jeff, meanwhile, was an angel. Carefully watching everyone’s drinks so they wouldn’t get spiked, something that was sadly a common occurrence in the sweaty dim hell hole. Always ready to light anyone’s stick of choice. Rocking out to every song with identical enthusiasm, even if he’d heard it thirty times over.

But even the most joyous of companies couldn’t deny the fact that a certain degree of thick skin was needed to snake through the narrow corridors.

All the vomit stains and broken bottles on the carpeted floors sometimes called for nearly athletic skills.

There seemed to be a different kind of bodily fluid for every inch of the dancefloor. On top of that, it was all lousily enlightened by a disco ball that was threatening to fall apart at any moment.

If you wandered too close to the supposed kitchen, the stench was so pungent it must’ve caused at least one nosebleed over the years in service.

The women’s restrooms were desolate. There was more piss on the floor than in the actual toilet bowls, powder sprinkles of questionable origin were scattered around the sinks and the mirrors were broken, barely functional and always covered in lipstick stains and sweaty handprints.

And the guys that had - for obvious reasons - visited both, swore that the men’s room was far, far worse.

In other bars around Seattle, it wouldn’t be shocking to accidentally stumble upon some couple enjoying their date in a bathroom stall. Here, it was less common.

You were more likely to bump into them right in front of the restrooms, blocking the way in.

To spend a night out at the Ramp was a truly authentic pagan experience.

I could get used to this.

Keeva opted for leaving her bike at home and took in a deep breath of the frosty air as she strolled through the busy streets of Chinatown.

The sun was long gone and a fog settled over the roads, so she clutched her crochet bag closer and tried to warm up by folding her arms.

Andy, who was fronting another domestic band, had an enchanting voice and Bruce was already a solid third cog in a well-synergized string faction of Green River.

So the five of them were planning to jam as soon as possible.

But something always came up. Christmas was around the corner and everybody took more shifts at work to afford the luxuries of holidays.

That was twice as true for musicians - none of them simply had time to focus on music, hence her lack of session gigs. Her excitement was immeasurable, though.

To play with like-minded people, finally able to express herself however she wanted.

Unable to sustain a minute of peace, though, her brain always came up with pointless arguments.

Can I express myself, though? ‘Myself’ is not nearly good enough to keep up with them.

With him.

I wonder how he feels music. Does he hunch? Bop his head? Jump around or just sway?

Are his eyes closed? He seems like someone who would mouth along with his riffs. Nerd.

Can't really imagine how he touches the strings, though. Maybe he does a lot of slides.

Heavy and slow. Teasing.

That sounds like him.

“Look what the cat dragged in. Baby, do you own a watch? I’ve been waiting here for like fifteen minutes,” Stone muttered through chattering teeth when she finally arrived at their meeting spot, startling her out of her thoughts. “I’m pretty sure this is frozen solid, along with my balls.”

Keeva already recognized the paper bag he was clutching.

Her eyebrows knitted in confusion when he waved his wrist in front of her face to show her the time and then gave her a bone-crushing hug.

“God dammit, I forgot to wind it. Sorry,” she mumbled into his chest, a flaming blush prickling her icy ears.

The scent of fresh pastries and cinnamon still lingered on his sweatshirt.

“What’s the ruckus?” she let him go and immediately checked her watch to twist the little winding wheel.

“Huh? Oh, I was running late in the morning so I couldn’t stop by. I grabbed it on my way home at least, don’t wanna lose my stealing streak,” he shrugged as she took the bag from him and they both set off.

“Ah, you’re a saint, Stoney. I’m so hungry I could eat a fucking horse,” she breathed out puffs of fog.

“Ames and I were wondering where you got lost. Thought you had slipped on ice and fallen into a ditch,” she huffed. She struggled to keep up with his brisk tempo and munch on her cold cinnamon roll at the same time. “I had a cake in mind, you know, to bring to the hospital.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmpf. All pink with big chocolate letters on top,” she mumbled through a mouthful of food, waving her hand in the air to mime handwriting. “'Good riddance.'”

He scoffed, reluctantly chomping down when she offered him a bite.

“Slow down or you’ll choke. I don’t wanna spend the night with my hand down your throat,” he chuckled, slightly concerned by the sheer speed of her eating.

“You said you had a first-aid course, no? Time to put your money where your mouth is,” she muttered again and gulped down the last bite.

The Ramp was packed to the brim, but it wasn’t hard to find the colourful cast of friends, even in the dim orange light.

Chris and Bruce towered over the sea of people like long-haired maypoles, passing a joint to Jeff. He was wearing a bright purple hat with an orange bow - an extravagant wizard. And as they got closer, Andy, who was a lot shorter than the three of them, surprisingly stood out even more. Unmistakable with his furry white coat and bright red lipstick.

Stone, in his kaleidoscope vest, was holding her hand so he wouldn’t lose her in the crowd. Her fingers were still cold as ice, but somehow they warmed him down to the marrow of his bones.

Unbeknownst to her, his mind worked in similar patterns to hers.

I could get used to this.

● ● ● ● ● ●

“…they’ve been away for a month, so, obviously, I was salivating for all the details, shivering like a fucking Chihuahua. And then he just stepped out of his ugly station wagon, stinking like rotten eggs and with a bloody scratch on his cheek, like, this big,” Andy colourfully explained, raised his little finger to illustrate and continued.

“Gave me that fucking blank stare of his and asked me if I knew that Crüe dumped Nikki Sixx in a dumpster last week.”

Keeva rolled her eyes and puffed out a laugh. Somehow, her conversation with Andy derailed to the story of Green River’s disasterous DIY tour.

“Jeez…what a sweet talker,” she scoffed, her grin growing wider when Andy’s baby blue eyes popped open as he vehemently nodded.

“And I was like…no?” he raised his knitted eyebrows and shook his head. “And he shrugged and went: ‘Well, Crüe dumped Nikki Sixx in a dumpster last week.’ And didn’t say a word for the rest of the day.”

“Pfft, he just wanted to be mysterious,” Keeva snorted, taking a swig of her beer.

There seemed to be a pattern, though.

Observing him for the past month, she’d noticed that Stone sometimes switched into a completely different person. Especially when getting into specific topics.

Usually hard drugs, relationships and politics.

The sarcasm suddenly became borderline cruel, not playful. And his cool punky attitude felt stoic and alien.

“Had to question Ames afterwards, because Stoney just. wouldn’t. talk. about it. He just does that sometimes. Nomen est omen, I guess,” Andy chuckled, confirming her suspicion.

“Unresolved childhood trauma, maybe?” she shrugged and took a swig of her beer.

I recognize that one from a mile away.

“Nah, the Gossards are the sweetest sweethearts of all the sweethearts ever,” Andy shook his head. His chubby cheeks were flushed from the shots of tequila Stone had been supplying all night.

A bunch of tourists were in the house, which meant a fruitful playground.

“I think he was just born that way.”

“Heartless?” Keeva scoffed, her smile widening when she caught Stone giving her subtle thumbs up from the bar.

The bartender was already pouring another round. Stone grinned when she returned the gesture and then started wiping off a lipstick stain on his cheek with a slightly disgusted expression. Andy smirked.

“Composed,” he shrugged.

“Weeeell, a little detached.”

“…practical,” he added, biting his cheek to contain laughter. Keeva squinted at him and shook her head.

“Yeah, bullshit. I still smell trauma,” she mumbled, gulping down another sip.

A question was playing around her head for some time. And now seemed to be the perfect moment to ask.

Because if Stone was the resourceful little shit of the group, Andy was the all-knowing chatterbox.

“Did that guy ever manage to keep a girlfriend?”

“Yeah, once,” Andy replied, playing around with the squeezed slice of lime in his empty shot glass.

“There we fucking go! The enigma of Stone Gossard solved! Good job, my dear Watson,” Keeva slapped her thighs, raising her bottle to clink Andy’s empty glass. He giggled like a child. Different people had different reactions to her dry English attitude.

Jeff seemed to have an open mind despite clearly not getting it.

Chris usually gave her disarming smiles, probably taking it for a cute younger-sister quirk.

Stone was…well, Stone about it. Never missing a beat to shoot back at her like he had been deprived of an arguing partner for his whole life.

And Andy always rewarded her with the most angelic giggles she’d ever heard.

“…well? Spill the beans!” Keeva nudged him, leaning a bit closer on the bar table. Andy dismissively waved her off.

“Oh, I don’t like to gossip…” he nonchalantly shook his head.

They stared at each other with wide eyes before bursting into wild cackles, getting a few confused looks from people around them.

When Andy was done with his adorable snorts, he cleared his throat.

“Okay, so, way back in…’84 methinks. Her name was Tara, she was from Utah or Alabama or…whatever, who gives a shit. Anyway, very religious family, Mormons I think, you know how they do it down there,” he theatrically shivered with disgust and continued.

“However. Stoney’s brash mouth could seduce a fucking saint. I’ve heard it rumoured that she screamed for Jesus the first time he -“

“Woah, okay, okay, no, thanks. I get it, please spare me,” she scowled and plugged her ears.

She hoped that Andy wouldn’t notice the raging blush that rapidly filled her entire face, but he was very hard to fool.

“I know you wanna hear all of it -” he smirked, “- but very well. Anyway, he was completely smitten. Treated her so right, didn’t give her any of that shithead attitude.”

That sounds terrifying.

“All of a sudden like a lamb. It was terrifying.”

“Bet,” Keeva snorted and bit into the rim of her bottle to tame the growing smirk on her face. “And how was she?”

“Apparently, not bad,” he mused, giggling again when her eyes widened and she threateningly lunged forward.

“Sorry, sorry,” he raised his arm in defence and took a few seconds to compose himself. “Well, once he helped her out of her redneck shell, she was, uh, how do I put it…”

“A cool girl?” Keeva shrugged and took a swig.

“An insufferable bitch,” he deadpanned and the beer flew out of her nose. He gave her some time to wipe her mouth and continued in a slightly sombre tone.

“She cheated a whole lot, probably wanted to try out as much as she could, now that she’d realized that God can’t make her cum,” he explained, making her snort again.

Fucking hell. This clown. I love him.

The way the story was going, though, her enjoyment slowly faded.

“You know that he’s a tease. And sometimes girls mistake his sarcasm for flirting.”

Yeah, tell me about it.

"So she used to make out with people right in front of him just to make him jealous,” Andy scowled and she mirrored his expression.

“Oof. How long did that go on?” Keeva asked, not even sure if she wanted to hear the rest of the story.

Her gaze trailed off to Stone’s grin as he was handing a shot to Bruce a few feet away from them. Now, there was something behind his smile that she hadn’t noticed before.

“About a year and a half or something, on and off,” Andy’s voice snapped her back to the conversation. “Then she broke up with him and went back home. I bet she married her cousin or something.”

Keeva scoffed and shook her head. She wasn’t sure how to comment on it, so she let Andy finish his story, even though she regretted even asking for it.

“He was devastated after all that, barely talked for weeks. I think he secretly used to be a romantic, but she kinda sobered him up from that whole ‘soulmate’ thing. I don’t think he’s dated anyone else since,” he ended with a shrug, mindlessly biting into the lime he fished out of the shot glass.

It seemed like he was trying to lighten the mood, his face twisting into a scrunched grimace.

“A Greek tragedy, really,” she followed his suit, letting out a bleak chuckle.

Andy waved his hand and swallowed a few times to push the sourness down before continuing in a slightly slurry voice.

“No, seriously. It kinda makes me sad. Actually, I think I haven’t seen him kiss a girl since then, you know?”

And you dare to laugh at me, beanpole?

“Yeah, he flirts and sleeps around, but he never kisses anyone on the lips,” Andy added, shrugging. “Maybe it’s some kind of a self-defence mechanism, I don’t know. I have no idea what’s going on behind that huge forehead of his.”

Oh.

“Like, he enjoys the one-night-stand-thrill or whatever but also doesn’t like it when girls touch him. And I mean touch as in this -” he reached out, patted Keeva’s shoulder and then rubbed her back. “-right?”

…yeah. But…

“Cringes at hugs and stuff, but once he’s enough inches away and certain that they're into it, he doesn’t have a problem with straight up telling them he wants to fuck their brains out,” Andy shook his head. “And somehow, it works. Sometimes I wonder if he’s even from the same planet.”

“I mean, that makes two of us, the hugging thing. But he does it whenever we meet anyway, so there’s a scoop for you,” Keeva tried to sound as careless as possible, kicking back the rest of her beer in one swell swoop.

“It’s different with you, you’re like his little Pooky bear,” Andy smirked, lacing his fingers under his chin. She snorted and raised her eyebrows.

“A what?”

“Pooky. You know Garfield, right? The comics?”

When Keeva shook her head with a curious smile, Andy gasped.

“What?! Sarcastic little shit of a cat who hates everyone but his teddy bear Pooky? And Pooky always pretends that he’s just a toy and then suddenly moves and rearranges stuff just to fuck with Garfield’s head?” he babbled, wildly gesturing.

“That sounds deranged. I love it,” she giggled, still unconvinced about the metaphor.

“Oh man, I grew up on that. I still have a stack of ‘em at home, I’ll borrow you some!” he enthusiastically grabbed her hand. “Then you’ll see why you’re Pooky.”

“I’d love that. And I truly admire that you make everything sound like a compliment,” Keeva grinned.

“It is,” Andy shot back, raising his eyebrows with a smirk. She scoffed.

“Pretty sure that just means he doesn’t view me as a potential fuck.”

He squinted and tipped his head to the side like a puppy.

“Yeeeeah, I wouldn’t exactly say that.”

“Just between us,” she interrupted him, “I’d admit that it hurts my ego, but I’m too vain. Guess I’m not his type.”

“Does he have a type? I haven’t noticed, maybe I’ve been around him for too long,” he chuckled, taking another pointless bite of the lime as if he was trying to suck out the last drops of tequila.

“Well, from what I’ve seen, they’re usually tall, sporty and sweet,” she counted on her fingers and then shrugged. “Then again, who’s type isn’t tall, sporty and sweet?”

Andy's toothy grin widened.

“Seems like your type is lanky, malnourished and sardonic.”

No.

“Yeah, no. I don’t - nope. Let’s cut this conversation before it starts, please,” she wiggled her finger at him, eyebrows knitted. His smile got even brighter.

“Why not, Pooky?” he pressed, grabbing her hand again. “You’re the only person I know who clicked with him without wanting to knock his teeth out first. And he’s into it.”

It sounds so easy when you say it.

“Because I don’t want to. And neither does he. I’m certain that we both like it just the way it is, trust me.”

Shit, he doesn’t trust me.

“You think I don’t know that you’re fucking on the side?” he exclaimed so loud Keeva had to bang her forehead against the bar table to hide her face from the people turning their heads.

“Jesus Christ, Andy! You’re disgusting,” she hissed when looked up, scowling.

His smile was omnipresent, though.

If Stone was the Roman statue, Andy was the Harlequin.

“Well, are you?”

“NO!”

“Not yet, you mean,” he raised his eyebrows, trying to contain another brewing giggle.

“Not yet, not tomorrow, not ever. Okay? I’m done with this topic, you clown, let’s move on,” Keeva reached out and softly pushed him.

Andy didn’t seem too keen on moving on, though, as his shoulders shook with a cackle.

“Have you ever stopped to think why he stares at your lips when you’re babbling? ‘Cause I have, Pooky,” he raised his index finger and tapped on her forehead to make the wrinkles between her eyebrows disappear.

All the other guys were on their way back to them, their laughs nearing Keeva’s ears as Andy whispered with a sly grin.

“It’s because you’re not his type.”

● ● ● ● ● ●

“I think I need a shot of bleach,” Keeva’s raspy voice appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

She left the group to get a beer, but before she could push her way back through the crowd, everyone except Stone had already scattered around the bar again.

He was startled when she walked straight up to him and slammed her forehead against his chest.

Unprovoked touching? This is new. I could get used to this.

“What’s up?” Stone chuckled, hoping that the sound of his heartbeat would get drowned in the loud buzz around them.

Keeva just slammed her head into his ribcage again and took a moment to shiver off some sort of disgust.

She raised her hand without a word and stuck a jumbo shot of vodka in his face. Snickering, he reluctantly took it and she finally looked up.

Her fae-like features were twisted in a comical grimace, mixing both amusement and repulsion.

“I just walked past Mike from Alice. Nailing a chick, that blonde exchange student -“

“Shocking! Your first time seeing a cock?” he interrupted with a brash grin, but his expression froze when she finished her sentence.

“- against the kitchen door.”

“Wh-what?! The kitchen?” he stuttered out, slowly breaking into a scowl identical to hers. Keeva vehemently nodded.

“Fuck. That’s rancid,” Stone choked out and fiercely kicked back the vodka. His nose wrinkled in a signature scrunch.

“I was trying to run past it as fast as I could, but I was so perplexed by them that I stopped by and kinda gave him a -“

She took a step back from Stone and demonstrated her best judgemental glare, raising her eyebrows as far as they could go.

“And I shit you not, he stared me dead in the eye for like ten seconds and then just turned around -” she mimed holding someone’s ass in her arms and spun around, “- and continued like I wasn’t there.”

Stone’s cheeks puffed with a laugh and he nonchalantly shook his head, but his ears started to burn red because of her vivid description. And he couldn’t stop his intoxicated mind from wandering.

Get it together, asshole. Not her. She made that very clear.

“I mean, maybe he wanted to give her a proper Ramp experience...” he shrugged, trying to focus on anything else than the glistening sweat on her flushed cheeks.

Keeva scoffed and took a swig of her beer before folding her arms.

“Yeah, but the kitchen?! I mean, you wouldn’t do that. You’re an A-grade slut, but at least you’re a gentleman, too.”

Just let her have the last word. It’s so easy. For once in your life, just shut the fu-

“Depends on the company. You, I’d even take inside the kitchen if I had to.”

But instead of scolding himself, Stone’s mind filled up with confidence as the vodka spilt through his brain cells and his lips curled into a triumphant smirk.

Stop lying to yourself, Gossard. Don’t act like you don’t get off on this shit.

Keeva raised an eyebrow and seemed to genuinely ponder if he was being serious, but she quickly brushed off her momentary lapse of judgement with a sharp scoff.

“Fine, from now on I officially don’t believe anything that comes out of this filthy cakehole,” she shook her head and reached up to poke his mouth.

Surprised by her own audacity, she tapped her finger on the small dimple in the middle of his bottom lip. “Don’t slip on the cum-stained floor when you go wash it out with soap.”

She held it there, basking in the crackling sensation that pulsed from his soft skin through her calloused fingertip.

When Stone took a tiny step back, darting across her face with an unreadable expression, she froze. Her hand hung in the air as his eyebrows twitched into a minuscule frown.

After a moment far too long for her comfort, she jumped when he lunged forward and bit her finger, cursing under her breath.

He was cackling as he ruffled her hair, Keeva slapped his hand away and rubbed on the bite mark on her knuckle.

Even though Stone’s shoulders were shaking with giggles, there was a clear shift in his demeanour. He firmly folded his arms and took another step back, clearing his throat.

He knew she’d noticed.

Yeah, right, big guy. So much for ‘put my money where my mouth is’. Idiot.

“Fuck, great, now I have rabies,” Keeva muttered, studying her finger in the dim light as she gave him a side-eye, trying to hide a smirk.

Stone chuckled and scratched his forehead.

What the fuck is wrong with you, dude? A girl has touched you before. A lot of them did. She’s just another one. Just a girl. Just…

“What’s wrong? Am I foaming at the mouth already?” Keeva gasped, staring him down with a quizzical brow.

Why does she...strange. So, so strange.

All he managed to do was shake his head and try to put on an unbothered grin.

Snap out of it, you dumb fuck.

“Cat got your tongue?” she quipped, scoffing when he didn’t answer.

“Silent treatment, that’s new. And weird. I already miss your yapping,” Keeva shook her head and watched Stone’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He took a breath to speak, swiftly easing back into his smart-ass mode.

“Woah, woah, okay. Spoke too soon. Tell you what, I’ll go powder my nose and in the meantime, you can try to think of something funny to say,” she handed him her beer and patted his warm cheek. “You can do it, pretty boy, I believe in you.”

And with that, she disappeared, the crowd swallowing her small stature like an ocean wave. Stone luckily found an empty spot in the hoard of people next to the wall.

He leaned on it and banged his head against the uneven bricks.

You’re in deep shit, friend.

● ● ● ● ● ●

Five minutes passed. Then ten. After twenty, Stone’s impatient foot tapping caused a cramp to shoot through his calf, so he cursed and kicked the air a few times to shake it off.

Jesus, did she get flushed down the drain?

He wasn’t paying any attention to the shaggy-haired surfer dude in front of him. Stone somehow found himself in a conversation with him - he just appeared out of nowhere and started yapping on and on about how the bars are worse around Sunset Boulevard.

Ever the businessman, Stone took the opportunity to bet a shot that they would see at least a trio of cockroaches throughout the night.

Of course, he knew that even three was an outstandingly small number.

I’ll go check on her.

He excused himself and assured the guy that he would be back to collect his prize. He snaked through the entire bar, looking for her in every dark corner of the place.

He even tried knocking on the women’s room and calling after her, peeking in when a chirping group of girls allowed him to do so ‘if he really is Stoney’.

But she was nowhere to be found. The last place he didn’t check was a small patio behind the back door, usually a spot one went to when they wanted to fuck a stranger.

Nah, she just needed a breather alone. Or with the discount Steven Tyler that’s been eyeing her from the barstool all night.

Fuck, what do I care?

He liked to think that he had the talent to stomach anything with a straight face, but an unfamiliar burn settled in his lungs as he made his way through a narrow corridor leading to the door.

This is a bad idea. Turn around and leave. Go count cockroaches or something.

He passed a couple that was shamelessly slamming against the wall with dull thuds, but it didn’t phase him at all.

He was too busy fighting his hazy brain, trying to coax his limbs to beeline back inside.

But he couldn’t stop himself as he took the shabby door handle and pushed the metal door open with a loud creak.

Maybe he’d take the scene of her pinned against the dirty bricks by someone else than him over whatever he just walked into.

Keeva was lying on the filthy concrete, curled up in a fetal position and shaking. She was holding a fading cigarette between her cramped fingers, hot ash falling on her red knuckles with every sob she let out.

Stone didn’t think twice about dropping down to his knees and hovering above her, little rocks and rubble stabbed his skin through the holes in his jeans.

“Jesus fucking Christ. What - what’s wrong, Baby?” he stuttered as he pulled to sit her up and shuffle to the wall to rest her back against it. She immediately hugged her knees, avoiding his eyes like a plague.

She was hyperventilating, tears streamed out of her puffy eyes and fell on the snot-stained Nets t-shirt.

He crouched in front of her and tried to take the cigarette away so it wouldn’t burn her. But her hand twitched and the cramp intensified, so he put his hands on her knees instead, cautiously caressing her.

“It’s f-fine, let m-me be. I’ll c-come inside i-in a sec,” she hiccuped, shuffling away when he moved to sit down next to her.

He carefully hugged her around the shoulders and pressed her to his chest. She was still shaking with rapid breaths, but her body slowly collapsed closer to him.

Stone felt his limbs tingle with an alien sensation, almost as if he’d never touched a woman before. Like an eerie fever dream.

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

“No, I’m…I’m okay, t-this h-happens sometimes…s-sorry,” she mumbled again, resting her forehead on her knees. His heart dropped.

“Did someone hurt you?” he questioned, trying to lift her chin to see if her face was in one piece.

“No, no, it’s nothing, I just…just l-leave me here, okay? I’ll be right back,” she choked out and let him take a look. After sparing him a brief glance, Keeva shook his hand off and hid behind her hair.

She didn’t have any bruises, only cracked lips from all the salty tears.

“What happened? Who hurt you? Tell me, please,” he pressed, reaching up to stroke her hair.

“No one, I’m n-not hurt…it’s fine. Just go,” she repeated like a broken record, but he noticed that she began to melt into his arms and finally dropped the cigarette butt on the ground.

“I’m not leaving you.”

That brought a new wave of shivers and he desperately clutched her closer to make her warm.

Neither of them was wearing a jacket or a sweater, so he didn’t have much to work with. It still seemed to help, though, as her breathing slowly calmed down.

“What’s up, Baby?” Stone whispered after a long moment of silence, disturbed only by her fading sobs.

“I-it’s just…it’s me, I’m sorry. I’m just a sissy.”

She took a long pause to breathe in and cleared her hoarse throat.

“I, uh…I just saw some girls shooting up in the bathroom, that’s all. They offered me some, too, just as a cherry on top.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Oh. Did…did you -” he carefully started, still whispering. The implication brought a bit of fuel into her exhausted body, so she immediately cut him off.

“Fuck no. Christ, of course not."

Keeva sounded almost offended, so he quickly regretted even thinking about that option.

“I’m sorry. Sorry, I just…it’s not uncommon here…” Stone muttered with a bitter undertone in his voice. She took a big breath again.

“I know, it’s f-fucking everywhere. I don’t know what I was thinking…as if you could run away from drugs,” she lamented under her breath like she was scolding herself. “I guess I p-probably chose the wrong career. It j-just hit me more than it should’ve. Like I said, sissy.”

He wasn’t sure of what to say, so he just stared at the dirty ground in front of them. He realized there were multiple fresh-looking cigarette butts, she must’ve smoked a lot more before he arrived.

Keeva sniffed and wiped her wet nose with the back of her hand.

“It’s, uh…my dad, he…”

She took a moment to inhale a shaky breath.

“He was a smack addict, OD’d this spring. I didn’t know him that well, but, uh…I’ve seen that shit when he crashed at our place, you know…mom and I had this tiny little flat.”

She suddenly sounded clear and lucid, almost detached.

“I ran off as often as I could, slept at whatever place I worked at or in the school gym…I was probably the only kid that enjoyed going to school, ‘cause it meant I wouldn’t have to be at home. They both had a lot of friends over,” she scoffed. “Well, friends - dodgy old men and strung-out buddies with a pocketful of crack.”

She started picking on her cuticles and tore a hangnail, so Stone mindlessly reached out to stop her and started playing with the battered old ring on her middle finger.

“And mom was…she was ill. Real ill. You know, here,” she tapped her temple. “Got some of it from her, I think. Family heirloom.”

A few moments of tense silence and she continued.

“I guess they did love each other, in some ugly twisted way. In the end, she couldn’t bear to live without him,” Keeva mumbled the last part like she was talking to herself.

“So, uh…I kinda found myself alone in a dirty hole in the middle of East End with about fifty quid to my name…mom left me that,” she scoffed again, this time even sharper. “No note or anything, just that one fucking piece of worthless green paper.”

She sighed and watched his bony fingers slowly wiggle the ring left and right, slightly concerned that he didn’t speak yet.

Or move, for that matter.

“Dad’s cousin, Toby, moved here a long time ago. The only family I knew, so when it all happened, he tracked me down and said he’d take care of me. Got me a one-way plane ticket. A guitar case and these stupid dungarees,” she swabbed her nose again and wiped it on her pants to make a point. “That’s all I had on me.”

“What about him?” Stone suddenly asked, his voice eerily monotone.

“He recently moved to Aberdeen, but he still helps me with rent, even when I don’t ask. I try not to, obviously…I gotta look for something cheaper, ‘cause he’s already done enough, you know?“ Keeva waved her hand to try and loosen her shaking fingers. “Too much.”

She took a deep breath and fiercely shook her head.

“Fuck, sorry. I didn’t mean to just…shit, that was like an infodump from a bad movie,” she added and cleared her throat.

“Take it as a roundabout way of saying ‘run while you still can’,” she chuckled and tried to shuffle away, but Stone squeezed her closer.

A warm tear tickled her pale wrist, but it wasn’t one of her own. His breathing didn’t change, neither did his heartbeat or his stance.

Only the dull sound of teardrops falling on her skin as they dropped from the tip of his nose.

A Roman statue, weeping.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

His voice didn’t indicate any sort of emotion, but it soothed her in a way she’d never felt before. She raised her eyebrows.

“Like, ever?” she huffed, trying to loosen the mood, but he stayed still.

“If that’s what you want,” he said and patiently waited for her reaction. When she didn’t give him one, he cleared his throat and finally moved to rest his head on top of hers.

“Didn’t know you smoked.”

She scoffed.

“Only when I’m really riled up. News flash, it’s a nasty habit with zero benefits. Makes me even more poor, stinky and unhealthy.”

“A woman after my own heart," Stone nudged her shoulder, savouring the sound of her silent chuckle. "Just realized…I never asked you where you live.”

“At the corner of South Main and 17th Ave, next to Chinatown. A hovel, but there’s a bed and a bathroom and only I have the key. So I can’t complain,” she shrugged and continued. There wasn’t a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

“Still costs an arm and a leg, though, so it’s only temporary. Too small to get a roommate. I mean, I prefer solitude anyway, but you can’t always get what you want.”

“You could live with me, you know. I mean, if you want. At my place,” Stone said after a long minute of silence, still fiddling with her ring. "Be alone together."

A breath hitched in Keeva’s throat and she furiously shook her head.

“No. No, no, thanks…thanks so much, Stoney, but no. That’s - that’s too much to ask for,” she began stuttering again.

Stone moved to look at her, but she was firmly fixated on the trashcan on the other side of the patio.

“You didn’t even ask for that,” he shot back, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah, but you’re already more hospitable than I deserve,” she replied and shook her head again. “And I doubt your parents would be chuffed about a sudden stray raccoon occupying their house.”

He briskly sat up straight and pushed away from the wall to face her.

"No, I’m serious. There’s a little brick shed behind the house, that’s where I live. I re-made it into a proper living space, isolated the walls and put electricity there. A bathroom with a tiny shower, a kitchen corner and a small electric cooker. Got my own door, my own key, it’s detached from the house,” he spewed out, suddenly more animated than she’d ever seen him.

“I pay my parents some rent, but once we split it, we'll have more money for music. Or you can pay a smaller half and cook dinner from time to time to make up for the rest.”

Stone didn’t even let her take a breath.

“There’s an attic above the room, like a little loft. I already put a permanent ladder there, but it just collects dust ‘cause I don’t have enough stuff to fill it up,” he continued and finally let go of her fingers, waving his hands around as if he were using an invisible broom. “We can clean it up and put up a bed for you, or I can move up there and you can sleep downstairs, whatever you like better.”

Keeva stopped him, more firmly than before.

“Stoney, I can’t accept that.”

“Why not? Like I said, if you want, there’s an unused space and I was looking for someone to take in anyway, to split the rent. It’s a little neighbourhood in Capitol Hill, ten-minute bike ride from Pioneer. Volunteer Park right under your nose,” he continued, like a dedicated salesman.

“I know all the nooks and crannies, there’s tons of cool bars and cheap food spots. When the mountain’s out, you can see the Needle.”

He paused and when she didn’t immediately shoot him down, he started pushing again.

“If you insist on paying rent,” he shrugged and she finally looked up at him, slightly frowning. Red eyes and a patchy blush, smudged eyeliner and parched lips.

And yet, she was the most breathtaking human he’d ever seen.

“…and I wouldn’t dare to try and stop you, we’ll split, fair share. More dough for guitar strings and beer for both.”

“It’s just…I’m not…” she stuttered but Stone didn’t let her finish.

“If you’re concerned about the size, it’s about 175 square feet, I can shrink my stuff as much as you need -“

“No, it’s not that, that’s bigger than my flat. I just…”

“I rarely bring girls there. And if I happened to do that, by any chance, I’d tell you before -"

“You’re too good to me.”

Silence fell between them once again. This time, though, it was different. His strange gaze swallowed Keeva whole as if she was seeing him for the first time again.

Stone darted across her face and stopped at a fresh tear forming in the corner of her eye. He reached up and wiped it away with his thumb, touch as light as a feather.

“It’s about time someone is.”

“Stoney, I want to be alone,” she barely whispered, studying his firm expression.

“So do I.”

She finally ran out of pointless arguments and, after a moment, slowly nodded in agreement. He mirrored her nod, peridot twinkling under the milky moonlit sky.

How could I say no to them?

“I’ll pick you up at your place tomorrow morning, show you around and you can decide if you like the look of it, okay?”

“Why?” she let the all-encompassing question hang in the air.

He sighed and rested his head on top of hers again.

“You get me. That’s why.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫

[soapoet]

PJO pick-a-card reading

Luke Castellan; A message from above

Soapy scribbles: I opted to format this topic as generally as possible since we all hold various different beliefs. Whether this message comes from your spirit guides, angels, higher self, God, any deity, ancestor or passed loved ones, or anything beyond my comprehension, is for you alone to know based on how it resonates with you. I am just the messenger and it is no business of mine who your particular sender is.

01.

Shufflemancy: Travelling by James Spiteri

You're coming out of a period of stagnation. Either delays entirely out of your control, or the sheer lack of motivation has kept you at a stalemate unable to proceed with your plans. You have found comfort in distractions aplenty. A seemingly never-ending cycle of avoiding the next step because it appears so very daunting, then being overcome with guilt and shame, which you again run from, chasing anything and everything which would put these feelings at bay. Now the first step looks less frightening, and you may feel more motivated to journey onwards.

Growing pains may feature, but you are able to handle them well. You may feel inclined to keep secrets, especially regarding your endeavours. This will prove beneficial as it reduces pressure, you now have nobody to hold yourself accountable but you, and you avoid the urge to run away should anybody dare inquire about your progress. Push yourself forward, as unnerving as it may be. You will quickly notice how light you are on your feet and the distance you can go when harnessing the dopamine from simply overcoming this fear.

Do not be too hard on yourself or expect to run a marathon. A little progress is better than none, but do not use busy work as yet another distraction. You have great gifts and plenty to share with the world, and you are destined to inspire others with your achievements and your accolades. As much as you detest routine, try to keep even a small one. Do a little bit every day to inch yourself closer to your dreams. To avoid feelings of uncertainty and your fears of failure, set aside time to sit with yourself in silence and ask yourself why you want this, where it will lead, and why that is where you want to be and what you hope to achieve, the life you wish to lead and what legacy you wish you leave. Remind yourself of the answers to these questions whenever motivation begins to evade you on your journey.

Sometimes a writer can only muster a sentence, perhaps one they will later entirely eliminate, yet they did something. And sometimes all this writer can do is stare at the manuscript before them and give of themselves nothing. Yet they did something. They got up to look at it rather than wince across the room and refuse to rise to the occasion at all. Celebrate even your smallest victories and allow yourself a cheer when you muster even the slightest effort. Do not expect perfection of yourself and know that many before you had to go through trial and error, and learn and adapt along the way. That is perfectly okay and you do not need a doctorate straight out of the womb to be good enough.

02.

Shufflemancy: Kiss the rain by Yiruma

You must cease this pattern of giving up your energy so easily to so many who are not deserving of your time. When bad news arrive, it is fine to feel whichever way you feel, but anchoring your emotions to this negativity will suck you dry of the life force that you need to shine. You are allowed to have boundaries and you are encouraged to enforce them and guard them closely. Those who would trespass should know punishment swiftly. Do not tolerate things you do not tolerate truly. Do not quietly hope unfortunate things go away and that people notice your discomfort and stop what they're doing that is harming you.

Stand up for yourself and make your thoughts and feelings heard. It is also not your duty or responsibility to translate a simple no or a stop to people wilfully ignorant and always finding a justification for their words and actions. No is a full sentence. Anybody who fails to internalize this fact and look in the mirror to reflect and to change any behaviour that's lead them to ignore this simple command is not a headache to take as yours. You should be unapologetic in your selfcare and demand space when you need it. Set aside your fears and shoo away any prowling feelings of shame and guilt. If you would be happier alone than in bad company, seek solitude and cut off what no longer serves you.

There are lessons some learn only upon a collapse. You may pray for a change of heart and hope for the sun to shine again, but you do not need to weather storms that are not yours to experience. You're not a bad person for stepping back and saying enough is enough in a situation that only causes you distress. Those who need help must want it and ask for it. You can promise to be there when they're ready and aid in their recovery, and still express to them the grief that they have caused you. Sometimes people need to be faced with the harsh truth. The pain and the agony and sleepless nights which they have brought upon you and others and be shown they could truly lose it all lest they stop and strive to do and be better.

If somebody truly needs help and you do not have the heart to abandon them, seek assistance. You need not be alone in a quest which requires more than you alone have to give. There are many sources of help and even more solutions once more hands are there to help, and you only have two and are allowed to seek extra pairs to aid you in this task. You are commended for your resilience and your kind heart. It may break and bleed often, and you must know that things will get better. These rough waters will calm soon enough and you will find peace.

03.

Shufflemancy: Ballerina by Yehezkel Raz

You don't need to run so fast. You have all the time in the world to make the changes that you want and need. Slow down and allow yourself to breathe. You have been much too hard on yourself and allowed everything outside of you to weigh you down. Shelf some burdens that were never yours to carry and make the choice to serve yourself for a change. Be gentle with yourself and listen to your own body and soul, and act according to that which is truly in your best interest. You are your own worst enemy when you let the beasts feed upon your negative self talk and your fixations on perceived failures.

Know that you have no more need for tips and tricks and new methods to your madness. You already have everything that you need, and no tool beyond your own consciousness is required. You could paint cathedral ceilings with just your imagination, so cease your struggle and let yourself be carried by the stream. Do not waver in your convictions, and do not let doubt lead you astray. Stick to what you know in your heart to be true and cast away every inkling of worry and fear.

You need to learn to let life happen to you rather than holding the reins so tightly you vitiate the opportunity to experience the present moment altogether. The present is all we really have, so try your best to cling neither to the past or the future. We all have regrets behind us, and wishes for the future, but it is the present moment which we truly have control over and get to experience.

Let go of any unhealthy dependencies you may have allowed to take root in your garden. Whether this is a person, a habit, or a situation, if it isn't doing you any good in the long-term, do your best to weed it out so that more energy may be received by the things you do wish to grow and nurture. If you feel unqualified to tackle some of this gardening, do not hesitate to ask for help and guidance from gentle people who will understand how delicate some situations may be. You do not need to tolerate fear mongering or unnecessary pressure, time constraints or misplaced ultimatums. Be direct with what you need and the tone and feel you wish to engage in so that you do not end up feeling cornered and threatened so much that you refuse any help at all in favour of protecting yourself from harsh criticism and judgement.

[sloppypears-ash-sg]

My fifteenth birthday (oh my!)

Guest Star and his friends are having a party!

Characters (from top left): Neon Flower, Flasky, Mirror, Blue Paddle, Coney, Pan, Cayenne Pepper, Urn, Soapy, Bilamp, Punching Bag, Guest Star, Salt Water and Fresh Water!

Feel free to make me a gift (if you'd like)!

No NSFW, please.

Last year's drawing (faces of some characters: my ex-friends and Mint Soap - scribbled out because of controversy):

[bloodyskullz]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO…

WELL ME!!

Today was the day (August 23rd 2009) at 2 PM I came to see the world for the very first time 15 years ago, but nobody knew I myself Lariza was going to become an artist to this day but here we are now. cant even believe I’m now 15 due to time flying extremely fast now, I still remember the tiny details of myself being a baby playing in the tub full of warm soapy water and with rubber ducks in it, becoming very messy covered with baby food while with my favorite bib, discovering nature for the first time and running around happy touching everything I found curious, everything amazed me wen I was very very young, the main reason why I started art at the age of 4-5 is all because of My Little Pony: Friendship is magic. my very first drawing was called “A rainbow tornado” it was just a silly drawing that I grabbed all of the crayons in preschool then scribbled all over on the white sheet of paper. And wen the pandemic hit in 2020 and I started making art on my very first art account at age 11, Until wen I became 12 everything gone downhill with the bullying due to just being different than anyone who was my age but thankfully gotten help and gotten back on track. but look at me now, I improved in art, I changed, I gotten more grown up, and I’m doing better mentally, everything changed and I’m glad to say thank you so much for the long support all of you including the ones who started following me in pixilart back in 2020, it matters to me so much

Thank you everyone 🖤