fr34k0n4l345h

[fr34k0n4l345h]

Easy Come, Easy Go

A Marble Hornets 1920’s au fic

Previous

͙✧˖*°࿐

Chapter 5 — We’ll Meet Again

Smoke filled his lungs. He held it until it burned. Then, he exhaled, walking through the small cloud of smoke as he traversed down the sidewalk. The bustle of city life wasn’t something that Tim was accustomed to. He preferred the serenity of the ranch he’d grown up on. He didn’t need other people to keep himself afloat. The hoards of cows he looked over was enough company for him. It was how he preferred to exist. Away from people. Away from potential danger. Away from the past. The farmer did everything in his power to avoid making the trip. Lately, it was becoming part of his weekly routine. Not because he wanted it to be, but because he had no other choice.

He was getting better. As a child, he was troubled. No doctors could decipher what was wrong with him. Even the local church had turned him away. With no money for higher levels of help, nobody could cite the origins of his night terrors, nor his episodes of sleepwalking. His symptoms haunted him. It affected his every waking moment, making living life a chore. Things are different now, though. Time progressed, just as it always did. No longer did he have alarming gaps in his memory spanning days— sometimes weeks. No longer was he constantly looking over his shoulder. No longer did he have a little voice in the back of his head, dictating his every choice and action. All that remained was a little cough that came and went. The little evidence of anything even occurring made the past feel like one long bad dream. A bad dream that he’d since woken up from. Things weren’t always perfect— especially with the slowly deteriorating health of his sick mother. But things were calm. Almost normal.

Tim couldn’t help but feel weary. It felt too good to be true.

The farmer was forced out of his sea of pondering by a tall force. In his surprise, he stumbled back, his hand automatically releasing his lit cigarette and causing it to tumble to the pavement along with a barrage of papers. His initial reaction was annoyance. A defense mechanism that he was used to using to keep people away from him. It was his way of protecting what little peace he had in life. But when his gaze landed on the (frankly pathetic) sight of the man crumpled over on the ground, he couldn’t find the will in himself to stay upset. Tim was a symp[athetic man at heart. It was his biggest curse. He felt his expression soften with concern for the stranger.

”Shoot— you alright there?” He leaned over to begin picking up the fallen items from the sidewalk. Newspapers. The man he’d bumped into was a paperboy.

“Tim?” The stranger said. Tim froze, the gears in his head turning to fully process what the man had just said.

“Sorry, what was that?” He looked up from the small stack of papers that he’d gathered to meet the other’s gaze. Their eyes met. Tim could practically sense the pure exhaustion radiating off of them. It was a type of exhaustion he was familiar with. It was only then that he got a proper look at the boy. His skin was pale. His light brown hair was skew, likely ruffled by the wind. His clothes were wrinkled and tattered. In his soul, Tim could recognize those downturned eyes and crooked lips. Yet, his face remained neutral. He didn’t want to acknowledge it. The past was the past.

”Nothing. I apologize.” The latter suddenly sputtered out, seeming deflated by his apparent question dodging. He watched as he began to get to his feet, prompting Tim to mirror his actions. As soon as they’d both gathered their bearings, he passed over the stack of news articles.

”No worries.” He finally managed to reply, ensuring that his tone wasn’t too harsh. The guy looked like he was having a hard enough day as it was— there was no need for him to humiuliate him further. He stood there for a few beats, observing the paperboy as he stuffed the items back into his satchel. He seemed frazzled, for lack of a better term. He wasn’t normally one to pry into other people’s business, but that nagging feeling of recognition was creating an itch he just couldnt resist stratching. He swore he’d seen this guy before. But where? When?

”Hey, are you alright?” He broke the silence. “You, uh.. look like you’re in a hurry.” Tim mentally face-palmed. Of course he was in a hurry, he was doing his job!

“Yeah, uh.. started my route a little late. The boss wants me done by noon. You know how it is.” The man would reply with an awkward, forced chortle. Frankly, Tim did not know how it was— farm life was all he knew. He was his own boss now. He worked with the sky and the weather. But there was no way he’d tell a stranger that, so he took the easy way out.

”Sure do.” To make himself busy, Tim reached into one of the various pockets of his muddied overalls and slid a disposable box out. He tapped out a second white stick, almost identical to the one that was fizzling out on the pavement, then clamped it between his thin lips. He traded the container for a more compact tin square. With the device, he’d set the end of the paper stick alight and take a drag. Whilst his hands danced this perfectly choreographed dance, he could feel the stranger’s curious eyes boring into him. It was admittedly strange, but.. how could he blame a tired working citizen for zoning out on him? He had too much empathy for this man. Luckily for him, he actually had somewhere to be, giving him a guilt-free exit from this atypical interaction. He slid the lighter back into his pocket.

”If you’ll excuse me sir, I’m late to my appointment—“ Just as he lifted his foot to walk by the paperboy, his path was blocked.

”Wait!” The singular word hung in the air for a few tense moments. Tim made no further attempt to proceed on his path. He pinched the freshly lit cigarette between his fingers and took it out of his mouth. Chocolate brown orbs bore into blue. He gave the paperboy the stage.

”Are.. are you Tim?

Immediately, Tim wished he hadn’t. HIs thoughts fell into radio silence. He knew this boy was familiar. A figment of his repressed past. An individual who’d been forgotten; erased entirely from his mind. Likely for a good reason. A crease formed between his eyebrows.

“How do you know my name?” He took a step closer, shrinking the gap between them. Sizing the taller up as if he could possibly be of any real threat. Tim could see the panic flooding behind those tired eyes of his, but he couldn’t stop himself. He needed to get to the bottom of this.

”I— uh, we met in Winston back in 09 or 08. I thought you were familiar. DO you remember Kralie? ..Alex Kralie?” A whisper of hope graced the stranger’s expression. Tim felt his blood run cold. That name was unmistakable. He needed to find a way out of this conversation— now.

”Who are you?” He questioned, almost accusingly after a long pause.

“Jay. Jay Merrick.” The other was quick to respond. He scanned Jay’s scrawny form in one long sweep. Hazy memories surfaced at the back of his mind. He was at a complete loss for words.

”You must be mistaking me for someone else.” He glanced down at the pavement below his muddied boots. “Sorry. Good day to you, sir.” He muttered the words as he pushed past the man blocking his path. He grabbed the handle of the door to his destination and let himself in.

The moment he stepped into the doctor’s office, he felt the air around him shift. Tim didn’t feel the relief he was expecting from his escape. He didn't feel anything at all— at least, not at first. The artificial chill of the air conditioning brushed over his sun warmed skin, but it did little to chase away the ghostly tremor curling its way down his spine. He placed the cigarette back between his lips and took a drag. His boots clunked gently on the sterile linoleum floor. He paused by the receptionist’s desk, offered a polite nod, and murmured something about his appointment, but his mind was already drifting elsewhere.

Jay.

That name shouldn’t have meant anything. He was just another city boy. A nobody in the sea of humanity. But the moment the kid said it, something clicked. Not quite a memory— no, more like muscle memory. A name spoken that carried the weight of something long buried. A tension wound tight in his chest, pulling with invisible thread towards a time that he had no business remembering.

He took a seat in the corner of the waiting room, well away from an elderly lady flipping through the pages of an outdated newspaper. He removed his cigarette from between his lips and tapped the excess ash out into a nearby ashtray. His foot bounced. He was restless.

He hadn’t heard the name Kralie in years.

Tim had done a damn good job keeping things compartmentalized. That summer— Winston, 1909– he’d locked away in a mental cage, shoved into a dusty attic, and thrown away the key. It wasn’t real. Not anymore. That wasn’t his world anymore.

But Jay’s face had thrown it all off balance. He took another deep inhale from the ignited nicotine stick, ignoring how hias fingers trembled around the item.

Jay Merrick. He’d said it like it should have meant something to him. And maybe, just maybe, it did. That scrawny kid, the one who wore knickers like a uniform and followed Alex around like a lost duckling. Tim closed his eyes and envisioned a firefly-liy cornfield. A busted wooden fence. Alex laughing too hard and something Jay had said.

No.

He shook the image from his head and opened his eyes. That wasn't him anymore. That boy, if he ever existed, was dead and buried, along with the naive version of Tim who’d believed summers lasted forever and friendships meant something. He took yet another long drag of tobacco, letting the thick smoke fill his lungs. The organs ached. He coughed.

He’d almost let something slip. When Jay said Alex Kralie, his stomach twisted with something truly ugly. Guilt? Fear? Nostalgia? The worst part was, Jay hadn’t been mistaken. Not at all. Because Tim did remember.

He remembered the way Alex had changed that summer. How strange things had gotten. Unresolved tension between Jay and Alex. The woods whispering at night. The final day when Alex had disappeared without so much as a goodbye— and when he returned, something had followed him. Something wrong. Something unexplainable. Something oh so familiar.

Tim had been told to forget. No— he was forced to forget. And he had. Until now.

”Damn it,” He mumbled under his breath, flicking the butt of his finished cigarette into the convenient ashtray. He glanced down at his thick hands; the tremor that wouldn’t leave his fingers. His body didn’t feel like his own.

He couldn’t stay in the city much longer. He needed to get back to the farm. Back to the safe isolation of dirt roads and empty fields and no one saying names he hadn’t heard in years. But then again.. Jay remembered. Jay was here. And if Jay was here, then maybe Alex was, too.

On the other hand.. maybe that meant that something else was lurking the city streets alongside them both.

Tim clutched a brown paper bag containing miscellaneous pills as he treated back down the path in which he’d come from. He looked down the seemingly endless city street that stretched down before him. He looked back at where he’d left Jay standing, clutching his satchel with sunken shoulders. A tiny figure swallowed by the city crowd.

Maybe he should’ve said something. Instead, he clenched his jaw and ran. Like a coward.

He kept his eyes forward. Head down. Memories locked away.

But something was already stirring.

[fr34k0n4l345h]

Okay guys, now give THIS attention. Bcs I said so.

Sigh, I really, REALLY.. love college Brim. They're so dear to me. So so so dear to me.

Close up wow..

alt. ver yay!

[fr34k0n4l345h]

who up “jacking” it and “shrinking they troy” watching the hornetversary stream

[fr34k0n4l345h]

chapter four is out after months of hiatus

it’s a short but sweet one! if u like angst and psychological horror and toxic yaoi CHECK IT OUTTT 😝😝😝

[fr34k0n4l345h]

Easy Come, Easy Go

A Marble Hornets 1920’s au fic

Previous

Next

͙✧˖*°࿐

Chapter Four — The Fool

Jay stood perched behind the polished wooden countertop. He tapped his scrawny fingers rhythmically on its smooth surface, his tired eyes boring into the reflection in the tinted shellac. The clatter of glasses and the chitter of boisterous voices filled the air. Everything was normal. A glass slid into his lowered line of vision. In the reflection of the glass, he could make out the rough outline of his warped figure; Distorted and unfamiliar.

The world around him fell into silence. It was as if a wool blanket had been draped over him, creating a formada of dread. He blinked the haze out of his eyes to examine the figure in the glass. It was him; it had to be.

And yet, the reflection that stared back at him was smooth and featureless.

Jay jumped back from the bar, a startled gasp slipping past his chapped lips. As he lifted his gaze, he noticed that his surroundings had shifted. No longer did a sea of people, ebbing and flowing throughout the interior of the speakeasy, fill the air with ambient white noise. No longer did the sound of passionate brass instruments create a melody he could sink his mind into. The furniture was left untouched and undisturbed. Dust coated the basement’s interior. It was like nobody had been there at all.

All except for one.

Seated at an abandoned table was a singular silhouette. He was facing Jay with his typical optimistic smile. Only this time, it didn’t quite reach his eyes. The bartender, amidst his surprise, struggled to find words.

”Uh.. excuse me sir, we’re clo—“

”Your mother used to hum in her sleep.” Brian interjected from across the establishment, his expression unwavering. Stunned, Jay blinked.

”What?”

The customer didn’t miss a beat.

”You and your mother were a lot more similar than you might think.” Brian continued. The room seemed to shrink, the walls enclosing around them and the distance that separates them becoming shorter. “She always got that nervous tick in her right eye whenever something was bothering her. You did, too.” Rather than the warmth his voice normally carried, an eerily monotonous voice bounced off the walls of the shrinking space.

Jay felt frozen. Like a deer in headlights, unable to escape the unavoidable rapidly approaching him. A deep, animalistic sense of dread flooded his bone, leaving his joints petrified. All moisture abandoned his mouth, rendering him unable to speak. Brian was a mere stranger. Nobody in this town knew him on such a personal level. He didn’t even give out his real name. So how..?

”I know more than you think, Jay. I know what’s buried.” As if Brian could read his thoughts, the terrifying revelation hit. Butane light fixtures fizzled out, encasing the pair in a thick darkness. All of Jay’s senses were stripped away, leaving him feeling weightless.

Falling..

Falling..

—

Jay thrashed around viciously in an attempt to stop the Earth’s center from sucking him in. Thin fabric few off of his body, allowing crisp air to attack his dewy skin. With a yelp, he felt his body plummeting a second time— only this time, it was a much shorter distance.

His slender frame collided with the rickety wooden floor. His heart thundered out of his ribcage. A warm, orange light grazed his eyelids, prompting them to open

He took in the view of his mostly barren room from an unfamiliar, horizontal angle. With his lungs still heaving, he took the moment of reprieve to ground his senses. The wood was cool beneath his hot, sticky skin. Even the air of his little flat, which was usually humid and thick in the Alabamian heat, was a pleasant break from the internal fire emitting from under his skin.

It was just a nightmare. Jay was on the verge of kissing the ground beneath him and thanking whatever God that was above him for sparing him from such a horrifying scene. He felt his body relax and his eyelids slide back over his eyes.

None of it was real. He was safe. He let out a sigh of relief.

Tick.. Tock.. Tick.

The peace didn’t last long.

Images of the events that had taken place the night before flooded through his mind. It felt unreal— like that, too, had just been an unnerving nightmare. But, as Jay recalled the pungent metallic scent that clung to Alex’s clothes, he knew it could be anything but.

A particular frame burned into his memory reminded itself of his presence. Low buzzing in the base of his skull accompanied the image of two impossibly long legs extending upwards, connecting to an equally as inhuman torso. Bones that didn’t look right protruded from the figure's skin.. or rather, its suit. As he tried to recall the face of the entity, the buzzing intensified, sending shooting pains through his cranium that caused the paperboy to wince and grasp his skull.

As fast as the pain occurred, it dissipated with the memory. Surely, it was the trick of the eye. It was awfully dark— and Birmingham was known for its haunting nooks and crannies. Besides, Jay had other things to worry about. Such as putting food on the table.

With resignation, he pushed himself up from where his tired body had landed on the floor. Once standing on his unsteady feet, he dragged a hand down his face in a feeble attempt to rid himself of the residual fatigue from a poor night's sleep. It, of course, did not work. Instead, it clung to his under eyes like a sack of rocks weighing his eyelids. It was a sensation that he’d grown to become used to.

Jay padded across the room and exited the small bedroom. Down the narrow hallway of his cheap apartment was the singular bathroom. There was hardly enough space for a lanky guy like himself to stand at his full length, but he made due with what he had— despite the back aches that came with it. He peered into his reflection in the cracked and rusted mirror that hung just above the sink. Cool purple and red hues cradled his eye sockets, bringing attention to the subtle twitch of his right eye. The detail was so quick, so minut. He’d never noticed it before. Such a detail would take hours of staring to pick up on.

“She always got that nervous tick in her right eye whenever something was bothering her. You did, too.”

Unnerved by the flashback, he switched on the faussett and cupped his hands beneath the thin stream of water. As he leaned down to splash his face with the cold, revitalizing liquid, a voice forced its way into his mind.

“I know more than you think, Jay. I know what’s buried.”

Jay switched off the water and peered back at his reflection. His imperfect skin dripped with little droplets of water. Some of it trickled down his neck. He made no effort to stop it. He stared at himself. He was waiting for.. something. Anything to rationalize the paranoia seeping into his bones. To give him a reason to be afraid. A sign of sorts that let him know that nothing happening around him was a coincidence. That it all had meaning.

But nothing came.

Perhaps the answer he was in search of wasn’t so obvious.

He left the bathroom and retreated back to his claustrophobic bedroom. Beside his twin-sized mattress was a quaint nightstand. He slid open the drawer compartment. A leather-bound notebook stared back at him. Beckoning him. He retrieved it from where it had sat collecting dust since the day he had purchased it with his hard-earned money. He slid his fingertips over the smooth, leather surface. He cracked it open to the first page, where hastily written personal details about himself had been scribbled down. Literally. He flipped the page. A fresh, clean slate.

A pencil sat between the pages, awaiting usage. Still sharp. He seated himself at the edge of his mattress and laid the journal down on his lap. He picked up the pencil, allowing his hand to adjust to the foreign sensation. He stared at the blank page. It stared back.

“Entry #1”

[fr34k0n4l345h]

Marble Hornets but The Operator instead of being tall he is the height of a gnome and everyone tries to step on him

.

[fr34k0n4l345h]

chapter 4 of easy come, easy go is finished

chapter 5 is in the works

who cheered

[fr34k0n4l345h]

alex Kralie after killing all of his friends and everyone hes ever known, probably

[fr34k0n4l345h]

Only the moon saw us.

Pairing— Brian Thomas x Tim Wright (Marble Hornets)

CWs— None

I. Static Between Stations

Tim was always smoke first, answers later. He leaned against the busted soda machine outside the old 76 off Route Nowhere, hoodie sleeves pulled down to his knuckles, a Marlboro ghosting between his fingers like it was part of him. The red glow of the neon “OPEN” sign flickered like a dying heartbeat. Brian watched it flash over Tim’s cheekbones — ON / OFF / ON / OFF — until it looked like the kind of cinema you’d watch with the volume turned all the way down.

They’d been driving for hours. No destination, just a shared urge to leave. Brian didn’t ask what Tim was running from. He already knew.

The gas station bathroom smelled like bleach and despair. A cockroach scuttled under the sink and Brian caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror — cracked, distorted, a hundred pieces that didn’t fit anymore. He splashed cold water on his face, like that would wash off everything: the Operator, the tapes, the lies. But all it did was wake up the ache in his chest.

Outside, Tim flicked ash into the wind. He looked like a Polaroid — overexposed, fading at the edges. A boy caught halfway between still here and long gone.

“You ever think about just… not going back?” Tim asked, not looking at him.

Brian lit a cigarette and leaned beside him, hip brushing his. “Back to what?”

That earned him a smile. A real one. Tim had the kind of smile that made you feel like you just found something valuable in a junkyard. Rusted, yes. But still worth saving.

II. Ghost Radio

They spent the night in a drained-out pool behind the abandoned bowling alley. Their breath fogged in the cold, but neither of them cared. They passed a flask back and forth like a secret and listened to the radio that didn’t work — just static and the occasional warbled whisper of a country song caught in the air like a memory too stubborn to die.

Tim laid flat on his back, staring at the stars like he was daring them to look away first.

“Do you think we’re haunted?” he asked.

Brian let the question hang. Swallowed it like battery acid.

“We’re not haunted,” he said eventually. “We are the ghosts.”

Tim laughed like it hurt. “That’s so fucking emo.”

Brian turned to him. “We are fucking emo. Look at us. We’re the last track on a My Chemical Romance album.”

Tim rolled onto his side, face close now, eyes catching the moonlight like he’d stolen it. “You ever wish it had all gone different?”

Brian didn’t answer. Instead, he pressed a kiss to the corner of Tim’s mouth — soft, like apology; slow, like a dare.

III. American Decay

By morning, the Converse soles of their shoes were black with road grime and regret. They stole diner coffee from a place with a “closed forever” sign and ate melted Twinkies on the hood of a rusted-out Camaro buried halfway in kudzu.

Tim took photos on a disposable camera, saying they were making a scrapbook for the end of the world. He took one of Brian lighting a cigarette with shaky hands. Another of their shadows holding hands.

“I don’t want to forget,” he said.

“You won’t,” Brian replied. “Things this fucked up tend to stick.”

They spray-painted their names on the side of the gas station in letters that dripped like blood. BRIAN + TIM = NEVER AGAIN / NEVER ENOUGH.

Brian looked at it for a long time, wondering which one of them would be the first to disappear.

IV. Moonlight Doesn’t Lie

It ended — or maybe began — in the parking lot of an old drive-in where the screen had been torn down years ago. Nothing left but broken speakers and that kind of silence that sounds like someone watching you from behind.

Tim lit two cigarettes, passed one to Brian without a word. They smoked like lifelines.

The wind picked up. Dust devils danced across the cracked concrete. Somewhere, a cassette tape rewound itself in a forgotten car stereo. Maybe it was theirs. Maybe it wasn’t.

“I think I love you,” Tim said, like it wasn’t the most dangerous thing in the world.

Brian didn’t say it back. He just kissed him again, rough this time — like graffiti, like fury, like clawing their way out of every ruined place they’d ever been.

Only the moon saw them. And the moon doesn’t lie.

[fr34k0n4l345h]

How cruel it is.

Characters— Tim Wright, Alex Kralie, Brian Thomas, Jay Merrick (Marble Hornets)

CWs— None

Alex’s living room always sounded like a rehearsal. Papers rustled like sheet music, the clatter of keyboards came in polyrhythms, and somewhere in the kitchen a microwave beeped on a syncopated delay. The floor creaked in F-sharp whenever someone walked across it. The ceiling fan clicked on every third spin like a metronome that had learned how to lie.

Tim noticed things like that—he always had. Came with the territory. He couldn’t stop parsing rhythm, couldn’t stop cataloguing the music of mundane chaos, couldn’t stop hearing in everything the edge of a song he’d never quite finish writing.

Tonight, the tune was warm and loose and a little off-key: friends cramming for finals, half-asleep on Red Bull and familiarity, the dregs of a filming session still clinging to their clothes like fake blood. Jay and Alex were yelling about something in the other room, probably a corrupted file or a tragic lens cap situation. Tim didn’t care. He had his psych notes in front of him and Brian’s knee pressed against his on the couch. That was enough.

Brian was half-heartedly flipping through flashcards with the mechanical precision of someone who’d memorized more bones than any human being should and was now being haunted by them. He’d taken to muttering anatomical facts like curses.

“Do you know where the trapezius muscle inserts?” he said without looking up.

“Into your mom,” Tim answered, deadpan.

Brian snorted. “Thank you, Tim. Very educational.”

“I try,” Tim said, already scribbling tiny music notes in the margin of his study guide, bored out of his skull. “If I fail this psych elective, I’m blaming it on your flashcards leeching IQ points via osmosis.”

From the kitchen, Jay shouted, “Stop flirting and help me find the extension cord!”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “We are flagrantly ignoring you, actually.”

Brian didn’t even look up. “On purpose.”

They both went back to their respective texts, but there was something lazy and content in the silence between them, like a rest note in a lullaby—intentional, needed. Comfortable.

The others wandered in and out, test books in hand, phones buzzing, arguments half-formed and always fading. At some point, someone put on a playlist that shuffled through indie folk songs no one had the heart to skip. The air smelled like instant ramen and citrusy deodorant. There was a half-empty bag of trail mix on the coffee table that everyone kept pretending they hadn’t eaten out of. The sky outside bruised deeper into evening, rain just beginning to fog the windows.

And still—Tim stayed right there, shoulder to shoulder with Brian, letting the ordinary wrap around him like a worn-in chord progression.

He should have been working on his final composition. That stupid string quartet he kept rewriting because the second violin refused to behave. He should’ve been figuring out where the hell he was going to intern next year. He should’ve been worrying more, maybe.

Instead, he sat in the eye of it all. In the stillness before things changed.

And maybe that was the tragedy of it. That they were so normal. So utterly unaware of the thing barreling toward them. The monster wasn’t in the closet yet. It was still just a script, a camera, a weird idea Jay had once while sleep-deprived and obsessed with static.

Tim would remember how Alex had to bribe him with pizza to help run sound. How Jay kept claiming it was “all for the aesthetic.” How Brian got fake blood in his eye and laughed about it for an hour.

He would remember how it felt in this moment—safe, suspended, like a perfect chord hung in the air just long enough to make you ache when it vanished.

They would remember this night, later. The quiet camaraderie. The warmth. The sheer, blinding normalcy of it all.

And how cruel it was that it didn’t last.

[fr34k0n4l345h]

destroy yourself,

lose your friends

and isolate the ones

you love,

pathetically

abandon them.

[fr34k0n4l345h]

Fucks me up to think about how every character in the world is literally just someone's OC

[fr34k0n4l345h]

happy birthday to me >_<

[fr34k0n4l345h]

I hate them (　ＴДＴ)

[fr34k0n4l345h]

While doing my chemistry final all I could think about was marble hornets (specifically Alex Kralie)

[fr34k0n4l345h]

Marble Hornets/ Creepypasta stencil dumb

Feel free to use any :) I ya post them, tag me, because I wanna see :)))

[fr34k0n4l345h]

I'm not sure how I feel about this edit. I think the timing is off on some parts but whatever

I did post this like a minute ago but for some reason it posted my draft so I deleted it