#!! tried something new to get over my art block

[nohtora]

experimental photo study turned into the corinthian 👁

[carolmunson]

i'm the best thing at this party | e.m.

up and coming rockstar!eddie munson x girlfriend!reader (is that a picture of slash? sure, but we can pretend it isn't.) aka the first time carol ever wrote a fic based off a taylor song. but in my defense, it was a chase petra cover of 'you're losing me' that inspired it. this is not connected to my rockstar!eddie x actress!reader storyline, this is it's own oneshot in a separate story.

in the early 90s, when your boyfriend's band starts to make it in the big leagues, you start to come to terms with the fact that he might not want or need a small town player anymore. eighteen plus. established relationship. angst. hurt/no comfort-ish. open ending.

"and i'm fading, thinkin': 'do something, babe. say somethin'. lose somethin' babe, risk something. choose somethin' babe. i got nothin' to believe, unless you're choosing me.'"

The Hideout was hot with all the bodies packed in like sardines; stark contrast to the icy chill of winter outside. Glowing on the screen was The Tonight Show, everyone’s eyes glued to it while Corroded Coffin made their first national televised debut. 

No one’s totally sure how their manager Richie was able to finesse this slot – but they went to New York to film earlier in the week and didn’t ask any questions. With Richie, it's better to not ask questions and just let it happen. Eddie came home with an adrenaline rush so intense that he barely slept for three days. No matter how much you tried to keep him in bed and tire him out. 

And sure, it was hard to have him be gone while you drove out to Indy and took a friend to see the new graffiti art exhibit that came in from LA when it was supposed to be with him. It was hard to have him miss a lot of things. His return from the city only started another big talk about it, one you've been having every few months the last two years. Even so, you couldn’t help but be proud of him, proud of all of them. Remembering that just four years ago they were barely getting fifteen people in here to see them play when you first started dating. 

The crowd erupts when the camera comes off of the band on the stage and back to Leno at his desk, the boys in real life all standing on the bar. You look up at Ed and smile, he finally did it, he’s doing it. The contracts are signed, the people saw him, he’s gonna make it. He’s making it. 

You duck out of the way when they start to spray champagne over everyone by the bar, “Not my hair, babe!” 

The two  bartenders pour shots of Jameson and flutes of Prosecco while the show cuts to commercial and it’s not long before you feel the sticky chest of your boyfriend up against your shoulder, “It was good? I did good?” 

“Ed you’re…you’re fuckin’ famous,” you grin, “You’re fuckin’ famous!”

You follow while he leads you through the crowd, settled in near the back where the stage doors lead to the dressing room and out into the parking lot. He looks over his shoulder twice before he sneaks you both behind the amps; heart pounding when he leans you up against the painted cinder block walls, noses mashing when he takes your lips in his. It’s feverish, desperate when he pulls at your hips, one arm wrapped around your mid back to keep you steady up against him.

“Lemme – mmm – lemme take you to the green room,” he breathes between kisses, moving your hand toward the bulge in his jeans, “C’mon I wan–” 

“The interview’s up!” Jeff calls from on top of the bar. 

“Where’s Ed? ED? Come on! The interview’s up!” Gareth calls, the crowd erupting in a cheer of ‘Edd-ie, Edd-ie, Edd-ie!’

“Come on, come on!” you squeal, pulling away to pull him toward the front of the bar again, “You said they were gonna cut it!”  

“It’s stupid, babe,” he assures, “It’s so dumb.” 

“Ed, you’re being interviewed by Leno, this isn’t stupid,” you urge, “This is like – this is it.” 

“It’s literally like two minutes, it’s not special,” he doesn’t move when you pull him along with you, a frown pulling on your lips. 

“Eddie,” your voice raises an octave, tugging on his hand – he lets go. 

“I’m gonna take a leak,” he shrugs, heading toward the green room while you watch him disappear behind the door. Your brows furrow slightly, but it doesn’t stop you from making your way back to the edge of the bar where everyone’s eyes are glued to the medium sized screen in the corner. 

The crowd cheers again while the band is re-introduced, Eddie and Jeff sitting on the chairs with Gareth and Grant standing behind them. You admire the way your boyfriend looks post performance, nearly glittering with sweat but glowing with pride – with accomplishment. You look over your shoulder to see if he’s back from the bathroom yet, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

“So we got a group of some – what looks like – nice, respectable hard core guys,” Jay smiles. 

“I don’t know about respectable,” Eddie scrunches his nose back at the host. 

“I don’t know about nice, either,” Jeff jokes. You marvel at how relaxed and natural they all look on camera, cracking wise and getting laughs from the audience. They talk about the album briefly, and the front cover which has all four boys in caskets with a red kiss print on their cheeks. 

“So, the debut is self titled, Corroded Coffin – but it looks like you all got a coffin kiss here,” he points out, “These from anyone special? You got the girls going crazy.” The audience erupts in cheers and screams, a bra finding its way flung into the sound stage. You giggle when Gareth and Grant  hold it up, making them both blush pink on the screen. 

“Well I got a girl at home, so, I don’t hear any screamin’ if it’s not her cheering for me,” Jeff’s smile is bright when the camera focuses on him and he winks into the lens. Sasha, Jeff’s girlfriend, screeches in the crowd of The Hideout. 

“You didn’t tell me you were gonna do that!” she beams, and your heart thunders while you watch them kiss on the bar. The promise ring that he gave her back in ‘88 shines on her ring finger, awaiting something much more flashy when that first big rockstar payday hits.

“It’s definitely a change of pace,” Grant nods on the screen, “Definitely wasn’t getting a lot of girls in high school.” 

“It’s wild,” Gare laughs. 

“And what about you, Munson,” Jay asks, “Frontman like you’s gotta be beating them off with a stick.” 

The camera focuses on him, his pink lips and smart grin, a flash of teeth before he starts talking. He’s so handsome, you feel your fingers and toes start to tingle when he opens his mouth.You weren’t expecting to hear your name on national television, or be alluded to. You’d never really prepared yourself for something like this. To be declared to thousands, maybe millions, as a rockstar girlfriend.

You swallow the nervous spit pooling in your mouth, heart pattering while you run through all of the scenarios of the outcome of being ‘announced’ in your head.  

“I don’t kiss and tell, Jay,” he smirks.

Oh.

Your hearing clouds and your vision blurs – unsure of what you just heard. If maybe you imagined it, but that proves to be untrue when you feel a few sets of eyes on you. A moment of silent confusion lulls on the crowd at the bar.

You swallow the lump in your throat, fingers and toes cold now while the blood rushes to your heart and head, to your lungs which suddenly forgot how to work. Through teary eyes you look around, drowned out by the cheers of the bar when Jay announces when the album will release. You sniffle, trying to hold it back – but there he is in the back of the crowd now, eyes rounded; pleading, looking straight at you. 

The tears spill over and you try to catch your breath as you make your way through the bodies on your way to the front door. You hear Gareth call after you, hearing him stumble over the barstools while he hops off the counter. Another ragged intake of breath shakes through you while you get closer to the sticker covered door, pushing through the first set and then the other into the dark blue night. Your breath puffs white in front of you, coat abandoned somewhere back inside The Hideout while you walk across the street to your car. 

You fumble with the keys, blubbering while you get the engine started and the radio blares Al Green’s Let’s Stay Together part way through the song. In the rear view you see him hustle out of the bar to search for you, catching the start of your car and getting to the passenger window before you can pull away. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” he strains, his fingers hanging on the edge of the half open glass, “I promise it’s not what you think. Richie asked me to answer like that, it wasn’t on purpose.” 

You press slightly on the gas, making the car lurch forward and inch.

“Wait! Please don’t – don’t just go,” he begs, voice breaking with desperation, “We can talk about it.” 

You look at him through wet eyes, the street lights haloing behind his head to feign his innocence. He can talk himself out of anything.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you rasp out quietly, “We’ve done enough talking.” 

“I can…please don’t go,” he says again, “Not with you crying like this, c’mon. Don’t leave.” 

“I’m gonna go home, Ed,” you sniffle, “J-just go h-have fun inside. S’too cold to be out here.” 

“You don’t have your coat,” he states, “Come back in and get it. We can talk in the back, please.” 

“I don’t need my coat,” you garble out, “I’m going h-home.” 

“Well I’ll – I’ll bring it to you tomorrow morning,” he nods needily, “Okay? Is that okay?” 

You let out a shaky breath, fogging again against your windshield, “F-fine.” 

Eddie cracks a weak but winning smile, “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” 

“I love you,” he adds. It tastes like ash in your mouth. You pull away before you feel compelled to say it back. 

Eddie show’s up in the morning with coffee and your coat, a small carton of donut holes for you both to share. He’s all smiles, seeing you in the kitchenette cleaning out the coffee pot that you now no longer have to fill. 

“Morning, baby,” he grins, “I brought your coat.” 

“Thanks,” you mutter, keeping your eyes on the droplets of water that race down the side of the glass pout, “You can just hang it on the hook.” 

“Are you…are you still upset with me?” his voice is airy, surprised while he makes his way behind you. Calloused hands reach around to pull your back in his chest, nose nuzzling against your cheek. Your stomach rolls, bile inching up the base of your throat. 

“Enough, Ed,” you sigh, pulling out of his hold. 

“Sweetheart, c’mon,” he huffs, “I told you already. I didn’t want to say that. But you know how Richie is! He just wants what’s best for the band and so do I! Don’t you? I thought you’d understand.” 

“Jeff had no problem talking about Sasha,” you do your best to measure your tone, too early to start yelling. 

“Jeff has the wholesome thing going for him; plus – you know his family isn’t for him being considered like, a rogue or whatever. He’s already in a metal band,” Eddie explains, like this is a totally normal conversation, “Richie even said this morning that he was getting a lot of calls.” “Okay,” you nod, sitting down at the small table in your kitchen where your coffee sits. 

“And like, a lot of people wanna do interviews with us and get hype up for the release,” he half smiles, sitting down across from you, “I told you, it was…it was a good thing. They were saying y’know like, mysterious bad boy front man is a good angle.” 

“Great.” 

“It doesn’t…babe, it doesn’t mean we can’t be together,” he leans forward, hand reaching out to touch yours. His shoulders sulk when you put them both under the table. 

“Ed I –” you let out a breath, eyes tracing a pattern on the waxed canvas tablecloth, “I can’t even look at you right now. And you wanna tell me we can still be together?” 

“What like it’s…some consolation prize?” you choke out, “You made a fool out of me. The looks I got?”   

“I know, I know, but it was for the band. You know how I feel abo—“ 

“How you feel about me?” you hold back a bitter laugh. 

“Ed, the last year or so we have kept having the same conversation over and over again. You are so, so caught up in Corroded and making it and getting there and trust me I am so proud of you. If there is anyone on the planet who is more proud than me maybe it’s Wayne, but – this is just like, this is kind of it. We have nowhere to go from here.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, his brown eyes rounding and brows tilting slightly when he realizes what you’re really saying, “What do you mean no where to go? Are you not listening? I said we can still be together, just like befo–” 

“Before? Before when?” you get up and pace back to the kitchen where he can still see you, “Before when you would cancel dates to go practice? When you missed my awards night for work  because you wanted to fill in guitar for a gig in Ohio? When you didn’t come to my poetry reading with the guys like you said you would and instead got plastered at The Hideout after rehearsal?” 

“Well I apologized for all that, that was all in the past couple years and I – look, I said I was sorry and you accepted that,” his voice raises slightly, he stands up to full height with defense evident in his stance, “You can’t just throw it back in my face.” 

“When you were gone weeks at a time for mini tours, for opening for bands on the East Coast – god, all the work I took off to make sure I was there for you? When you canceled our three year anniversary dinner, without my knowledge, because you got a call for discounted studio time on the same night,” you manage to get out, the tears inching toward the edge of your lash line, “And I sat there at the table in my new dress and everyone looked at me the same way they looked at me last night. Poor girl. Must’ve got stood up. What an idiot.” 

“Yeah well that studio time is why we were on fuckin’ LENO, babe!” he pleads, “Don’t you get that? It’s for us!” 

“It’s for you!” you break, the shrill frustration coming out with your voice, “It’s always just been for you. It’s always about Eddie and the guys. I have done nothing but make sacrifice after sacrifice, excuse after excuse to play the part of perfect, understanding, cool, laidback girlfriend but like fuck Ed, when is it gonna be about me, huh?” He stands there, unsure, cheeks sucking in between his teeth.

“And what’s on the docket for you on Friday? Have any plans?” you ask, your voice softening while you cross your arms over your chest. You lean the small of your back against the counter while you watch him. He clears his throat, hands finding their way into the back pockets of his jeans. 

“Um, we have some meetings in the morning in Indy. And then um, we’re gonna take a late flight out to LA. The label’s excited – they’re really excited,” he breathes out, eyes finding the floor and your sock covered feet.

“Oh, that’s interesting,” you nod, voice still measured, “Since we’ve had the tickets for my niece’s winter school concert on the fridge for over a month. I guess I’ll have to tell her that her favorite bonus teacher couldn’t make it.” 

“Fuck,” Eddie’s eyes shut, pulling his lips in to run his tongue across them while he thinks of what to say next. Your heart thrums in your chest, throat getting tighter and tighter while you hold back a cry – this was just another thing to add to the list.

“I can make it up to her, I promise,” his raspy nicotine voice becoming garbled with desperation, “I can make this all up to you, too. I swear. I wish you had just told me about all of this.” 

“I have, Ed. We are always having the same conversation. I’m tired of having it. I’m so tired of this. Make it up to me? How do you make up for it?” 

“I…” he chokes on his words, ringed fingers running over his face and reaching to pull his hair back off his neck. 

“Go ahead,” you encourage angrily, “What’re you gonna do? Say something. Fucking, do something, Ed!” 

“Baby, I don’t know what to…” he swallows, tears pooling in shiny wells over his eyes, “What do you want me to do? I’ll do it. I’ll do anything.” 

You take a breath through your nose and let it out through your mouth, taking the three steps it takes to get to him. Your hands fall from being crossed, reaching up to cup each of his cheeks. Your thumbs run over the apples and drag softly over the stubble left over from the night before. 

His eyes shut while he keens into your touch, his rough hands covering yours. Calloused fingertips coasting delicately over your knuckles. You know what you have to do, even if his touch makes you want to do the opposite. 

“Go be famous,” you shrug, smiling weakly, “Go be the big rockstar I know you are. Like how you wanted. Go play The Garden and live in LA.” 

Your hands slide down his face, tears falling after them, “Go do all that, and just, um – just leave me alone. Please.” 

“But I don’t–” he starts, pulling in a sharp breath while a cry leaks out of him, “I don’t wanna lose you.” 

“Oh, Ed,” you shake your head while the ache spills over into your own leveled sob, “I’m already lost.” 

“No, please,” he begs, trying to catch your hands as they make it back to your sides, “Please, baby, I’ll fix it. I pro-promise.” 

“There’s nothing left to fix,” you whisper in finality, “You should go.” 

“I don’t want to,” Eddie’s soft pink lips quiver while he speaks, “Please. Please. I can fix it, the next interview, anything, it’ll be all you. I swear I can…I can…” 

When your face doesn’t change he knows there’s no way to pull you from your stance, voice trailing off in defeat. You watch as he rips open your storm door and goes to his van, his chest and back shaking with sobs that make the hardware on his jacket cry with him.

A year passes and you are not surprised when you find out that Corroded Coffin has made the cover of Rolling Stone. Wayne bought every copy from the gas station at the end of the road and put them in every mailbox early that morning. You don’t think there’s been a day in the last year that Wayne wasn’t seen beaming ear to ear; his boy finally getting everything he wanted. 

Life had gotten easier now that you weren’t regularly expecting disappointment. You went on few dates here and there, just trying to navigate your life after spending four years sharing it with someone else. Some nights were colder than others, but it was better than the frigidness you felt that night at the bar.

You did your best to avoid the tabloids – Eddie was certainly doing just fine navigating his life as a bachelor; some new model or actress on his arm every other month it seemed. Hardrock’s Resident Playboy. It stung the first time you saw it, and a little less each time after – heart breaker to the core; you would know, you were the blueprint.

In the same cold that matched the night at The Hideout a year prior; you sat on your steps wrapped in a robe – morning cigarette between your fingers. 

“Morning,” Wayne’s voice is gravelly when it sounds over you, still soaked with left over sleep. 

“Mornin’ Wayne,” you smile, taking a sip of the steaming cup of coffee in your other hand. 

“Wanted to uh, to let you know that the guys are playin’ a show in the city tonight. I could uh – I could get you a ticket if y–” 

“That’s sweet of you Wayne,” you smile tightly, “But I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“He might like to see you,” he shrugs. He hadn’t quite gotten over the break up the way you and Eddie had, convinced that this was the real deal – that he was watching young love flourish into something bigger. 

“He’s seeing someone, Wayne,” you take a drag of your cigarette, “Why would he want to see his ex-girlfriend who still lives in Hawkins? He’s got some actress girl now, right?” 

Wayne shrugs again, scratching at the back of his neck, “I never know what that boy’s got goin’ on in California outside of shows and gettin’ into trouble. Maybe he is seeing some girl but, y’know, seein’ an old friend could be good for him.” 

“He’s still got plenty of friends here he can see,” you let the smoke out to drift off in the gentle wind rustling through the line of trailers and mobile homes, “I don’t think I need to be one of them.” 

“Well, they’re gonna have a small after party at The Hideout tomorrow,” he offers, “Even if you just wanna do somethin’ fun. I never see you goin’ out anymore.” 

You laugh, “You work at night, what do you mean you don’t see me goin’ out anymore? I go out plenty.” 

His eyes linger on you, enough to encourage a thoughtful sigh – you might as well humor him. 

“I’ll think about it, okay?” you toss your half finished cigarette onto the browned grass before looking back up at him.

“Okay,” he smiles, eyes sparkling as he makes his way back inside. 

You spend the next day deliberating between making it to the bar or not, putting in the effort to get ready and showing up. Why bother? Just to sit awkwardly in the corner while everyone flocks to the boys and tells them how great they are? They already know they’re great, they’re crawling higher and higher up the ladder. 

You haven’t even talked to Eddie since the morning he left your trailer, and Wayne knows that. He knows how bad you hurt his nephew because he came over to talk to you a week after Eddie went to California and stayed for good. ‘So why should I show my face there? So I can relive the moment he made a fool of me over again?’ You think while the hot water of the shower glides over your shoulders and down your chest. 

‘Maybe it’ll be good to make amends or something, I at least owe it to the guys,’ you figure silently while you slather on some moisturizer at the bathroom sink. And you did – not seeing Eddie meant not seeing the rest of the band. Gareth, Jeff, and Grant were your friends too, and you sort of broke up with them in the same instance. Sasha moved out to California with them soon after – it would be nice to catch up at least. You hadn’t seen her since that night. 

‘But why would I want to bother? So I can see that engagement ring on her finger and hear her talk about her wedding plans?’ you swallow sourly while you use a touch of your lipstick as blush on the apples of your cheeks. ‘Remember all the times you thought you and Ed were gonna get married? Hilarious.’ 

Before you know it, it’s 11:30 and you’re standing outside of the sticky and stickered covered door of The Hideout. Even from where you’re standing the bar is a buzz like a hive, energy inside like a livewire when you get into the entryway, showing your ID to the bouncer at the inside door. 

‘Small after party my ass, Wayne,’ you think to yourself when you get in, shrugging off your coat. There was barely room to move and most of the lights were off or dimmed aside from the small stage in the back. By the looks of it, they must’ve played a small set – an intimate ‘home base’ concert for the real hometown fans. You push through some of the crowd, acrid smoke haze hovering over the room. A single bar stool sits empty at the end of the counter close to the wall and before you can think about it, you beeline straight there before someone else can grab it. Not that anyone would be able to see it through the six couples making out to Slayer blasting through the speakers. 

The bar tender notices you soon after, coming over to get your order while his two cohorts speedily pour shots and mix drinks. You almost don’t want to get anything just to make the night easier, but opt for a beer instead. 

“How much?” you ask over the music. 

“WHAT?” the bartender shouts, holding a hand to his ear. 

“HOW MUCH?” you yell back. 

“ON THE HOUSE. BAND IS COVERING DRINKS,” he shouts back. You take a few dollars out while he pours your beer anyway, sliding it across the bar with a smile. He smiles back, pocketing the ones with a wink before helping another person leaning over the bar. 

The TV takes your attention, a tape of their recent interviews and music videos playing on a loop with no sound. The beer is almost comforting as it passes over your tongue, it’s been some time since you just sat in a busy bar – and for the most part, no one here even knows you. For the most part. 

A call of your name snaps you back to reality, looking around to see exactly who you thought you would. Sasha. And low and behold a ring sparkles bright on her finger, a breathtakingly big diamond glittering in the neon lights behind the bar. 

“Hey!” you call back with a smile, sick crawling up your throat. You watch as she fights the crowd to get over to you, wrapping you in a tight hug while you stay seated on the stool. 

“How have you been? You look gorgeous,” Sasha’s tan skin glows back orange in green while the lights change, tight dark curls bouncing prettily around her face. 

“I’ve been good!” you nod, your voice hardly sounds like your own, “Y’know just – hanging around Hawkins. How’s LA? How’ that ring?!” 

She holds her hand out so you can really see it, her skin is warm in yours while you take her fingers. It’s more beautiful up close, the marquise diamond flanked by two smaller triangles in perfect harmony. 

“He did so good, Sash,” you giggle. 

“I slapped his arm so hard when I saw it,” she laughs, “I said, ‘Jeff we could’ve bought a freakin’ house!’ but you know how he is.” 

“I do, I do,” you nod, “Did you set a date?” 

“Probably not for another year or so if we do a big wedding,” she shrugs, “Maybe a little longer? We think it’s smart to actually buy a house first – with this kind of money coming in. And y’know, the industry is, uh, well, it can be wishy washy. What’s in today could be out tomorrow. We wanna be smart.” 

“Well thank god he’s marrying someone like you then,” you tease. 

“That’s true,” she beams, “Do the guys know you’re here? I can go grab J–”

“No, no, they don’t,” you interrupt, taking her arm gently while she turns to leave, “You don’t have to tell them I’m here. I’ll go find them, I promise.” 

Sasha gives you a half hearted smile, “Okay. Well – We’re sitting over by the stage if you wanna come say hi to the guys. Gareth would lose his mind, and Grant brought his new girl with him, she’s so cool. They met in LA and she’s like, got the sickest punky-goth type of thing about her.” 

“I love that he’s in love,” you gush. 

“Me too,” she nods, “The girls are obsessed with him out there.” 

There’s a silence, but it’s knowing – still one person yet to have been mentioned but you both seem to understand it’s not worth bringing it up. Sasha reminds you that they’re by the stage, giving her a wave while she disappears in the throngs of people in the crowd. 

Half way through your second beer and a couple of random conversations with people later, you see him in glimpses while people pass by. You can tell by the smirk on his face that he’s flirting, and when more people move and re-disperse, settling, you see glimpses of her, too. Some cute young looking thing, you wouldn’t be surprised if it was her twenty-first birthday. All doe eyed and giggly while he leans over her against the wall near the booths. I guess whoever he’s seeing in California isn’t too important.

He looks good, healthy, you can tell his clothes are tailored now – sort of comical that a tailor would fit and adjust ripped jeans and an old leather jacket. Not that he has to know you think it’s funny. 

Eddie leans forward and lets his finger tap her on the nose, a tell-tale sign of his that they’ll kiss later. He’s used that move on you more times than you can count. He did it the night you met, tipsy at a party at Gareth’s – tapped you on the nose, making you scrunch it. 

‘Aw, if I knew you’d make a face like that I would’ve booped you way earlier.’ 

‘What do you mean? What face?’ You scrunch again. 

‘That face,’ he bites his lower lip, blush on his cheeks, ‘It’s a cute face.’

You expected it to hurt more, to watch him active in his element; but it doesn’t. You know the motions, you know his tells, he next move. You can see it in the way he leans into her and then leans away – almost kissing her, but leaving her wanting more. You smirk into your next sip, counting down the moments until he puts their conversation on pause to do their rounds and finding her again later. Gotta keep her yearning, you guess. He certainly was always good at things like that. 

You don’t see their reunion, you assume it was somewhere near the stage where the band and Sasha were. At the end of the night, the boys play a goodnight mini-set, just three songs. You’d never seen Ed so in his zone in your life, fully basking in the glow of upcoming stardom. Every chord and every lyric punching out of him like the sweat pouring from his hairline and chest. This was what you wanted, what you told him to do. 

Go be famous. And here he was. Famous. Just like you said he would be. 

Water takes the place of your beer while they play; and you know better than to get up and join the crowd. Much happier sitting at the end of the now more empty bar just listening instead of getting potentially punched or tussled with amongst the bodies. 

People take their time leaving when the set is over, shrugging on their coats to brave the cold weather. 

‘Thanks for comin’ out to celebrate with us – now get the fuck out so our buddies at the bar can go home before four!’ 

You savor the conversations and music settling down to a much quieter murmur while you sketch on a napkin. A few people you shared niceties with tap your shoulder to say goodbye, new friends you’ll never see again. On the other end of the bar you hear Grant and his girl order a round of shots. Your head almost pops up at the sound of his voice, but that might bring attention to you that you don’t think you really want. Now that the night is over, you’re glad you came. If anything, just to see that they were making it just fine – and they would have with or without you. 

With less people in the bar you can hear Sasha’s laugh in the back where the stage is, and you laugh into your napkin turned sketchpad. Her laugh was always infectious, enough to make the crowd follow suit. You grab a fresh napkin from the pile next to you and start to doodle again while you figure out how to best leave without anyone catching wise that you’re here. Out of the last twenty people left at the bar, a little more than half knew who you were.

The tap of the pen on the bar top while you think blends in with the tinkling of hardware that gets a little louder the closer it gets to you. A squish of leather and drag of a barstool later makes you privy that someone’s next to you. Spiced cologne and sweat sheened skin. 

“You come here often?” 

Slowly, you turn your head – level with brown eyes you haven’t looked in for a year, just in the glossy pages of magazines you’d leave behind at the grocery store or Melvald’s. 

“I used to,” you offer a quiet tired smile, leaning your chin on your hand on the bar, “It’s been a while.” 

Eddie smiles back, soft, cautious, “Yeah, same for me.” 

You both don’t speak for a moment, adjusting yourselves on the barstools while a few more people head out to leave. The jingle of the door fades out, crunches of the parting patrons’ sneakers and boots in the snow sound outside.

He clears his throat, bringing your attention back to him – the curls of his hair, the slight stubble on his jaw and cheeks. His bottom lip tucks between his teeth for a moment before he turns his chest toward you. 

“Can I uh, can I get you a drink?” 

[joedirtymadre]

How bout an angst and fluffy Luffy x reader? Like, he's trying his best to be a good boyfriend but he doesn't know exactly how do it. So he gets insecure and afraid of reader leaving him

The Painting

LUFFY X READER! ANGST + FLUFF! (STILL ACCEPTING REQUESTS! SEND EM RN! 😤😤)

You were peacefully working on a new painting. You had a strong passion for art, but recently you have decided to pick up painting again. Plus, today is a slow day on the ship, so why not? You hummed to yourself, as you continued to add the finishing touches to your work. “Wow, you really outdid yourself this time,” you smiled to yourself as you took a moment to look at your canvas. It was a portrait of the whole crew, you wanted to surprise everyone at dinner with it. You spent the last few weeks on it too, so I’m sure that they’ve been waiting for the reveal.

You then heard your door open and saw Luffy. “Hey Luffy,” you smiled. “Hi (Y/N)! Hey can I hide here? I’m playing hide and seek with Usopp and Chopper,” he explained as he ran over and gave you a quick peck on the cheek. “Sure, but please don’t tip over my supplies. Last time you made a mess I spent 2 weeks cleaning it up,” you sighed. “I promise!” He said as he quickly jumped into your supply closet.

You continued your artwork, until you were disrupted again. You heard a small knock on the door and soon Chopper opened the door. “Hi Chopper, what brings you here?” You asked. “Hi (Y/N)! Have you seen Luffy?” He asked. “Hmmm… I haven’t sorry,” you smiled. “Hmmm… well can I look around your office? Just in case,” he said. “Go ahead,” you said as you continued painting.

Chopper checked under the table, in your art boxes, and was now heading to your closet. You lightly giggled as you knew your boyfriend was about to get caught. Chopper quickly opened the closet door, and out jumped Luffy. He began running around the small office, “Hey Luffy, this isn’t tag!” Chopper shouted as he chased him. “Now it is!” He yelled, as they circled around you. “Luffy be care-“ you were cut off by Luffy running into you. You fell straight into your paint, easel, and most importantly your painting.

The two boys quickly stopped and stared as you slowly picked yourself up and stared at the destroyed painting. Smudged and ripped, even your easel broke. “(Y-Y/N) I-“ you ran out before you could hear another word from your stupid boyfriend.

Luffy’s POV

I watched as (Y/N) ran off, I tried to chase after her but Chopper blocked me. “Wait! I think she should be alone right now Luffy, she might say something she doesn’t mean because of how she’s feeling. So, just give her some space,” he explained. “But I have to tell her I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to play,” I explained. “I know, but we messed up. Really bad, and she needs time to herself right now,” Chopper said. I grabbed my head in frustration.

I looked over to the destroyed painting and realized it was a painting of all of us. “This is what she’s been working on for weeks,” I said softly. “Oh no, and we ruined it!” Chopper cried. “No, I ruined it. I always ruin things for her,” I said as I picked up the painting. “That’s not true, she loves you Luffy,” Chopper said. I shook my head, “She deals with me, I keep doing dumb things and it always ends with me hurting her or breaking her stuff,” I sighed as I placed the canvas on her table.

“It’s ok Luffy, if she didn’t love you she wouldn’t be with you. Right?” Chopper asked. “I guess,” I said. “I’m gonna go check on her,” Chopper said before running out of the room. I sat on her stool and stared at the mess I made. “Why do I keep messing things up? Maybe… I should leave her alone, then she wouldn’t have to deal with me. She could tell me to leave her alone if we weren’t dating, like Nami,” I said to myself.

I dragged myself to the deck and straight to my spot, to try and think. “Hey Luffy,” Nami said as she sat on her beach chair. “Hey…” I said softly as I continued to drag myself. “What’s wrong? Did (Y/N) kick you out of her art room?” She laughed. “No,” I moped. “Woah, then what’s wrong? Here come take a seat,” she said as she pointed to the other beach chair.

I told her the whole story and ended up with 4 bumps on my head. “You idiot! How could you do that to her?” Nami frowned. “I know… Nami… has she ever talked about how much I mess up around her?” I asked. “(Y/N)? No, not really. She just tells me how fun and cute you are,” she explained. “Really? Even that time I broke her clay pot?” I asked. “Oh man, she was so mad that day, but no… Now that I think about it she didn’t talk bad about you,” Nami said. “What about the time I accidentally squeezed her paint tube too hard and it got all over her face?” I asked. “Nope, nothing,” she said. “Or when I dropped-“ I was cut off.

“Ok I get it, you’ve done a lot of bad things. But she’s never talked bad about you, I think she knows that mistakes happen… especially around you,” Nami pointed out. “But I really messed up this time, what if she wants to break up. She should break up with me… I keep making her mad or sad,” I sighed as I fell back into the chair. “Or… you could make it up to her. Come on captain, you’ve fought warlords and admirals. I’m sure you can fix this problem and make your girlfriend a little less mad at you,” she said. “You’re right! I can try and fix it!” I said excitedly. “But I’m gonna need help,” I said, determined.

Your POV

You’ve been in bed for the last 6 hours. Chopper and Nami checked up on you, but you had no strength to get up. You just need some time to calm down. Suddenly a knock on your door, you didn’t respond, hoping the person on the other side would think you’re asleep. However, the door slowly opened. You saw your idiot captain peek inside, “(Y/N)?” He called out.

“Go away Luffy, I don’t feel good right now,” you said as you turned around, showing your back to him. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry, really sorry… I know you’re really mad at me, but I wanted to make it up to you,” he said as he stepped close. “How?” You asked. “Can I show you?” He asked, placing a hand on your shoulder. You slowly turned around, seeing a distressed look on your usually careless boyfriend. “Sure,” you said calmly before getting up.

“But I need you to wear this,” he said, handing you a blindfold. You stared at it with one eyebrow raised. “Please?” He asked. You nodded and quickly put it over your eyes, you then felt a warm hand grab yours. “Alright hold on,” you heard, before being picked up in bridal style. “L-Luffy?” You asked, feeling your face heat up. “Well, I don’t want you to trip while being blindfolded, so I’ll just carry you,” he explained.

You then laid in his arms as he carried you to wherever it was that he wanted to show you. “Alright, I’m gonna put you down now,” he said softly before helping you down onto your feet. “Alright now on 3, take off your blindfold,” he said as he stepped away from you. “Ok,” you said.

“1,2,3,” he said, and you quickly took off the blindfold. You gasped at the scene in front of you. It was your art room, clean and way more organized than it was before. Also, your easel was fixed with a bunch of more upgrades to it, and finally your eyes fell to the painting on the easel. “My painting!” You said excitedly. You smiled as you saw the rough strokes and the taped backing. It wasn’t perfect, but it was way better than how it looked earlier.

“Did you do all of this?” You turned to ask Luffy. “I had some help, but I wanted to fix what I messed up earlier,” he explained. You ran over and gave him a kiss, “Thank you Luffy! I’m so happy,” you smiled and hugged him. “You’re not still mad?” He asked nervously. “Mad?” You asked, confused. “Well… I always mess up your crafts or art projects, I know how upset it makes you,” he said as he stared at the floor. “Well I do get a bit upset, but I know you don’t mean it. I just give myself some time alone so I don’t say anything that I might regret later,” you explained. “Wow, Chopper was right,” he said.

“But I’m really sorry I messed up your painting, I know how hard you worked on it,” he said, before pulling you into a hug. “It’s ok, I forgive you. Just next time, no more games in my art room, ok?” You asked. “Deal,” he smiled. “Oh, I made you something,” he said, pulling away. “Huh?” You asked. He grabbed a small canvas from the table and turned to show you.

You pouted when you realized it was a portrait of you and him. “I know it’s not that good, but-“ you interrupted him. “It’s perfect! I’ll hang it up right now!” You said as you pulled him into a hug. “Really?” He said excitedly. “Yeah, and we should paint together sometime, you’re a natural,” you smiled, before giving him a kiss on the cheek. “You think so? I did have fun doing this,” he grinned. “Mhmm!” You nodded and you both went to hang his masterpiece on your wall.

[e-m-ma-lmfao]

Ruin My Reputation

pairing : cooper howard (the ghoul) x (fem) reader

summary : he’s soft for you

warnings : blood, drug use kinda, talk of shooting

a/n : just something short and sweet so the fallout brainrot subsides.

“You know damn well I hate when you show up like this.” You let your medical supplies clatter onto the table where the ghoul sits, waiting like a hurt dog. Eyes awfully resemblant of the animal.

It’s likely that the only reason he’s here, looking this run down, is cause he’s got no vials left. If you knew better, you’d hide yours. Or better yet, get rid of them all together.

“Now c’mon darlin’,” he pauses to sputter out a cough and take a deep breath, “I thought you loved seeing me.” Shakily, he grabs his hat off his head and places it on the table.

“I love you a whole lot more when I don’t have to worry about you showing up at my doorstep on the brink of death you old..” Your words trail off and whatever insult you were ready to throw at him is taken away by the stream of air you let slip past your lips.

“I told you to quit your worryin’, I ain’t gonna die on ‘ya.”

“Oh yeah? And what do you suppose it is you’re doing right now?”

“Well if you’d quit your yappin’ and get to fixin’ I’d be doing a whole lot better, wouldn’t I?” He offers an unwelcome smile, which disappears when he winces in his pain. You hand him a vial of his favorite yellow liquid before you get to unbuttoning his shirt. After downing the vial he opens his mouth again but you're quick to cast your eyes his way.

“Looks like I didn’t need your medical attention after all, huh? ‘S a damn shame.”

“Mhm, waste of my time. Well then, I’ll cut right to it, thought I told ‘ya not to come around anymore after the last time.” Your voice trails off as you disappear to the back room to grab him a shirt that isn’t littered with holes and dirt and a shit ton of blood. Most of which probably isn't even his. And he follows behind, limping, like he’s in a trance and can’t help himself.

You hear a grunt from the other room as you rummage through a small storage box of his discarded things. Anything he left over the months he had been making himself a frequent quest in your home was in this box. You wanted to burn it. All of it. Use those little bottles of yellow liquid as a fire starter and make him watch while you did it. But anytime you tried, you couldn’t actually bring yourself to part with the tiny symbols of his presence.

“We both know you didn’t mean that,” he appears in the doorway behind you, blocking your exit, “besides I always come to my girl for help when things get rough. She's got all the good chems.”

You throw the shirt into his arms, a bit harder than intended, but he catches it with the reflexes of a man who kills for a living. Because, well, he does. You’re not sure why but every comment is making you angrier about him being there. A chem stash, huh? That’s all he thought of you?

“I wish you wouldn’t. I ain’t got time to sit around and tend to you, wait for you to get all better and leave again.”

The shirt now hangs on his body loosely, buttons open, “Now what’s got you so sour tonight. Usually you're a lot kinder to little ol’ me.” He leans against the doorframe

“Maybe the fact that I’ve got a half dead cowboy making himself comfy in my home every two weeks doesn’t sit well with me. You ever think about that before you kick your dirty boots off on my carpet?” You pause to stare at him with a raised eyebrow, “Oh, which reminds me, you owe me a new carpet.”

“What’re you talking about, woman?”

“You got blood on my carpet.”

“It was already covered in blood and dirt anyway!”

“Well, you got more on it. I liked how it was. So now you owe me a new one.”

“Are you hearing yourself? Where would you like me to go for said carpet? Anything I find you is gonna look exactly the same as the one already sitting on your goddamn floor!” He moves in slowly, cautiously like he’s practiced the art a million times. “Now I know you’re not worried about that piece of fabric out there. What is the problem?”

He swoops in close, close enough to wrap his arms around your waist with his hands clasped together at the dip in your back. You don’t push him away, though you want to. Although, all you think about is how your gun is sitting merely 5 inches away on the end table beside you. You could shoot him, if you wanted. But you probably won't.

Cooper’s eyes find your avoidant ones, the rough pads of his fingers grabbing at your chin to make you look at him. He’d never raise his full hand to you, smart man. God knows you’d think he was moving in to slap you, and his hand would be gone before he could yell ‘yeehaw’.

“You know damn well that I worry about you Coop.” Your arm finds his forearm, tugging his hand away from your face, “I just want you to stay for once, so I won't have to worry about you dying in the middle of the wasteland somewhere.” His hands find the dip in your back again, running along your skin until they rest on your hips.

“Hey now, you know I can’t stay, I got business to take care of out there.”

“Yeah, it’s always business. Always. Well you know what, so do I. So go on and get ‘fore I shoot yer sorry ass.” You step away from him, pushing him out of your way but his hands are quick to find your hips again and pull you back to him. Works like magnets.

“Now you're just being dramatic.. Alright alright, if you ask me nicely I’ll stay for a little longer than usual.”

You stare at him, eyebrows flexed in annoyance but the rest of your face has seemingly cooled down. You don’t need to say anything, he’s already agreed. He looks down at you with a soft smirk, thumbs rubbing into your hip bones.

“You are the easiest woman to please in the whole wasteland.” You feel your eyebrows relax as one of his hands reaches up to cup your cheek in his rough palm. His lips part, gazing at you with deep adoration.

“Think you’re making me go soft darlin’, gonna ruin my damn reputation.”

[abbystanaccount]

hii! i recently stumbled upon your owen scar analysis where we see most of his scars, and wondered if it was possible for you to the same with abby? :)

Ohhh good idea. The only reason I hadn't yet is Abby only has a couple scars we don't know the origin of, but I can go over every scar she gets!

Abby's Scars Analysis

First, I'll start with Abby's oldest scars, she has a small scar on her forehead and it's the only visible scar on her younger self. Fun fact, Jocelyn actually has this scar and she's mentioned it's from being hit in the head as a kid with a golf club (lol).

Her older model has a similar looking scar on her right cheekbone. I assume she got these either from being hit with a blunt object or a fall, something like that. Her forehead scar interestingly becomes more noticeable as she ages, it even raises a bit in her Pillars model.

Her chin injury from the car crash does not visibly scar in Santa Barbara.

Next is the other visible scar Abby has when we see her in Seattle. Abby is for the most part not scarred much at the start of the game, she gets a hurt shoulder from Jackson and has some blemishes but these are the only scars we can see. (Her bare torso model is completely unmarked.)

There's two small marks on her arms, one more noticeable than the other. To me, the one on her forearm looks semi recent and looks scabbed. They'd come back from Jackson a few weeks prior, so it's possible Abby was hurt on that trip. But I headcanon it more that she was distracted on patrol when she returned and it was a small stab wound, possibly environmental.

One thing that annoys me about these scars though is that in never heals, it looks about the same from Seattle to Santa Barbara.

Now Abby gets some scars after the theater fight. The wounds Ellie gives her is the bite (which heals) and a stab to Abby's left thigh (which she masterfully shakes off lol.) We don't get to see Abby's bare thigh but it's likely that wound scarred.

The rest of the slashes, which seem to be 4 slashes on her arms and one across her left cheek come from Dina. It also seems as though the arm scars are mostly raised and noticeable, while her cheek scar is more subtle and indented like she tried to stitch it and take care of it more afterwards.

Abby’s next batch of scars are from Ellie on the beach… as if she didn’t suffer enough 😒 She gets a slash on her cheek, a slash on the front and side of her torso, multiple slashes on her arms, especially her left arm which she used to block, a deep stab wound in her left shoulder and a stab wound through her chest.

Here I’m showing her post beach fight textures on her Seattle body (the full Pillars body isn’t complete). You can see how deep the wounds are 🙁

I’m thinking she must have rode the boat a bit down the coast and then looked for supplies to help her and Lev before going all the way to Catalina, so she wouldn’t bleed out…

These are my interpretations of how the beach fight scars might heal. You can see some more of that with my various fan arts of TLOU 3 Abby. I drew over the slash placements, and added in the thigh stab and chest stab scar and some other various scratches she might have gotten. I tried to have them look similar to her scars in early Santa Barbara, raised and a bit pink.

Hopefully the Firefly doctors will help her out a lot with the healing of the cuts and the sunburn and she can just chill for a bit 😢

Bonus skins

This new skin isn't canon or anything and neither is the Eighties skin. In that skin you can see Abby's cheek scar under her makeup, which I thought was cool. But the Badlands skin has a brand new scar that goes all across Abby's cheek to her lips. I think this must be a scrape from some sort of weapon that scratched her. The redness on the cheek makes it seem fairly new

[llamagoddessofficial]

biggest of brain energy re warm bread and beloved skeletons - so.... might i offer you .................. patisserie/baker au??

the boys are all rival(ish) bakers/pastry chefs on the same cute little side block of a quaint walkable downtown.

Sans has that extremely detailed, finicky pastry work down pat, on top of all the strange new versions that keep, somehow, making filo dough more difficult and yet structurally impressive. he's tried all those cool gastro-chef techniques, but just loves & excels at the fancy little pastries. absolutely the type to just close the shop when he's sold out of whatever he felt interested in making a lot of that day. surprisingly good-yet-bad social media presence. makes the jokiest videos and jankiest signs advertising when he's got a new batch of Something Tasty out, but the most beautiful shots of his pastries.

Red is one of those not-so-surprisingly charming excon-type (maybe never actually in prison, but y'know) bakers that looks intimidating but makes the best goddamn homey baked goods you ever had. pies, breads, big soft filled rolls, anything that feels ghibli as hell, frankly. has a not-so-secret love of making those really decorative lattice-style pie crusts; can absolutely make art you wouldn't want to eat if not for how damned good you know the pie is. always the most slammed during autumn, has spirited """debates""" with Sans (who is directly across the cobbled street) whenever they get deliveries at the same time, often about incredibly inane but opinionated baking nuances. accidentally best friends with all the local widows and grandmas. frequently propositioned by all genders.

Skull is a bit of the odd man out - he used to work at a little old cakeshop on the corner, but Something Happened one day and that corner store has frustratingly been turned into Insert Encroaching Soulless Chain Here. he now works at the back of the little pizzeria, making the best goddamn pizza dough anyone's ever had. seeing him flip and spin those pizzas is art in and of itself. rumor still had it that there was someone on staff at that cakeshop that could make the most dazzling wedding cakes you ever did see, but they also made the flavors involved so harmonious you could cry....

....... MC is a new arrival, perhaps opening up her own little shop - a little cafe maybe, specializing in warm drinks and a simple menu of baked goods like croissants and scones and cookies, some finger foods, and most importantly Cozy Vibes.

maybe she puts out an ad for a proper baker to help her out while she makes the teas and coffees and runs the front....

... and maybe some shenanigans ensue ✧∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

genius. absolutely genius. allow me to lose my fucking mind

Mc opens up her delightful little cafe. It's small, obviously, since she's technically the only employee- though she's great at coffee she struggles to make anything more complex than a cookie for cafe food. Her croissants melt and flatten, her pies collapse, her attempts at macarons just spread out into a sheet. So! She puts out an ad!

Sans: Ironically, his habit of only making what he's interested in and randomly closing shop without warning has made his desserts even more sought after. The incredible intricate and unique nature of his treats give them an element of scarcity, and people will come from all over to get to his next batch early. The sign out the front says 'open 10am to 5pm monday to wednesday. open some thursdays, depends how i feel. closed the second friday in the month, unless we were open thursday before. open saturday. closed sunday'.

He was a bit suspicious of her cafe, he'll admit it. He's suspicious of anything new on the street. Various chain brands have been infiltrating the previously majority monster-run area, and he hates the way his favourite place is slowly being subsumed by shitty corporate machine-made food. But it only took one visit (purely out of curiosity) for him to get love at first sight.

Since his store has such a reputation, he can afford to flunk whenever he likes to go sit in with her and chat for hours; he's a welcome presence. After noticing her difficulty with baking he starts giving her tips but quickly graduates to giving her some of his stock, instantly boosting her popularity. She thinks he's giving her leftover stock he doesn't need- she has no idea he's making stuff specifically for her.

Red: Red and Pap do have a tendency to treat their business like it's a mafia. The way they call it the 'family business' often makes people think it's a front for organised crime. And it was, once- the two of them only opened the store to cover up what was happening behind the scenes. But then they enjoyed running a bakery so much that they dropped the crime. He doesn't like the way Sans has turned baking into something snooty and highbrow; Red thinks food should be delicious and comforting, not a one-bite commodity people pay out of the nose for.

Red becomes a cafe regular, he goes during breaks and straight after work. He spends most of his time standing up at the counter flirting relentlessly, but he's so on the dot that she usually has his order ready for him. He offers to teach her to make a good pie- "payment? what're you talkin' about, doll? seein' yer pretty face is payment enough fer me." There would definitely be some scenes of him teaching her to bake... standing behind her with his hands over hers, showing her the technique to fold dough, though neither of them are really concentrating because he's grinning like an idiot and she can only feel how hot her face is.

(He'd probably ruin it with a 'wish you'd pound my dough like that'. A swift smack, and the magic of the moment is over)

Skull: He's the one that responds to her ad.

Though he didn't mind his job, per say, he misses being able to make his own stuff. Pizza tossing can only do so much to fill the baking-shaped hole in his heart. He wanted to apply anyway, it was just a stroke of luck that the cafe owner turned out to be the love of his life. Though he's a bit spooky and looks at her like he can't see anything else, she's quick to accept him, telling him he can make whatever he wants- and that's when he works his magic. All the stunning cakes lining the display case are his handiwork.

He's a man of few words, and he doesn't like being in public, so he's always in the back baking and cleaning. He wishes he had the confidence to talk to her more. She brings him coffee whenever she has time, as thanks for all his hard work... she leaves foam art, since it's one of the few things she can do. Though when she leaves a heart, the coffee usually ends up going cold. He tends to just stare at the heart until the foam is gone.

[itgetzweird08]

Stuck.

Katsuki Bakugo x Gender Neutral!Reader Angst Hcs

A fic based on July by Noah Cyrus (I am so NOT sorry for this :)

Warnings: Nothing major, just mentions of drinking, implied cheating, and heavy language. Also general angst

A/N: I know a lot of y'all want the next part of Endevour's Secret Daughter and The Spark That Lit His Fuse. I'm working on it I swear, just got a little writer's block. But I promise I'll get it done soon! For now, enjoy this sob fest :))

I've been holding my breath

I've been counting to ten

Over something you said 

The stress of growing as a hero was heavy, of course, you knew, but recently Bakugo seemed to be taking it out on you. When there was a bad mission, he would come home with a hard slam of the door, sparing you nothing but a hard glare. He would push you off and away when you would offer comfort, and when you tried to suggest he take a breath, he raised his voice to you.

“Can you get fuckin lost? Hell, I wish you would stop being so fucking annoying!”

I've been holding back tears

While you're throwing back beers

I'm alone in bed

This wasn’t a once-off either, as now it seemed like he would snap every time you would look at him. You felt like you had to hold your breath every time you were around him. But now, it seemed like everything was only getting worse. At least for a while, he would still come home, but now there were nights where you laid in the cold bed alone for hours until he would come back smelling like sweat and beer... and perfume.

You know I, I'm afraid of change

Guess that's why we stay the same

You knew you could leave, you knew you should. But fuck- something in you just couldn’t handle the thought of losing him. You had been together for so long, you liked the consistency of your relationship. And you didn’t want to feel as if you were giving up. You never gave up. To you, this was all just a hard challenge that you would overcome eventually. This hard roadblock would pass…wouldn’t it?

So tell me to leave

I'll pack my bags, get on the road

If he told you to leave, you would. But you wouldn’t be able to just give up on your own, not while you still felt some semblance of hope that your relationship could survive this.

Find someone that loves you

Better than I do, darling, I know

You wouldn’t be mad if he did decide to leave. Maybe he was right, maybe you weren’t cut out to be the partner of the number two hero. You were quirkless, and went to school for art. You knew nothing about having a special ability or hero work for that matter. Maybe he needed someone who did understand. 

'Cause you remind me every day

I'm not enough, but I still stay 

“What the hell do you know? You’re quirkless, you’re nothing. You’ll never be able to understand what I’m going through.”

Feels like a lifetime

Just trying to get by while we're dying inside

Six months…you’ve been stuck like this with Bakugo for six months. Nothing has gotten better. The small spark of hope you had for the relationship was slowly fizzling out. Now every bit of this relationship felt like torture. And yet you didn’t go anywhere.

I've done a lot of things wrong

Loving you being one

But I can't move on

You knew there were probably plenty of people in this world for you. But none of them were Katsuki. Maybe falling for him was a mistake. Everyone had warned you whenever news got out that you were dating him. Even his own friends, while teasing, dropped subtle hints.

‘I’m surprised anyone could stand him’

‘I can’t believe he found someone he’s considered worthy’

‘Thanks for putting up with him, I know he can be..a lot’ 

No matter what they said, you didn’t listen. You could never regret loving Katsuki.

So tell me to leave

I'll pack my bags, get on the road

“You’re too much of a distraction. You’re only holding me back.”

“What are you saying, Kats?”

“...I’m done, Y/N. I need to focus on being number one, not on being your boyfriend.”

Find someone that loves you

Better than I do, darling, I know

‘Dynamite and Uravity, Japan’s new IT Couple’

'Cause you remind me every day

I'm not enough, but I still stay

[seeminglydark]

Idk if this means anything to you but I'm a comic artist who's had a hard time doing art for a few years. The first four was because of life hardship and lack of time/chronic pain, but now lately I've had time but a mental block. I'm creeping up on 30 and felt bad about myself for "missing out" on my opportunity to be a comic artist. It was really validating to see you post about being 41 (correct me if I'm wrong) especially since you have such wonderful comics that I've been following for a while now. It makes me feel less like I'm wasting my time putting my things in order when I "should" be drawing.

Hopefully this doesn't come across as offensive or anything. It was just comforting and validating. Anyway, big fan! Love your characters a whole lot and hope you have a good day!

Dear Anon

I am 41 years old. I have wanted to make comics my entire life. before my dad got sick, and my childhood kinda fell apart, all i did was draw. after that, i used the stories in my head to cope. life moved on. i was convinced not to accept a partial scholarship to an art school in California. life got hard. i worked at a hotel, and after i escaped an abusive relationship at 22 i hitchhiked/bused far far away to start over. i tried to make comics again, but i had to survive, and so i got another job doing the only thing i knew how to do, hotels. and i worked. and worked. and life got harder and times got heavier and i didn't get time to draw and i worked double hours, 15 to 17 hours a day. and i went four years without drawing a single thing.

i kept working myself into the ground. i was 29 now. i picked up a pen again and drew a red haired boy. he had a hard life and no love and no friends. his problems were on the outside, for everyone to see. he ran away but his problems went with him.

i was 32. surely i was too old now. my time to be an artist was gone. i had no school. no hope. i was so far behind the younger gen i saw online. i cried. all the time. i wrote stories in my email drafts while i worked shifts. i stayed up late trying to learn how to draw again. i cried some more. the boy grew. i called him Fiach. worthy. a raven. later i renamed him Avery. he was like a bird, he had wings, he was my hope. i started writing some friends for him. the people i wished i had around me.

i started finding time and space. i got a new job, something where i was lucky enough to set my own hours. for the first time i had a partner who believed in me. things were hard. but i was drawing now. and that helped.

i went on a road trip and i started drawing pages of an unnamed story on 6 by 8 paper in a sketchbook. i drew 20 of them. 'what could i call this?' i thought. Nothing Seems as Dark...no says my partner. Seemingly Dark. he made me a logo. i was 35. i bought an ipad, i cant do this on paper, its too much story i have too much to say. so i learned how to draw digitally by tracing my own trad art pages.

I spoke to my dad for the last time on June 17th, fathers day that year. he said 'you're good. i'm proud. and you're gonna do amazing things. none of this is your fault. and we will speak again soon.' i didn't know id never hear his voice again. he died a week later.

i turned 36. i kept trying. i'm old, i don't understand the internet. how can i share this?

i stumbled across Lore Olympus. i was introduced to webcomics. id read comics online before but the thought never occurred to me. i opened an account on Tapas. and then i stared at it. what if no one likes it. what if its bad. my art isn't good. i should wait til i'm better. but will i ever really be better? or will i always believe that tomorrow is better? do it now. if even one person gets something out of this story, this story about a boy who is you, a boy who looking for hope, a boy who might make it, then that is enough isn't it.

June 17th 2018 i launched Seemingly Dark.

SD's five year anniversary is in a week. 0ver 700 pages. leaps and bounds in progress with my skills. a printed comic under my belt as of monday. i was always a storyteller. but i was always an artist too.

I am 41 years old, dear anon. I did not truly embark on this journey til i was 35. life got in the way. even now, chronic illness gets in the way. but its worth it. its never ever too late. i believe in you the way my dad believed in me. i reset my life again and again. but I was always an artist. and if thats who you are, and who you want to be, even if things dont go the way you wished they could, you're an artist too.

im 41 years old. i speak about my age, even though i often feel too old to belong in spaces, cuz really, in this case age is just a number. take care of yourself. do what you need to do. and little by little, when your able, carve out your space until it becomes more of a habit. sometimes i think about all the years i lost not drawing or creating. but there's a lot of factors that make me believe had i made my story then, it wouldn't be the story it is now, i needed to live a bit. i needed to find myself. i know this was long, but i just wanted you to see i also had to put my life in order, and getting notes like this reminds me it wasnt at all a waste. im glad i could offer you some comfort. thats honestly the best compliment i could ever receive.

TL;dR I was 35 when i sat down and seriously started making comics, because life always got in the way and so did my confidence. i always feared being too old. im 41 now, still going strong.

[cup1dt3a]

I loved your Wally x reader and their little sister its so cute I hope its ok if I request a Wally x reader who loves to draw and reader starts looking for inspiration and they come across the show and they start drawing the characters Wally seemingly there favorite to draw

Tysm for the request and kind words! It always makes me happy to know people are enjoying my writing! And your request sounds very intriguing I like it! Hope you’re doing well or that things get better!

“ Ugh! Why must artblock be such a bitch!?” You cried out scribbling over the drawings you deemed not good.

You’ve had nothing but what feels like years of artblock. Even though it’s only been two weeks you just really wanted draw something and be happy with it but with whatever you drew you immediately hated it or just couldn’t get it how you wanted it to look. Including when a single idea came to mind it would completely vanish the moment you tried to draw. It was almost as if the gods forbid you to draw. Eventually you sighed out too frustrated to keep going as you tossed your sketch book to the side of your nightstand with your pencil and eraser.

“ Maybe watching some TV will do the trick?” You questioned to yourself .

As you grabbed the remote to the Tv flipping through the dully colored shows. Some more mature, too childish for you, others too in appropriate for you. Soon enough after your mindless flipping you came across a bright and colorful show displaying its intro. Now this looked interesting! You put the remote down onto a nearby surface as your eyes were now glued to the TV. Everything about the show from beginning to end captivated you. The show’s character designs were outstanding, the animation even more the puppets was almost too smooth like they were alive, and just everything about it made you admire it. But one character in particular caught your attention.

Wally Darling the main character of the show drew you into it even more. You loved his design and character traits. He was like a little gremlin! It didn’t help that he was also 12 apples tall. He was just a tiny little gremlin in your eyes that loved apples and drew. Him also being an artist was just a bonus for you!

“ Now! What do you think I should draw today?” He asked through the screen staring at the viewer who was currently you.

“ How about I draw you?” You muttered eyes flickering back and forth to a cream colored page and the colorful puppet.

Your art block finally vanished from your new obsession with the main character Wally. His design was supper easy to draw his figure too was just as easy. It didn’t help that the day after watching the show and drawing him the next few episodes all he did was give you brilliant and adorable poses. It was like he was practically begging you to draw him.

What a model he was. It was almost as if he never wanted you to take your eyes off of him. Like he was your little model doing anything you needed without being asked to. The perfect model indeed. But everyone has their secrets right? And your precious model had many.

He swung his legs back and forth with glee as he laid on his plush stomach on the the floors of your room. Flipping through your many many many pages of him and his friends. But mainly him. He couldn’t believe that he was the main focus of your inspiration. Him! Wally Darling the main focus of your own masterpieces. He had to admit you really did have some talent with shading and even just with drawing in general. You were just as good as him! It made him so happy almost too happy.

Looking over to your sleeping figure he couldn’t help but just want to give you a hug as a thank you for your amazing work. What kind of neighbor would he be if he didn’t thank you for being so kind as to draw him?

So as quietly as he could he had gotten up off of his little legs pushing up from the ground to tip toe over to your sleeping figure. Somewhere in your own dream land unaware and so unknowingly vulnerable to anyone who came in here. You should be glad it was him and not some horrible soul! Wally never exactly understood sleeping. Every time he tried he’d wake up in a panic scared of the horrible things his imagination came up with in his own dream land. You just looked so peaceful. He must admit that he envied you and his friends for having the gift of sleep. He’s almost surprised he doesn’t have eye bags like Franks. Just as he reached your comfy bed he couldn’t reach up. Pouting as he tried to quietly jump up without waking you. He couldn’t reach you even as he pitifully tried. Your bed was too high for his small plush legs to reach. He wondered how you even got up her everyday. You must of had to do some kind of cardio to achieve the top of this thing!

You stirred around on top of the bed hearing a small pitter patter constantly tapping your floor. You assumed it was your pet wanting attention. It was your fault for spoiling them so much they they only scratched at your bedside or tried to jump onto it so you would cuddle them. Tiredly sitting up you turned to the side of the constant pitter patter you felt around for them eventually feeling something soft and pulling them up. Not even giving it a second thought to the difference in the texture of your baby.

“ You’re so pitiful.” You told them nuzzling their forehead before dozing off to sleep.

Well this was unexpected. You’re now hugging him and he can’t get out of your grip now. Home is going to be so mad at him if he doesn’t hurry up. But at the same time you’re so comfy as you gently huggs you with his plush form. Why must the world be so cruel that he has to go soon ending this amazing moment sooner than he wants it to. If he could he would just lay in your arms forever always able to have your warm figure cuddling him. Wow he could actually go to sleep for once. But the sun is about to rise and home will lock him out again if he doesn’t come back! This was so unfair. After he sadly wiggled out of your loving grip he jumped off the bed. Landing face first onto the hard floor. How lovely?

He bit his tongue rushing towards the TV to scream out in pain as freely as he wanted to.

You woke up in an award position as if you were hugging something. You stretched your arms out trying to undo a few knots in your back. All the sudden you heart your pet making a ruckus at the door. You huffed getting out of bed to see what got them so rilled up. Soon you came to the door hearing the bell ringing. Opening the door you saw a small rectangular box at the bottom of your feel. Looking around the corner unsure you ordered anything that was supposed to arrive today.

You brought it inside to see if you could find an address or anything to know who’s it was and to your dismay there was no sticker or anything just a colorful. Little box the red, orange, and yellow pattern looked familiar. You decided to open it up to see if there was anything in there.

As you opened it you couldn’t help but squeal. It was a little Wally puppet! Whoever this was supposedly to go to was never getting it back now. You couldn’t believe it! There was only so much and so few Wally Darling puppets ever sold. You fawned over the doll not noting its smile growing by the moment as you hugged it.

Hope you all enjoyed this! I’ve been having a bit of writers block but managed to get through with this I’m so happy! I hope you’re all doing well or that yo ur day gets better.

Also ty all so much for the kind words you all comment on my works. It makes me so happy to know you all are enjoying my writing. I had written my first Wally Darling fic and a joke tbh and because I was bored and next thing Ik I’m now doing it so often I bearly write for twst XD.

Sincerely-Cup1dT3a 💌

[sevensoulmates]

I don’t have real coherent words after that Oliver interview so I need to hear yours. Because OH MY GOD

Vindication??? VINDICATION???? VIN~DIC~ATION???!!!!!!

Like we knew. We all knew. All the fans knew, and everyone working with the show knew. But the fact that they're actually talking about it? Being transparent about it? From Mr. PR Golden Boy's mouth to the masses? Mind-blowing.

To know for a fact that Bi Buck (and I'm assuming queer Eddie and queer Buddie) was talked about (again we KNEW but like now we know know, ya know)??? I mean Tim literally said years ago that all the discussions we have about buddie online are the discussions they have in the writer's room. The fact that they TRIED to give it us and were shut down. The fact that we still rallied behind them because we fucking. KNEW?!!?!?!

Like queer fans especially like....I'm not going to get into the history of queercoding/the Hayes Code, but anyone who's been around the block with queer media just knows that writers (not just 911 writers) have done their damndest over the years to give the audience queer characters while still trying to appease their homophobic bosses that control their livelihood and the life of their art in general.

It just fucking sucks that only now, when networks realize that openly queer media sells, that they're finally allowing writers and creators to finally tell their authentic stories.

911 is interesting. They're kinda like the elder Gen-Z/Young millennial cuspers. They started during a time when queer media was allowed some visibility but still had heavy sanctions placed upon it, and so they still dealt with homophobia and discrimination in underhanded and mostly invisible ways, and are living long enough to see the social transition into big profitable open queer media.

It's like...I've heard a lot of elder queer people question why some of their fellow elders are so "mad" that young queer people have it "easier" and can be more "open". The critique is "isn't that what we were all fighting for? So that younger people did not have to deal with what we dealt with?" The same goes for TV. I know a lot of people (like people who came from SPN or the MCU or Merlin or Rizzoli & Isles or Sherlock, etc) are seeing what's happening with 911 and they're experiencing this shock of like "we deserved this" and they did. But now they get to see the fruits of their labor come true for new(er) shows like 911 or RW&Rb or Heartstopper or Heartbreak High, or Interview with a Vampire or Good Omens or Umbrella Acadmey or Euphoria or Yellowjackets or the Haunting of Bly Manor, etc.

It's still a long battle, but occasionally, like now, we get to see these BIG wins, and it should be something to celebrate.

This, combined with the fact that we knew a queer Eddie storyline was also being discussed, tells me all I needed to know. And again, I already fucking knew.

Now all we gotta do is wait. We've already waited this long.

[theman-and-themachine]

Commissions on hiatus. may not come back! glad to have tried it out though!

Donate to me though if you want at kofi bongothebear

*general tumblr info: PLEASE message/send asks/send requests. I lvoe talking to people. If i am annoying, no hard feelings, just block/softblock/or let me know. i apologize in advanced ;D

Older post versions below. keeping them up to be transparent because, involves money and serious topics i'd rather not have missing/contextless. Likely will make new pinned post later but idc rn

*COMMISSIONS ON HOLD. UNTIL I FINISH THE ONES I HAVE*

':3 thank yall so much. I just wanna make sure i get these ones done.

After these ones i will likely change up pricing and maybe add a seperate, cheaper commission. Making it geniunely QUICK doodles instead of me actually trying to make them properly good hwbhshajsnehdd

Feel free to still donate tho. At kofi bongothebear

Heres daisy encased in a blanket from right now. Vet check up in like.... an hour.

Old text below..no changes and stuff still applies for now. Just ya know.

(this was once a read-more)

5 BUCK DOODLES

Get 'em hot and ready. At this ko-fi. bongothebear

You get a quick doodle, I get money to help my cat and her cancer situation.

You get to choose if you want the art Traditional or Digital.

(Art is colored digitally, even with traditional images. All traditional images will be on lined paper. All art will be doodle-level quality, not rendered)

Please don't screw me over with weird disputes or refunds. If you really want something for free, send me an Ask and I'll get to it when I actually have money saved to help my cat's cancer(and the free-time).

This is a glorified donation page. Please don't screw me over, because you'd also be screwing over my cat. She's turning 10 this May.

Most recent photo of her. She is home now and everything's going a lot better this time around.

[delicateflowerss]

Sweet Serial Killer

Your worst nightmares come to life on Halloween night, all to do with the man of your dreams, Rafe Cameron.

Warnings: 18+, NON-CON, DUB-CON, VIOLENCE/MURDER, dark!Rafe, blood, blood kink, choking, death/grief, college!AU, ghostface!Rafe

banner by: @maysdigitalarts

7.5k words, happy halloween!

The bedside lamp she tried reaching for falls to the floor with a thud.

Her scream is cut short as the squelching sound of the knife going into her chest fills the room. It continues long after her body has stopped moving, the light leaving her eyes.

Her killer finally stops, taking in his handiwork. He moves his foot away from the growing pool of blood.

His gloved hand rips the gold chain off her neck. He stands to his full height as the necklace swings from his fingers. The tiny heart with BFF engraved into it, now forever broken.

He sizes up the full-length mirror across from him, considering this act of violence as a piece of art, something to be proud of. His knife gleams as crimson drips to the floor.

The mask on his face covers the smirk on his lips.

All day, everything has been in slow motion. The feeling of your friend’s hand on your back has been numbed, the weight of it feeling like TV static instead.

The tears stopped a while ago, none left in your body. The only touch registering, is the touch of cold metal in your fingertips. The necklace you’ve had on since grade school, way past the point of realizing it’s tacky.

But it didn’t matter because you shared it with one person only.

Now she’s gone.

It still doesn’t feel real.

“Are they still out there?”

“Right in front of the dorm.”

You’ve been sitting in the same spot all day, the couch molding around you, your friends have taken turns comforting you.

They’re upset too, but no one knew Cori as long as you did.

Right now, Andrea is comforting you. It’s mostly been her and Simone by your side. The guys just giving you space.

You think it’s better that way, not really wanting a bunch of frat guys doing what they think is helpful to someone in a time like this.

Except for your boyfriend, you suppose.

“They’ve been out there all day.”

You lift your eyes from the floor for the first time in the past hour.

He’s annoyed, sighing through his nose. But you can tell the reporters outside your dorm is the least of his worries.

He glances at Andrea, still fighting his annoyance.

“Can I have some time with my girlfriend now?”

“Go for it,” she replies curtly.

Her warmth leaves your side.

You see her join her own boyfriend, looking out the window at the news vans parked across the street.

He takes her spot quickly, not leaving you cold for too long. He brings you closer, his arm hanging off your shoulder. Your eyelids fall shut as he presses his lips to your temple. A moment of solace on this dark day.

“Can I do anything? Get you anything?” His mouth is at your ear, a hush falling over his voice.

You shake your head no, a word not being able to form just yet.

A few minutes pass, while contentment falls over the two of you, something you haven’t felt all day.

“Rafe?”

“Hm?”

His blue gaze settles on you.

“Who would do something like that?” You rasp out.

He pauses for a moment, shrugging a little.

“Probably some maniac. There’s some real fucked up people out there.”

His response doesn’t quell your fears. He notices how your shoulders tense under his arm.

“Did the police say anything about who it could’ve been?”

You remember your time spent answering questions late last night. It feels like forever ago. You’ve tried to block the whole thing out, how it was you who found her body.

You’ll never get that image out of your mind.

“No, they have no idea.”

“Well, I wouldn’t worry if I were you.”

“Why?”

“Because I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You want to crack a smile at his protectiveness, but your lips end up twitching instead. You feel his heavy gaze on you, it’s almost suffocating knowing that he’s upset just because you are.

But it does make you feel better knowing his heart is in the right place.

Cori and your boyfriend never really got along. A tug of war with you in the middle, both sides of you being pulled. Cori always had something to say about Rafe, how he’s an asshole, frat guy who will just end up breaking your heart.

Rafe, in turn, called her a stuck-up bitch. He told you his theory one night after a few drinks, how Cori must be in love with you if she can’t let you have a boyfriend.

You just rolled your eyes, pinning his crude comment to being drunk.

There were the times where the insults would stop for your sake, and you loved them both for it, for trying.

He might not show it, but you know Rafe is grieving along with you. He may not have liked her, but it’s not like he wanted her dead.

“I don’t think I can ever go back to my dorm.”

The one you and Cori shared.

“You shouldn’t have to. The university should put you in another one or even another building.”

“They’re probably all full until next semester.”

“It doesn’t matter. They can’t expect you to go back there.”

You shake your head slightly. “Believe me, they probably do.”

“Until they move you, you’re staying here.”

“Rafe-.”

He says your name in a chastising way. “I’m not letting you out of my sight, alright? And the guys have no problem with it.”

He glances at the guys around the room. “Right?” He calls out.

“Right,” they half-heartedly yell out.

“Hey, I get it. I don’t think you should go back to your dorm either,” Matt says to Andrea, his hand on her knee as she sits on his lap.

She simply rolls her eyes. “So, you’re going to protect me from this psycho?” She jokingly asks. “You can’t even kill a spider.”

“What are you talking about?” An offended look on his face.

Everyone joins in her laughing, even you breathe out a chuckle.

“You weren’t supposed to tell anyone.”

“Even if you could fight this guy off, I can’t leave Simone all alone.”

“Thank you, Andrea. It’s almost like if you don’t have a boyfriend, you deserve to die,” Simone sarcastically says.

You wince a little at her offhand comment.

“You can stay in my room, Simone. I don’t have a problem with it,” Chris says through the chewed-up chips in his mouth.

Simone visibly cringes. “No thanks.”

“I think they’re finally leaving,” Dan says, still peeking out the window.

“Then maybe we should get going.” Andrea eyes Simone.

“You’re leaving?” Matt asks.

You start to zone out at their back and forth. The distraction of the people around you only lasting so long.

The pain in your chest comes back. She’s gone and there’s nothing you can do about it.

You make it through the next few days. The school holds a candlelight vigil for Cori. You thought it would be a nice way to remember her. Instead, you were faced with people who barely knew her, acting like she was their best friend.

You left early.

Your parents offered to come visit you, but you refused, just wanting to get through the rest of the semester. They talked to the university on your behalf, demanding them to move you to a new dorm. The school agreed but said it would be a couple weeks, leaving you to stay with Rafe. He hasn’t left your side, staying true to his word. Which you have to admit, surprises you.

You love him but you can’t call him the perfect boyfriend. Except lately, he’s been everything you want and more. He’s been attentive and affectionate, and getting you anything you want.

When you needed some things from your dorm, he went instead. When you can’t sleep at night, he brings you closer to him, your head on his chest as his heartbeat lulls you to sleep. He always makes sure you fall asleep before him.

Usually when you two spend the night together, he would make some vulgar remark and pressed himself against your ass until you had no choice but to give in to him.

You never felt like he was forcing you, but saying no to him always felt wrong, like you weren’t being a good girlfriend.

But the past few nights, he’s put you first. You haven’t exactly been in the mood for sex, so he hasn’t brought it up.

Except one night, when sleep wouldn’t come to you and the vision of Cori lying cold in her own blood wouldn’t stop pestering you, a distraction felt like the best thing.

Rafe was hesitant at first, asking you whether you’re sure. But once you said yes, he was eager to please you. He pushed your underwear down, making circles on your clit with his tongue, sucking it lightly. You wrapped your fingers in the soft strands of his hair, moaning loud enough for the whole house to hear you.

After you came on his tongue, you expected him to want something in return. Instead, he just sweetly kissed you and let you fall asleep in his arms.

You don’t think you could be more in love with him.

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright? I don’t have to go.”

“Rafe, you’ve been glued to my side for the past week. You’re allowed to hang out with your friends.”

You can’t deny that you’re nervous to be alone for the first time since Cori was murdered. But Rafe deserves a fun night without you.

“I wish I could bring you, but Chris wants this to be a night with no girlfriends and-.”

“Rafe.” You cut off his long explanation. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine.” You wrap your arms around his middle, your body against his. You leave a quick kiss on his soft lips, smiling just to show him how okay you’ll be.

“I’m just going to get some homework done, then probably go to sleep.”

He nods, stepping away from you, your arms falling from him in the process.

“Don’t have too much fun,” he teases while slipping on a gray jacket.

You playfully roll your eyes before following him down the stairs to the door.

“I love you. Call me if there’s a problem,” he calls out as he steps into the cool, autumn air.

“Will do. I love you too.”

You close the door behind him, leaving you in the empty house. It’s weird to be there when there’s no football blaring from the TV or music blasting from someone’s speakers.

Rafe was the last to leave, deciding to meet the rest of them at the bar. You don’t think too long on being alone, deciding to distract yourself with the paper you have to write.

But after a couple hours, the words on your screen start to blur, dozing off in Rafe’s desk chair.

Before the peaceful promise of sleep can take you in, the doorbell wakes you up.

You blink, looking around the room. Before you can dismiss it as a sound from your subconscious, it rings again.

You make the trek all the way to the front door, swinging it open.

No one is there.

A chill goes up your spine at the cold air hitting you. You step onto the front porch as you shiver, looking around, trying to find your unknown visitor.

You bite your lip, retreating into the house. You push the door closed, making sure to lock it.

You don’t hear anything behind you but when you turn around, you’re faced with a dark figure, dressed in black from head to toe, except for the white on his mask. He towers over you, and you try to figure out if this is a joke.

Before you can ask, you notice the glint of the shiny knife in his hand.

He lunges towards you as a shriek leaves your throat. His hand almost reaches you as you run from his grasp.

You run up the stairs, knees almost buckling. His loud steps follow you and before you can make it to the refuge of Rafe’s room, you feel your attacker grab your shirt, pulling you closer.

He pushes you, your shoulder slamming into the wall. Your heartbeat is loud in your ears as you stare into the dark, empty eyes of the mask in front of you. Your breathing is labored as you feel pinned, his body up against yours.

You know you should try fighting him off, running away. But you can’t move, your muscles frozen as he slowly drags the knife down your chest, between your breasts. One wrong move and you’re a goner.

Something inside you snaps, the adrenaline rush helping you bring your knee to his groin in one movement.

As he bends over in pain, you get away, locking Rafe’s bedroom door behind you.

You use your body to keep the door closed as your attacker pounds on it.  He gives up quickly, the house going quiet. You spot your phone on the desk, dialing 911.

You hang up after the woman tells you the police will be there soon. You try to steady your breathing, hoping the man is gone.

You jump when the doorknob jiggles.

A familiar voice yells out your name.

“Are you alright? Why is the door locked?”

“Rafe?”

A flood of relief washes over you.

“Yes, it’s me, baby. Open the door.”

You open it to find your concerned boyfriend. His brows drawn together.

The tears that have been building finally start to run down your face as you find comfort in his strong arms. You hide your face in his chest, no doubt soaking his shirt. He holds you close to him as he coos in your ear.

“Shh. You’re okay. I’m here now.”

All you can think about is finally feeling safe. You don’t see how the dim lighting casts a sinister shadow on his face, or the ghost of a smirk on his lips.

You try to tell him everything, but your sobbing gets in the way. It doesn’t take long for the police to show up, the red and blue lights shining into the windows, sirens blaring.

They search in and around the house, finding nothing. You give them the full story, a blanket draped over your shoulders.

Rafe stays as close to you as he can, keeping a watchful eye on you. They don’t hesitate to ask him questions also.

“You said you found the front door open?”

“Yes. You think that’s how the guy left?”

“So, from what your girlfriend said, you must’ve gotten here just a few minutes after the attacker left. But you didn’t see anything suspicious?” The officer asks incredulously.

“Just the front door wide open.” Rafe pauses, glancing at you again. “I’m sorry I didn’t see anything else. I was just focused on making sure my girlfriend was okay.”

“I understand.”

“I mean if something had happened to her…” He trails off, looking to the ground.

A pitying look falls over the officer’s face, replacing any suspicion.

“Are you gonna be able to catch this guy? I just don’t want this maniac coming back around here, or anywhere on campus.”

“Yes, we know, Mr. Cameron. We’re working on it.” He leans in closer to him and continues, “Keep an eye on her and call us if you see anything unusual. Thank you for your time.”

He nods to you before getting into his car.

Rafe puts an arm around you as the red and blue disappear.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Andrea’s arms wrap around you tight. She finally lets up as Simone puts a soothing hand on your shoulder.

Andrea continues, a worried look on her face, “That literally sounds so scary. Some guy in a mask chasing you?”

“Thank God you’re such a badass. Or you’d be…” Simone stops herself, not wanting to finish that thought.

“I just don’t know why he would come after me. Or why he went after Cori.”

You blink back tears, promising yourself that you won’t cry anymore.

“So, the police have no idea who it is?” Andrea asks.

You shake your head.

That’s what has been bothering you the most. What does a stranger have against you? You barely slept last night, that mask burned into your vision. You were worried you’d wake up with him right above you, his knife plunging into your heart.

Rafe calmed you down as best as he could, but even he can’t make you feel safe when there’s a killer out there.

As you stared at the dark ceiling, Rafe lightly snoring beside you, the conclusion you came to is the person behind the mask has to be someone you know. Or someone who knows you. How else would they have known you’d be home alone?

That thought scared you more than all this happening by chance. It means you’re being hunted, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

“Fuck, dude! There’s no way we can throw a party tomorrow night,” Chris yells out to Rafe, his phone in one hand. “The university is placing a mandatory curfew. No one out after 9 o’clock.”

Everyone else in the living room hears him, their attention turned to him. You can tell Rafe is mulling over his options, that faraway look in his eyes. You cross your arms, having hoped for a different kind of reaction.

“A fucking curfew on Halloween! They can’t be serious,” Matt shouts.

“There’s a literal killer on the loose,” Dan says looking at everyone in the room. “One that broke into this house last night, when Y/N was here. Did everyone already forget that?”

“We haven’t. But I guess someone else did,” Andrea says, giving her boyfriend a slight glare.

Matt notices. “I haven’t forgotten. But come on, it’s Halloween.”

Andrea rolls her eyes, not amused. “There are other things to do on Halloween besides getting drunk.”

“You know we throw a party every year, people count on us for this type of thing. Also, we’re all Seniors. We’re not gonna be able to do this next year,” Chris jumps in.

“Grow up! Cori is already gone. Something could happen to any of us,” Simone says with a sneer.

A silence settles over the room.

Rafe is the first one to break it.

“We’ll all be fine, alright? We’re having the party. I’m sure we won’t be the only ones anyway.”

Excitement washes over Chris and Matt’s faces.

Chris pats Rafe’s shoulder, “Yes!”

Him and Matt start planning. Matt muttering, “We need to get the kegs, what else?”

Before they leave for the kitchen, Chris calls out, “And you girls can decorate!” Letting out an obnoxious laugh afterwards.

Dan just shakes his head, heading upstairs.

Your angry eyes are settled on your boyfriend, casually sitting in one of the sofa chairs.

“Really, Rafe? A party?”

His lips part as his eyes meet the floor.

Andrea and Simone shift uncomfortably next to you.

“Are you going to say anything?”

You try to show how upset you are with him, but you can tell it’s bleeding out.

He finally looks up. “Can we have some privacy?” He harshly asks as he moves his eyes between the two girls standing on either side of you.

They silently ask you for your opinion. You just give them a nod.

Once they’re gone, Rafe gets up, walking towards you.

“I don’t know why you’re upset. You love the Halloween party just as much as everyone else, maybe more.”

“It’s not really the time for a party. I won’t have much fun if I have to constantly look over my shoulder.”

He opens his mouth to speak but you continue, “It’s like you don’t care about my feelings at all. I was attacked last night after my best friend was murdered. Something bad could easily happen tomorrow night.”

“But it won’t. You won’t be leaving my side, alright?”

“Rafe, stop with that! You can say that and all, but even you wouldn’t be able to protect me from a guy like that.”

His jaw ticks.

“It seems like only Andrea, Simone, and Dan have any common sense around here.”

“Dan? What, you like him better than me now?”

You let out a sigh. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Dan doesn’t care about anyone but himself. He only said all that because he knows if the killer comes for him next, he’s done for.”

“Don’t say things like that.”

“What? It’s true. You’re the one saying that even I couldn’t take this guy down, so how does Dan stand a chance?”

You shake your head, the only thing you can do is let out a sarcastic laugh. This is the Rafe you know and try to love. You should’ve known that all the sweetness and understanding would come crashing down soon enough.

Now that you’ve had a taste of what he could be like, this feels like going from five-star dining to eating McDonalds.

Maybe Cori was right.

“I’m not doing this with you.”

You don’t want to even try and fight with him, knowing it never goes anywhere.

“I’m staying with Andrea and Simone for a few nights.”

He starts to say your name, but you ignore him, running up the stairs.

He doesn’t follow you.

“Should we watch A Nightmare on Elm Street or Halloween?” Simone keeps her eyes on the TV screen.

“Maybe we should watch something with less murder,” Andrea suggests.

“A horror movie without murder. I don’t think they make those.”

“We could watch Hocus Pocus.”

“What, are we 12?”

“Hocus Pocus is fun, no matter how old you are, Simone.”

Their bickering blends into the background as you stare at your phone. You expected that Rafe would have texted you at least once since yesterday. Actually, you thought he would be calling and texting you non-stop.

Instead, radio silence.

You peek past the curtains, spying on the house across the street. You would have to be blind to not notice the huge party happening. You thought more people would listen to the curfew.

Your stomach twists knowing that Rafe is having fun without you, easily able to ignore you, not worrying or checking up on you.

This killer shouldn’t get in the way of you celebrating your favorite holiday.

“I think we should go to the party,” you interrupt them.

They stare at you like you’re speaking gibberish.

“What? Aren’t you scared the killer is going to come back?”

“The truth is, Andrea, the killer could break into here if he wanted to. Maybe it would be better if we were around more people.”

She’s not convinced.

“I don’t know, Y/N. I already got into a whole argument with Matt about not going.”

“I guess you guys don’t have to go. It is just across the street.”

“No, you’re not going alone,” Simone adds.

“We don’t even have costumes,” Andrea sighs out.

“We can wear old ones. I’m sure there’s something around here.”

You start searching through the closet of their dorm room.

Jack o’ lanterns adorn the front porch, along with plastic skeletons and fake cobwebs. The air inside the house is warmer and stickier compared to the cold air outside. Probably because there’s so many people. You swear it’s a bigger party than in the past.

You can barely see who anyone is because of how dark the house is. The colorful lights around the house have been used sparingly. The costumes don’t help much either.

“We should try and stick together,” Simone yells to you and Andrea. Her voice sounds muffled because of the loud music playing, having to work harder to hear her.

The three of you were able to find costumes, somewhat. Normally, yours would be more elaborate, but the best you could do is put on a red dress and devil horns and call it a day.

You and Andrea agree, the three of you moving as one. You trudge through the people around you, finding the drinks in the back of the house. They have everything from kegs to Jell-O shots.

As you all start pouring your drinks of choice, a voice startles Andrea.

“I thought you said you weren’t coming?” There’s an edge to Matt’s voice.

“I changed my mind. I am allowed to do that,” she says nonchalantly, sipping her drink.

“Yeah, after you said I was a horrible person for throwing a party at a time like this.”

You and Simone share a glance, trying not to stare at the heated exchange in front of you.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. I still think it wasn’t the best idea, but honestly who knows what’s a good idea. I’ve never had to deal with a serial killer before.”

“Yeah, me neither. But I doubt he’s here, so this is probably safer than being in your dorm.”

“That’s what we figured.” Andrea looks at you and Simone, giving a reassuring smile.

You don’t know what you would do if you didn’t have Andrea and Simone. A friendship like that is more important than any guy, and that’s something you’re coming to terms with.

“I really want to talk to you. Alone, if that’s okay,” he leans in closer to her.

She nods before looking at the two of you again. Before she can say anything else, Simone cuts her off.

“Go ahead. We’ll be fine.”

“See you later,” she says, taking Matt’s hand.

“At least someone’s having fun tonight,” Simone quips before chugging her drink.

You try to have a good time, but you can’t help but look for Rafe in every face you come across. You don’t even know what he dressed up as.

Maybe you shouldn’t have blown up at him like that. Especially, since you’re here anyways.

You also can’t help but scan the faces around you, looking for that mask. The same one that’s been on your mind since you saw it.

After a few drinks, you tell Simone you’ll be right back, declining her offer to go with you.

You think you can handle a few minutes upstairs by yourself.

As you wash your hands, you start to hear commotion coming from downstairs. You turn off the faucet, stopping to listen.

You realize that it’s sirens that you’re hearing. The music cuts out, a loud voice carrying through the house. You can’t tell exactly what they’re saying, but the decrease in noise tells you the party’s being broken up.

It’s probably best to stay in here.

You text Simone, asking her what’s happening.

You decide to take off the horns, leaving them on the counter, your head needing the break from the tight headband.

You check your phone again, still no response.

Once you hear complete silence, you leave the bathroom. You leave your purse and phone in the bathroom, thinking you’ll be back in a couple minutes.

You slowly step down the stairs. The lights are on and the only person you see is Dan.

He’s visibly annoyed, already starting to throw away plastic cups. He quickly notices you, sighing.

“Oh, I didn’t think you were coming tonight.” Before you can explain, he continues, “Have you seen Rafe? Or anyone who lives here? I swear they all disappeared.”

“No. I mean I saw Matt a while ago. He went somewhere with Andrea.”

“Of course,” he scoffs.

“Wait. Are you saying you don’t know where Rafe is? When was the last time you saw him?”

“Around the time people started showing up, I guess.”

“So, what happened? Did the cops show up?”

“Yeah, we got busted for throwing a party after curfew. Like I knew we would. We got a ticket, but I’m sure Rafe can deal with that. It’s the university I’m worried about. Who knows what they’re going to do.”

He looks up at you, finally, setting down the trash bag.

“Anyways, maybe we should try and find Rafe or Matt or someone.”

“Yeah.”

It’s all you can say. The fact that Rafe has completely vanished makes you uneasy, millions of thoughts swarming your brain.

You follow Dan back upstairs, deciding to knock on Matt’s door first.

He tries a few times, even calling out his name.

Nothing.

He hesitates at first but turns the doorknob anyway.

“Matt?”

The room is dark, but you think you see the outline of someone on the other side of the room.

“What the fuck? What am I stepping in?” Dan asks, looking down. “Can you turn the light on?”

You fumble with the light switch, the yellow lightbulb finally turning on.

That’s when you see it. Or him.

“Oh my God,” you say with your hand over your mouth, your lips opening involuntarily.

“Oh shit.”

You both stare at Matt’s mutilated body, slouching in his desk chair. Red soaks his shirt while his arm hangs down, blood dripping to the floor.

Dan looks down at his feet again, immediately stepping back.

It’s puddle of the same crimson that drips from Matt.

You stare at it, realizing that it can’t be from Matt. Your chest feels tight, and you look back at Dan with glassy eyes.

You drag your eyes to the door, knowing that once you look behind it, there’s no going back.

Clenching his jaw, Dan swings the door back.

“No. No. No.” You break down as you find Andrea sitting against the wall, lifeless. Blood stains her lips and chin and you can see where she was stabbed, the white lace of her bra now red.

You tear your eyes away from her, not being able to look at her like that. The girl who could make anyone laugh, gone forever.

You rush into the hallway, the air in the bedroom suffocating you. You feel like you’re going to pass out.

“I can’t fucking believe this,” Dan mutters to himself.

Tears have filled his eyes too. He takes a deep breath, collecting himself.

You’re bent over, trying not to throw up all over yourself.

“Y/N. We need to get out of here.”

Your eyes are still on the floor, Dan’s voice sounding like white noise.

He grabs your shoulder, “Y/N! We need to go now!”

You finally look over to see Dan’s wide eyes.

“We need to find Rafe,” you say, your voice cracking.

You can tell Dan wants to say something else, but he settles on agreeing.

“We can’t spend too long on this. If he’s not in his room, we’re leaving,” Dan tells you as you walk to Rafe’s room.

You don’t bother knocking, barging into his room.

Empty.

“His window’s open,” you unconsciously observe.

The curtains billow in the wind.

“That’s probably how the killer got in. We need to get out of this house.”

When you don’t budge, he screams, “Now!”

You snap out of your daze, trying not to think about how your boyfriend could be lying dead somewhere.

You and Dan run to the front door. You can almost taste your escape.

Dan swings open the door so fast, he doesn’t see the dark figure on the other side of the door.

You stop in your tracks and before you can say his name, Dan is yelling out and clutching his abdomen.

It only takes another second for the killer to drive his knife right into Dan’s neck.

You watch in horror, screaming as Dan stops moving.

The gloved hand pulls the knife back out, leaving Dan to fall to the floor with a thud.

Your fear affects you the same as the last time you were in a situation like this. Your feet won’t move even if you can feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins.

You expect the figure in front of you to run at you, killing you too. Instead, he stands there, tilting his head, as if he’s playing with you.

This is a game after all.

You finally start to budge, deciding that going through the back door would be better than going upstairs like last time.

You see his foot move, fingers adjusting his grasp on the knife. He’s getting ready to chase you, but you take your chances running away anyway.

You sprint through the kitchen, almost reaching the back door. Just as your fingers find the metal of the doorknob, a hand grabs your neck, pulling you back.

You try your hardest to rip the leather clad hand from your skin, you end up pushing against him, moving your body so you can use all your strength to shove him away from you.

His hand slips from you, breathing becoming easier. You use this advantage to run again, this time to the front door.

What you don’t anticipate is how slippery the floor has become. You lose your footing, hands and knees hitting the hard floor. You fall right into the puddle that has grown from Dan’s body, blood covering your exposed skin and the smell of copper filling your nose.

Dan’s lifeless body being this close to you makes you falter, fear clouding your mind.

You’re snapped out of it when you feel a hand on your ankle, trying to drag you towards him.

You let out a scream as he moves your body across the floor. When he lets up a little, you turn around to face him, kicking his leg.

He only falls back a little, but you crawl away from him. You try to stand up, but it’s hard to get traction on your heels from the blood on the floor.

You crawl around Dan’s body, not giving it a glance.

Just as you reach the open door, the killer is faster than you, blocking it with his body, looking down at you.

You take your next best option, finally able to stand up and run up the stairs. You left your phone in the bathroom, you could lock yourself in there and call the police.

You reach the hallway, the bathroom not too far from you.

But you’re just not fast enough.

He catches up to you, not letting you go this time.

He grabs you, pulling you into him, arms wrapping around you tight. The mask rubbing against the side of your face.

His fingers reach up to your neck, roughly tearing off the necklace that you haven’t been able to take off since Cori’s death.

He throws it to the floor, clattering on the hardwood.

Tears stream down you face as you know what’s coming next. You close your eyes tight as you anticipate the sharp blade penetrating your skin.

“I got you, baby.”

You feel everything stop, your blood turning to ice, and your breath catching in your throat.

“You’re okay.”

You slowly open your eyes at the familiar voice. You feel your stomach twisting into knots.

He continues to softly mutter in your ear.

“You’re mine now.”

You feel him shift, reaching up to take off the mask, his hood falling off in the process. You feel something in you break as you find his dirty blond hair and blue eyes.

There’s no more denying that it’s him.

It’s your boyfriend under the mask.

He throws the mask to the floor but keeps his knife in one hand.

Sobs erupt out of your mouth, it’s all you can do.

You feel him nuzzle into you, his lips on the top of your head. He tries to shush you, comforting you in his own twisted way.

That’s when you feel it, something poking your backside. It’s not his knife. You tear yourself away from his arms, wanting to get as far away from his as you can.

You try to still your trembling lip.

“What is wrong with you, Rafe?” Your voice is hoarse, but you struggle through the words.

You stare at him, still having a hard time processing everything that has happened in the last half hour.

His brow furrows like he doesn’t understand why you’re upset with him.

“I just wanted to protect you,” he says with a heaviness.

“Protect me from what? You’re the one who hurt… our friends.” Another sob leaves your lips.

“They were trying to get between us. Trying to… take you away from me.”

You can see the tears starting to fill his eyes.

“What are you talking about?”

“I thought killing Cori would be enough. She always said you that you were too good for me. And sometimes… I thought you loved her more than you loved me.”

He tries to blink the tears away, but they fall down his cheeks.

You’re speechless, the words not forming so he continues.

“But then Andrea, and Simone,” he pauses, shaking his head. “They wouldn’t leave you alone, and they didn’t have to say what I knew they were thinking.” Something settles in his eyes, darkness filling his voice. “So, I did what I had to do.”

“Wait, Simone? You-.” Your voice catches, the realization hitting you that she didn’t get away.

“I caught her outside before she could leave.”

Your tears fall into your mouth. All you can taste is the saltiness of them.

“Why Dan?”

“Dan always had a thing for you. I just didn’t think he would ever try doing anything about it,” Rafe spits out angrily, his eyes hardening. “Then all of a sudden, you’re telling me that you like him better.”

Your eyes shut, not believing what you’re hearing. “That’s not what happened. You still think that’s what I was saying?”

“That is what happened, Y/N. See, you don’t even realize how they were getting into your head.”

“No one was-.” You stop yourself, finding it to be no use arguing with him. “What’s your excuse for killing Matt? I barely even talked to him.”

“Matt was a tragic case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But getting rid of him was for the best, I don’t need any loose ends.”

“Did you kill Chris too?”

You don’t even want to ask.

A sickening grin makes its way onto Rafe’s face.

“No. Chris is passed out in his room, thanks to what I slipped into his drink. I need someone alive to pin all this on.”

You take a second to think about his words.

“You’re going to frame an innocent man?”

“It’s either me or him. And it sure as hell isn’t going to be me.”

The nausea has gotten worse.

“Also, Chris is a douchebag, even you have to agree with that.”

“You’re sick, Rafe,” you say quietly.

The look on his face tells you he didn’t hear you.

“You’re sick,” you say with vitriol.

He steps closer to you, so you quickly step back.

“Stay away from me!”

He puts his hands up defensively, the knife still between his fingers.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I did this for us.”

“You just chased me all over the house! And what about that other night?”

“I thought scaring you would bring you closer to me.”

You’re not sure if you want to laugh or cry until you have nothing left in you.

You feel hopeless until you look over and see Rafe’s room, the plan of how you’re getting out of here already forming in your mind. Just lock him out and leave through the window.

You see his eyes follow yours and you dash for his door, trying to close it on him.

But just like he’s faster than you, he’s also stronger than you. He pushes the door open so hard. The doorknob cracks the wall.

“You still think you can get away from me? This is me going easy on you.”

“Rafe, please.”

You don’t know what else to do.

As you inch closer to the window, he grabs you away from it, your back being pushed against his chest.

“You want to know the other reason I chased you?” His warm breath tickles your ear.

I also thought it was fun. You being the helpless victim and all. Playing with you, leading you right where I wanted you.”

The knife in his hand is back at your chest, he trails it along your exposed skin, blood being left in its trail.

“Stop, Rafe. You’re scaring me.”

“Good.”

He moves the knife to your shoulder. You gasp as he cuts the strap of your dress with the blade.

“You know, it took everything in me not to bend you over and shove my cock inside you that night. And I could’ve, you were so scared, you would’ve let me do anything I wanted to you.”

He takes a second to glance over you, how your chest heaves, drinking you in with his hungry gaze.

“It’s not like you’ve been giving me much to work with. I’ve had to use all of the restraint I have, hoping it would mean you trusted me more. But instead, you blow me off, treating me like I’m second best,” he says the last sentence through clenched teeth.

Moving you closer to the bed, he pushes you down, pinning you down with his weight.

“I should’ve just taken you while you were sleeping next to me. Pinned to the mattress, no choice but to feel me deep inside you.”

You look up at him, his face blurry as you blink back the tears, lashes drenched.

“I would’ve done it if I had known it was going to be the only way for you to realize you’re mine. And only mine.”

He keeps the knife at your shoulder, pressing it into the skin, just enough to draw blood. You hiss at the pain, and he watches the deep red come to the surface.

He doesn’t waste a second before his mouth is on your wound, licking it, giving it a kiss.

He moves away, your blood staining his lips.

You’re horrified at the image.

But the taste is worse.

He presses his lips to your own. You try to keep your mouth closed, but he pushes his tongue inside, the taste of copper filling your mouth.

The feeling of leather on your thigh alarms you. He squeezes your skin before reaching under your dress, dipping a finger into your underwear.

“Please, Rafe. Stop,” more sobs rack your body.

He ignores your pleas as his lips find your neck. You push his shoulder, trying to get him off you. But he stays put, his finger continuing to rub you.

He adds another finger, pushing into your cunt. You gasp at the sudden intrusion. He moves them inside you, harsh in his movements. While he works you open, his mouth marks up your neck. Kissing, licking, and biting. Anything to get a reaction out of you.

You try to ignore the pleasure building inside you and you’re glad when he takes his fingers out of you. But that feeling doesn’t last for long.

Your stomach drops as he pushes your underwear down, fumbling with his jeans.

“Rafe!” You try pleading again, kicking and shoving, anything to get him off you.

Instead, Rafe puts all of his weight on top of you, grabbing your wrists and pinning them to the bed.

His lips part as he thrusts inside you, a strangled cry leaving your throat at the feeling of him stretching you open.

He keeps one of his hands on both of your wrists, bringing the other to your mouth, moving his fingers past your lips. You can taste yourself on the leather, and a hint of copper. Your stomach twists at not knowing where, or who, it’s from.

He pushes them down your throat, making you gag. His pace gets harder and quicker as he trails his spit-soaked fingers to your throat. Fear runs through your veins as he wraps his fingers around your neck.

“You’re mine,” he says through quick breaths. “And if you ever try to leave…”

He stares at your teary gaze, his thrusts becoming easier with how your body ignores your horror, betraying you instead.

“Just know how easy it is for me to do this.” He squeezes harder around your neck. “I could wring this pretty neck anytime I want.”

He lets up and a sob leaves your mouth.

You look up at him, trying to find the man you fell in love with.

The man who never let you leave his sight without a kiss or let you pay for dinner.

He looks like him, but there��s something different about his gaze, a darkness that wasn’t there before.

Or maybe you just never noticed it.

He pauses his movements as he flips you around, treating you like a ragdoll that he can use and do whatever he wants with.

A moan escapes you as he pushes back inside you. You can hear his skin slapping against yours, his pace almost unbearable. His moans have gotten louder, and you feel his hand on your head, keeping it glued to the mattress.

You can feel your orgasm approaching, horrified, but also not fighting against it.

You have no fight left in you.

Something snaps inside you, and you feel the pleasure wash over you. A whimper leaving your throat.

Your walls squeeze around him, and a groan escapes his lips. He stills, spilling into you.

He replaces his hand with his lips, kissing your hair and breathing you in.

“I’m not ever letting you go,” he whispers against you.

~

Tags: @fangirlwithlou @softcoreparadise @thebuttofcaptainamerica

[maskedchip]

I am looking thru files rn and take a lot of pictures of my own art for progress, bc I think like many creatives, it's hard to explain or describe how i get from point A to B in art. im a horrible teacher but this piece for example: (explained under cut)

i tried drawing their little cafe outfits really fast but i just didnt vibe with it. idk what made me want to redo the whole thing. i like the attempt at cooler colors for asougi though. so then we move onto these and:

the first pic looks like an absolute MESS, but what i generally do is get a sketch down, and COLOR out of the way first? I assume it's to set the general tone/ vibe for the piece, which is why you notice a lot of plain color blocks in the bg. then i go back and do lineart and merge all the layers to paint! :D

tbh it's a very back and forth process, and the best way someone described it to me is "you put down blobs of color and then go crazy" which is very, very true.

I think i like the aspect of "carving" in traditional art, where you kinda play around with paint so you go over it again and try something new. so i try to apply that to digital. i think in a lot of my pieces you can see i teeter on the line of messy lineart with color to full blown painting.

anyways there was no point of this, but this is why i always wanna keep track of old art and why i go and revamp old concepts. like i can always try again! also why thumbnailing is very. very. important. but my main goal in art is to have fun when u can, so that's why i play alot.

[yandere-kokeshi]

Lagati Null headcanons

Warnings: Yandere behavior, smut headcanons near the end; Minors, PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DNI!!!!

Authors note: This is my OC!! I’m so excited to show her to you, she’s my baby :D. Feel free to ask about her, enjoy reading!!!

Lagati is an incredibly large and intimidating half-orc (at first glance), walking around with a ‘glare’ and a look that could kill anyone. But, in reality, she’s a huge doofus and a gentle giant; she loves small yet cute animals, baking/or cooking, and doing arts ‘n crafts in her free time.

In the town she lives in, she loves helping out as much as she can and taking over at shops whenever the owners need a rest from the busy week. Plus, she makes excellent apple-pie that she’s willing to share with her folks!

Speaking of cooking, she works as a fruit picker, who bakes pies and sweets whilst working as a wood-carver! She’s also well-knowledged in blacksmithing, sewing, and leather crafting. Lagiti mostly makes saddles for her farm animals and clothes; polishing them to a perfect color.

Mostly, because of her size, she sews her own clothes. Most of the human clothes that are in the shops don’t fit her. She also grows her own food, making the freshest refreshments on a daily basis; plus, her home is also her shop :D

Lagati smells like clothes coming right out of the dryer and apples; in the early mornings, smelling like hay whenever she lays it out for her farm animals.

In her town, she’s often seen as ‘the kindest ‘monster’ on the block’ and ‘your right gal’. Lagati always tries to be nice and caring, smiling no matter the circumstances, and rarely gets upset; always trying to find the good in people and is a hopeless romantic.

Speaking of hopeless romantic’s, Lagati had once been in a relationship that was quite… bad. She was married to a woman whom she thought was the definition of perfection, though she was the quite opposite. The woman would berate Lagati emotionally and verbally, making Lagati feel awful and insecure of herself. At times, she was forced to walk around egg-shells around her ex-fiance, making the whole relationship toxic and unsteady. Glady, after Lagati’s parents saw a dim of their daughter’s health, they spoke about their concerns and that’s what motivated her to get rid of her and end things.

Ever since that incident, she still has big hopes in love and saw that just as a bad experience that everyone has at some point. But, when she had met you by complete accident, she knew you were the one.

You were a new shop keeper moving in, who she had accidently ran into on a rather busy day, making her spill everything in your hands onto the ground and on yourself.

She expected you to be anxiety-riven and rather upset at her, blaming her for dropping your things… but when you apologized for ‘running into her’ and ‘not watching where you were going’, she immediately looked at you like a god in her eyes. Not only were you acting ‘normal’ around her, you decided to offer her a pay back-fee for ruining her shirt (like she could care)… which leaves her with animated heart-eyes and excitement; a type of fluttery in her chest.

Lagati had invited you to her farm, promising to make you an evening dinner and get you a new shirt… which boosted off your friendship with each other.

From there, both of you had decided to continue hanging out; meeting up whilst going for cute but original dates: coffee in the afternoon, help around her home, stargazing, movie nights, picnic’s, visit the museum, and do baking together.

Once she believes the time is right, she expresses her love to you: making your favorite food whilst preparing a dessert you’ll glady enjoy for the night and early morning.

Both of you wake up to hickies, a small club of laughter together, and the fresh feeling of romance in the air; something the both of you can now get used to. For the next few days, her smile is brighter and eyes speak of pure happiness.

From the start, her yandere traits are pretty low, mostly acting on protectiveness, clinginess, and worshiping. She sees you as her beautiful partner, a goddess in disguise, and the most divinest person she’s ever met. Lagati will do anything for you, wanting to please you and get praises from you.

However, she’s not afraid to snap and hurt someone if she needs to. If she sees someone being rude or throwing slurs at you, she’s immediately in their face and threatening them. Lagati wouldn’t kill someone, but if she needs to, she will do so if it comes to that stage. But, she would much rather use her height and intimidation to make sure they’d never approach you again.

As for her half-orc size, she’s pretty strong!! Lagiti has the ability to lift two barrels full of apples and a horse if she wanted to. This also includes her working out, usually waking up at an unholy-god hour and coming back home to make homemade chocolate muffins for the both of you!

Lagati’s hobbies are pretty tame! She loves reading, creating projects (in which she never finishes), working out, and cooking/baking things. She loves to get out of her comfort zone a lot of the time, making things that may or may not be a challenge (she could probably beat Gordan Ramsay if she wanted too)

Even though Lagati has moved away from her hometown, she still has her cockney accent at times. Whenever she says certain words, it comes out and makes it harder for her to continue on.

Speaking of hometown, her family is quite large! She has a bunch of siblings, sitting with 14 brothers and sisters, including herself. Lagati is the oldest and the only orc who decided to move away from her family. Though, she is highly close with her parents and talks to them quite frequently! She would love it if you were able to get close with her parents, plus with her siblings.

The relationship between you two at first is quite slow but romantic. She loves making you things, especially out of wood and clothes that are rather ravishing on you. She tends to spend most of her days cuddling with you, smiling like a goofball and planning to make a delicious dinner for you both.

Farm dates!! She will definitely teach you how to plant, grow, and take out the vegetables and fruits; she would gladly also teach you how to groom and take care of her farm animals if you’re interested in that.

Other than the farm dates, the types of ‘normal’ dates are really cute and comforting. She loves picnics at the park, especially at night, and seeing the aquarium every now and again with you.

Definitely a bookworm!! Lagati is the type of weirdo you know who talks a bit too much and tells you these weird yet interesting facts that literally no one asked for but are quite absorbing to know!

Lagati trusts you completely in the relationship. At times, she will get jealous when she sees you with someone, flirting with you but she knows you’d never ever backstab her or go out of your way to hurt her.

Due to her hobbies, she loves making things and surprising you with them. That desk you always wanted yet it’s too expensive to get? You come home to a polished and detailed carving desk-top that’s absolutely worth a million dollars. Do you need a new bed-frame? She’s absolutely working on a new one, plus, it’s now a king-size bed that’s certainly comfy to lay on.

Acts of service to the top. Lagati always wants affirmation and praise from you; meaning, she always asks if she can do anything to help you in any way. Whether that’s to bring you an extra blanket, get water, or stop at the grocery store to get your favorite soda, she’s willing to do it to see you smile!

This also includes her being very helpful with height differences! You’ll never have to worry about getting that cookie jar and that plate of yours that’s always up top for some reason; plus, she may or may not grab you and throw you over her shoulder when she’s in a teasing mood.

She’s super duper warm 24/7, basically your own personal heater. No matter how cold it is, she stays the same and mostly walks around in the shared home with a thin plaid shirt on. But, she understands that since you’re her tiny human, she will make sure that the shared bed of yours will have the best blankets and the softest pillows.

NSFW — Minors, please do not interact!

Lagati is very touch-starved, she’s always touching you in some way… which mostly leads to makeouts, then fucking each other lovingly.

A subby switch. As much as she loves to please you and fuck you like no other, she prefers being dommed by you; rather drools at the thought of it. Being topped by you really makes her excited, seeing you bring out the toys and bondages makes her feel something.

Oral fixation. Lagati wants to make you feel good, entirely. She will eat you out at least two or three times in a session, making sure you’re well satisfied before continuing on.

Huge whiner when it comes to teasing. Whenever you stop to tease her, she’s begging for you to continue on and to touch her, calling you ‘mommy’, ‘mistress’, or anything that’ll make you continue: “Please! Oh god, I–can’t. Please touch me, hun. Please–! It hurts, oh god– I’ll be good, I promise. Fuck–Just touch me, mommy!”

When you two have sex, she’s either a passionate, slow lover; feeling every ounce with gentle touches with each other. Or, rough fucking into oblivion where your so ovestimulated with every touch she brings.

When she’s top, she’s painfully slow at first. She’s afraid of hurting you, but the more she presses the vibrator against your clit and uses the strap-on dildo, she becomes more erratic with her thrusts and pleasures you till you see white.

Most of the sex-positions are equal, however, she absolutely loves fuck-cuddling. Being able to finger you or using the pink vibrator on you until the morning. The moans and whines coming out of you never fail to make her want more.

Aftercare is really important for her. She never ever finishes sex without helping you clean up, drawing a bath for you, or making sure your well comfortable.

She doesn’t mind pain on her, she can handle being spanked, getting her hair pulled/or yanked, being scratched, and having hickies. But, on you? She loves marking you, trying her best not to leave bruises or scratches but when you take control, she tends to lose her mind and moan like a pornstar.

Hickies galore – she loves marking you on the neck, collarbones, chest, tummy… you name it.

She talks a lot during sex, mostly babbles and whines… but more consent-wise: “Is it okay if I touch here?” – “Look how pretty you are, pumpkin. God, you truly are a masterpiece.” – “Don’t hide away, I wanna see the real you.. Pretty please, baby?”

At times, Lagati spank you or pull your hair when she’s feeling rough or had a bad day. But she will never, ever degrade you or do something that’ll make you uncomfortable (remember, consent is sexy people!!)

Eating you out is part of her hobby. Fingering you brutally, curling them while moving your clit in a circular motion just to hear you whimper and whine uncontrollably, making sure to lick and suck your majestic pussy. At every end of the eating out session, you’ve at least squirted three times.

Will definitely make you lingerie, mostly crotchless ones and bustiers that certainly fit your form. Not only that, if you’re into cosplay, she’ll gladly make you a maid custom, devil-set, cow-girl maid, or baby-doll set; whatever you want, darlin’.

The type of woman to affectionately cup your sex and breasts randomly or after intercourse. Whether that’s nakedly cuddling after a vanilla session or just watching TV, she’ll just tig her hand into your pants while reading or lift up your shirt to squeeze them.

—

Reblogs, comments, and likes are very much appreciated. Thank you all <33

[mamaspresley]

to find a cure | austinbutler

summary in which austin tries to find himself in the art of pottery, and instead, finds you wc 3,932 tw mentions of depression

note : aaa i saw the request @scrambled-eggs-y posted about this and i could not stop obsessing so i decided to write on the idea as well. go check out their fic, it’s linked here , it is phenomenal <<33 i hope u guys enjoy my rendition of pottery!austin !!

It was amazing, how much stress he lived under every day for two years. Shooting Elvis was nothing short of a dream, one that Austin would be forever grateful for, but it wasn’t as pleasant as his mind had made it out to be at the beginning. The past two years had been so strenuous, so draining on him from the long hours and the consistent studying and learning of his role. It had taken a seriously heavy mental toll on the boy and it wasn’t until he was bedridden in a hospital in Queensland that Austin realized how serious it was. 

He got many texts and calls from friends and family, wishing him well and hoping that he would get better soon. He was admitted for a week, so by the time he returned home to LA he was feeling a lot better, physically. But there was still a pressure weighing down on him emotionally, and Austin wasn’t sure if treatments and doctors would help him this time. 

That feeling never truly went away— not for a long time, at least. It was almost a full year since he finished filming Elvis, and he’d tried to cope with his depression by throwing himself into his other projects, into his friends and family. He never took the time to work on himself, so when he was between jobs and had nothing to do but be by himself, he was miserable. And that was just the case in the early months of 2022. 

“You should try getting into art, or something,” a friend suggested to him. Austin had gone to one of his closest friends, Ashley Tisdale, for help, finally admitting defeat after a year of living with this unhealthy mindset. “You know, I heard painting is really therapeutic. Maybe you could try that? Or I heard about this new pottery class downtown. That could be nice.” 

Since the wrap on Elvis, Austin had reached a level of depression he’d never even known was possible. It could easily be described as imposter syndrome — he didn’t know who he was, who was living in his body, taking over his soul. He felt lost within himself, like he wasn’t Austin every morning he’d wake up. For nearly three years of his life he dedicated every conscious moment to becoming Elvis Presley, so having to adapt back to his old ways — his own ways — felt impossible. Elvis was all he knew for such an extended period of his life… It made sense that Austin had lost his own individuality in that process. 

But trying art as therapy? Austin almost laughed at that — sure, he was an actor, but he wasn’t big into the arts, like sculpting or painting. “Ashley, you know damn well I can barely even draw a stickman.”

“You don’t have to be good!” she assured him. “Just try it. I’ll go with you, if you want.”

It was about a week after that conversation when Austin called her up, swallowing his pride and asking if she would stay true to her word and accompany him. “You mentioned somethin’ ’bout a pottery class? I’ve never tried pottery… let’s do that.” It took a lot of strength to pull himself out of bed every morning. But Austin was big on trying new things — it was something that made him feel excited, encouraged him to step out of his comfort zone, and since filming Elvis he hadn’t found anything that made him feel like that again. So he felt good about this; he felt good about getting out of the house — and that surprised him more than anything. 

“I’m happy you wanted to do this,” Ashley said, smiling at the boy from the passenger seat of his car as Austin backed into a parking stall just a few blocks from the building she directed him to. “It’s good, seeing you out and about again. I was getting worried for a bit there.”

“Yeah,” he said, putting the car in park and shutting off the engine as he looked over at his friend. “Me, too. But I think this will be fun.”

They both got out of the car, walking across the parking lot. “I have a feeling you’re gonna suck at this,” Ashley teased, and Austin rolled his eyes as he slung an arm over her shoulder. 

“You’ve got just as much experience as me at this pottery thing, so you can’t say shit if I’m terrible.” He smiled. Ashley was someone who Austin held very close to his heart, and he had for a long time. She was truly the only person he trusted enough to go to if he was struggling, and this just proved his theory. She was his best friend, nothing more than that, and it made Austin happy knowing that he had such a good support network in times of need. 

He held the door open for her as they walked in and Ashley found the two of them seats near the back of the room. There were a few other people taking the class, some looked more experienced than others, but Austin didn’t feel nervous at all. He was excited— he loved trying new things, even if he had no clue what he was doing. He couldn’t even guess what half of the instruments in front of him were used for, and it was comical how confused Ashley looked beside him. They were both screwed — so what else could they do but laugh about it?

They put on the smocks hanging near the side of the room, after realizing everyone else was wearing them, and Austin rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows as he sat down at his station. 

“Okay, I think we can start.” The voice came from you, standing at the front of the room in a pair of light washed jeans and a tank top. You were tying a white smock around yourself, which had paint splatters and stains all over, and you had your hair tied up messily but somehow it looked perfect, within the imperfectness. You had soft features, a kind smile, and Austin genuinely believed that you were the prettiest girl he’d ever laid his eyes on. 

“Is she… is she the instructor?” He leaned over to Ashley, his gaze never falling off of you. 

“I think so.” Ashley looked over at Austin, who was too busy gawking at you to notice that his friend was watching him. Ashley grinned ear to ear at her realization, seeing the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips, his eyes seemingly sparkling at his admiration over you, a total stranger. “Oh my God.”

“What?” He snapped out of his trance, looking over at Ashley like nothing had happened. 

“You think she’s cute.” At her words, Austin felt himself blushing. And he was quick to defend himself, stumbling over his words and the heat in his cheeks only made it worse. At his nervousness, Ashley laughed. “You totally do! Oh, this is adorable.”

“Would you shut up?”

“Okay, first things first, who here has experimented with pottery before?” You, who Austin was marvelling over seconds before, were now drawing the attention of the class, taking a seat at the station in front of you. A few people around you raised their hands, but Austin and Ashley kept to themselves. “So the rest of you have no clue what you’re doing, then?”

Everyone laughed, but Austin was too distracted, unable to tear his eyes away from you. You were enchanting, your skin glowy and your eyes so soft and kind, as well as your smile. He couldn’t get over how adorable you looked — you were the human embodiment of the word sweet. “Well that’s all right. You’ll figure it out with the rest of us. So the first thing we’re gonna do is wet our hands and prepare our clay on the wheel.”

The class went by quicker than Austin expected, and for the whole hour he figured he’d only spent a total of two minutes not looking at you. You were ethereal, encouraging a feeling in Austin that he hadn’t experienced in a long time, and that was why when they were cleaning up at the end of the lesson, Austin turned to Ashley and asked if she wanted to attend next week’s class with him, as well. 

“Yeah, sure.” And that’s how Austin ended up as one of the class’s regular students, and by a month in, not only was Austin’s adoration for you growing, but he was actually becoming pretty good at the whole pottery thing. 

Currently he was attending a class without Ashley — she couldn’t find a babysitter for the night, and Austin assured her it was fine. He didn’t mind going alone, he quite enjoyed spending time by himself, and if he was being honest, he’d been trying to work up the courage for a while now to talk to you. Ashley continually teased him about it, and though he knew it was lighthearted, Austin really did like you. He wanted to talk to you, not just in passing or when you asked if he was doing okay with the lesson. He craved a real conversation, much like he’d been dreaming about since the day he saw you. Every night of his was spent excitedly going to bed, so he could fall asleep and make contact with the girl that mainly existed inside of his head. He’d never been so in love with the idea of someone before, and Austin was getting tired of only meeting you in his dreams. 

Austin was excited for this week’s class, a little bit more than all the others. He’d been planning to finally strike up a conversation with you, and once the day came, he couldn’t wait. 

So he showed up early. Only by a few minutes, but being in the vicinity helped ease his nerves a bit. It was funny, really, the contrast between the man he was now versus how holed up he had been only two months before. A pottery class, something that Austin never would’ve guessed he’d be frequently attending, was what saved him. A depressing spiral he was previously caught in, something that seemed would never come to an end, was easily prevented by a simple suggestion from a friend, something as silly as an art class. And now, he was working up the courage to ask out a girl, something he hadn’t even thought of since the beginning of his past relationship of nine years. He never really advanced towards a new one after their split two years before, never felt the need to nor did he meet anyone that he fancied, until laying eyes on you. It felt like love at first sight, and Austin was smart enough to realize that this was a feeling he didn’t want to let escape him just because he was a little scared.

The class started as it always did, with you welcoming the new students and saying hello to the returning ones. Today they were making vases, straying from the usual path of simple things like bowls or cups. The style that you wanted the class to try was a bit more advanced, with a slight curve and a weird shape to it. Austin was excited to try out his newfound skill, but the more he thought about it, he realized he would probably do anything you asked, realistically. It was humorous to him, how quickly he’d fallen for you when he didn’t know a single thing about you. Aside from your love for pottery, of course. That was something he found himself pondering a lot of the time when he dreamt of you — you were artistic, which was a trait that Austin loved. That meant you appreciated the beauty in things, you were creative and were such a kind, warm-hearted person. And this was just from what he gathered from the way you taught the class. There was so much more he was dying to know about you. 

About halfway through the class, you asked, “Okay, and how’s everyone doing?” You were walking the length of the room, peering in on certain people’s creations. Austin was working absentmindedly, his focus being more on you standing only a few feet away, admiring one of the older lady’s work. “Margaret, this is beautiful. I love the way you put your own spin on this.” And I love the way every single word sounds falling from your lips, he thought.

It was only a few minutes later before you came behind Austin, and he was momentarily embarrassed by the way his heart picked up so quickly at your presence. “This looks good,” you said, moving to stand beside him with your arms crossed. Austin watched as you chewed on your lower lip, eyes clouding over with thought before you bent down. “I feel like you might wanna add a bit more of a curve, though.” You placed your hand over his lightly, applying a slight pressure that caused Austin’s stomach to twist. By the speed at which his heart was racing, he was sure it was lethal. “There we go. Good job.”

You were gone as quick as you came and Austin focused the next few minutes on recuperating himself. It was child-like, the way you made him feel, the undeniable crush he had on you. But no matter how on-edge and starstruck he felt when you were around, he begged for the feeling back. 

It wasn’t long until the class was finishing up and they were putting their creations on the back shelf. Austin rinsed his hands off, drying them on his smock while he gave himself what seemed like the most important pep talk in the world. Just talk to her, he told himself, his eyes watching you as you cleaned up your station. She’s just a person. She’s not scary. Nothing can go wrong if you just say hi. 

Taking a deep breath, Austin made his way over. He owed this to himself. 

Nervously, Austin lifted the smock up and over his head, folding it once over before hanging it up. Then he turned on his heel, looking directly at you. “Hi,” he said. What the fuck was that?

“Hi! Austin, right?” 

God, you were so kind. The smile on your lips, forming perfectly on your face. It was as if the act of smiling was meant solely for you; you had perfected the art. Your eyes stared up at him like he was the only person in the world you cared to talk to. Austin’s heart thudded in his chest. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. I’m Austin.” Shut up, shut up— but say something! “I just, uh, figured it’d be nice to talk to you when you’re not teaching me how to make clay into a bowl.” What the fuck was that?— for a second time!

“You know, that is my speciality,” you said with a laugh, and Austin found himself smiling way too much for the simple small talk the two of you exchanged. 

“Well you’re really good at it.”

“Thank you, Austin.” He loved the way his name sounded when you said it. Thankfully, you continued talking, saving him momentarily from having to come up with something. “You’re getting pretty good, too! I noticed you’re coming every week. Usually your girlfriend is with you— where is she tonight?”

Girlfriend? “Girlfriend?”

“The woman you always come with.”

Oh! Ashley. “Oh! Ashley. She’s—she’s not my girlfriend.” His cheeks were heating up and Austin prayed that the nervousness he felt wasn’t transferring onto his expression. “Just a close friend. She got me out of the house for the class.”

“Well that’s good,” you smiled, and Austin crossed his arms as he smiled back. “I’m glad you continue to come. So you’re single then?”

What? “What?” That was a quick jump.

“Usually I find that a lot of the people that come to these classes are married couples.” You were speaking while continuing to clean up now, and Austin helped you as best he could. “Pottery can be a very romantic thing, so it’s not unusual to bring your significant other to a class. You should bring them, you know, if you have a partner.”

“I don’t.”

“Oh.” You were speaking almost absentmindedly as you shoved things into drawers, wiping up the counter space. You kneeled down to grab a few paint brushes that had fallen to the ground before pausing, looking up at Austin. “This is gonna sound so weird, but I really feel like I’ve seen you before.”

Austin chuckled small, his hand moving to his jaw, his fingers playing with his lips, “I get that a lot.” You looked on at him, waiting for an answer. “I hate saying this because it makes me feel like just the biggest douchebag.” You laughed, and the sound was so pretty coming from your lips he had to answer. Maybe he could impress you. “I’m an actor.”

You snapped your fingers as soon as he said it, and Austin laughed. “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood! Oh my god, I can’t believe I didn’t clue in.” You stood up, and it was then that Austin became aware of the drastic height difference. You were a lot shorter than him, which he adored, and he couldn’t tell if the glimmer in your eyes was from the sudden change in conversation or if it was just a look you always had. “I’ve lived in LA for so long but it’s always surprising to me when I meet famous people.”

“I could say the same about people calling me famous,” he joked, and you smiled at him genuinely. 

“I can’t believe I didn’t know it was you. But then again, you’re almost unrecognizable in that role. I loved that movie — Quentin Tarantino is one of my favourite directors. And for him to dip into the Charles Manson story, I just… that was such a great film. I loved Brad’s character, he was so complex and, like, the whole bit about Charlie’s deciples, I mean…” You rambled on about the film, hardly mentioning anything about Austin’s role, which was definitely something he noticed but it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. He loved that you didn’t talk about him at all, actually, and instead enjoyed hearing your thoughts on the film itself. “Quentin had such a good take on Once Upon a Time, Leo’s whole bit and how he tied Sharon Tate into it… I can’t imagine anyone else telling the story in a different way than he did. But I mean, he’s always—” You’d been going on for maybe about three minutes before realizing Austin hadn’t even gotten a word out, and your cheeks instantly turned a slight shade of pink. “I’m sorry.”

Austin was smiling, chuckling as he stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the counter behind him. 

“I can’t believe I just went on for, like, ten minutes about a movie you’re literally in. Like you didn’t know anything I just said. Oh my god.” You were rambling again, and Austin found it charming. “This probably happens to you all the time. I’m so sorry. This is embarrassing.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Austin reassured you, and you looked up at him as if to say, you sure? “I love hearing people’s thoughts on the film. It’s one of my favourite movies, too. I’m a huge fan of Quentin’s work, so I understand. I mean, I was completely fangirling the whole time over him.”

Your cheeks were pinkish, and you smiled small. An awkward silence settled over the two of you and it was almost thirty seconds before you spoke up again. “You know, next class I’m thinking of trying mugs.”

“Like coffee mugs?”

“Mhm,” you nodded. “They’re a bit difficult, though.” Austin licked his lips as he listened to you speak, and the way your eyes flickered down to his mouth didn’t go unnoticed. “The, uh, the handles are the tricky part.”

He hummed, meeting your eyes when you looked back up to them. You gulped silently, lips curling into one another as you pressed them into a thin line. He couldn’t be making up the tension between the two of you. 

“Will you be here next week?” you asked, shifting back and forth between the balls of your feet and your heels as you waited for an answer. Austin nodded, and the softest smile grew across your cheeks. “Okay. Then I guess we will be making mugs.”

“I’d say I’d better come prepared, but I don’t really have the facilities to practice at home.” Austin didn’t know what he was hinting at, but it was something. And thankfully, you caught on. 

“I teach other classes so, um, maybe you would wanna drop in at some point this week and use the wheels here?”

“You’d let me?” He was grateful that you had offered, because if he was being honest, Austin had no clue where he was going with the rest of the conversation. It made him feel a lot better knowing that this wasn’t just his idea, but that you wanted to see him, as well. 

“I don’t see why not. If it’s strictly for practice, that is.” You gave him what seemed to mirror a firm look, and Austin smiled at your playful seriousness. 

“Of course.”

“Okay. Then drop by any time,” you said, stepping back slightly as you grabbed your jacket off the back shelf. When you spoke, you glanced back at him over your shoulder, making eye contact the whole time. “I teach classes on Thursday from five until nine pm, if that’s not too late for you.”

“Nine is perfect. Let me walk you out.”

After grabbing his things, the two of you exited the building. Austin held the door open for you like a gentleman, reaching above your head to push it open from behind, and you thanked him once you stepped out. He watched as you took out your keys to lock the door of the shop, Austin stuffing his hands in his pockets while he waited. 

“Where’s your car?” he asked. 

“Just up here on the left,” you answered, and Austin walked you to your vehicle. Once you arrived at the small sedan, which beeped from the unlocking of the doors, you looked up at him with a smile. “Thank you for walking me out.”

“Oh, don’t thank me for that. Common courtesy.” He gave you a smile.

“I’ll see you on Thursday?” you confirmed, and Austin nodded, reaching over to open your door for you. 

“See you on Thursday.”

Smiling, you silently thanked him before ducking into your car, and Austin closed the door for you. He crossed the street to his own vehicle, watching as you drove away in yours, and the warm feeling that enclosed his heart wasn’t something he was afraid of, but something he embraced. 

The past year was harder for Austin than any other time in his life. Depression was something he combated on a daily basis now and it was extremely difficult for him to move past that feeling of being lost within himself. But there was something about taking this class that made it just a little bit easier for Austin to climb out of the hole he’d been stuck in for so long. And now, after speaking to you for maybe ten minutes, he realized it was you. You were the cure that he needed to this awful sickness he’d fallen ill to, and he was finally starting to feel a little bit better. It’d been years since he felt that, better, but finally he did. And it was all thanks to you. 

➳ @satninbeaulieu @suspiciousbutler @sagesolsticewrites @shimmeringlights44 @butlersbitxh @floralcyanide @sassy-ahsoka-tano @austin-butlers-gf @butlersbabe @dontbesussis @x-earthangel @anangelwhodidntfall @she-is-juniper @butler-on-beale-street @iloveaustinbutler @http-sponge @theliterarybeldam @melodydior @dances-and-dolly-dresses @mommy-maia @alligator-person @elvisabutler @scarlet-knight @austiebutbut @80s-outsiders @a-bolanos @sweetheartlizzie07 @ghxst-heart @matchaluvr123 @emilykolchivans

part two is here!

[snowbellewells]

CSSNS23 Fic Update: "Carolina Moon" Chapter Five

Sheesh, so much for getting back to weekly updates! I don't know what else to do but apologize folks, and to say thank you for hanging in there with me if you're still patiently reading this story despite my lack of speed. Please enjoy the newest chapter - the threat is ramping up, but so is Killian's determination to help keep Emma safe!

Thank you so, so, SO much for @xarandomdreamx and her wonderful beta skills - she had a job fixing all the times I switched tenses this go 'round!

And continued thanks to @eastwesthomeisbest for this cover art that I'm thrilled by all over again each time I post a new chapter!!

Read from the beginning HERE on Tumblr or HERE on AO3

Summary: Emma Swan has returned to the town she grew up in, and the past that has haunted her no matter where she has run. She seeks answers and peace at last. Despite the years that have passed, some things haven't changed very much in Storybrooke, South Carolina, and one of those things is Killian Jones. He never forgot the gangly girl with the world on her shoulders and pain in her eyes, but will he finally be able to slip past her defenses and help her find the answers she seeks?

Chapter Five: Unwanted Reunion and New Resolve

Killian Jones’ mind was everywhere but on the shipping manifests and cost reports he was attempting to look over in his small office down at the docks. Paperwork of that nature was his least favorite part of being the boss, and a tedious chore at the best of times, but with all he had witnessed the night before - Emma trembling in his arms, shaking from the sapping strength of her visions - he could find little space in his brain for inventory and figures. The sunlight glinting off the water out the window to his left and the gentle sound of the waves striking the moorings of the pier always tried to entice him from his desk on mornings he had to take alone to put the business in order, but with his concentration already severely fractured, he was making little to no headway. He’d dropped Emma off by her car at the gallery that morning, reluctantly aware that he had to give her a bit of space, and figuring that in the middle of town in broad daylight was the best time to do so and still retain his own peace of mind. He’d spent the night on her couch - against her protests that she sleep there instead - but all had been quiet, no signs of trouble. She’d planned to go to the diner to grab breakfast, then work for a few hours, and he’d pick her up that evening when they’d both finished for the day.

With a growl of frustration, Killian pushed his chair back and reclined in it, raking a hand through his dark hair, surely making it stand on end, and squeezing his eyes closed to block all the images rushing through, images that were already inside his head. He wanted to yell, to hit something - mostly his own younger self. How had they all been so blind and callous? Was this what Emma had always been dealing with? Even as a child? Rose would have known, would have been a support, a respite for Emma in the storm the rest of her life must have been. His baby sister, whom he’d doted on, but clearly not paid careful enough attention to, would have done nothing less. But when she was snatched away, and Emma blamed for the loss, despite what she had risked in order to help, it was just too late, the storm had surged back to surround her, raging and buffeting her more cruelly than ever. Though he had wondered briefly about the marks he could see that morning, and what had kept Emma from meeting Rose the night before, he had been too young and blind, too lost in his own grief and family concerns to reach out to her as he saw now he should have done. She had lost the only anchor in the maelstrom she had ever possessed, and he hadn’t bothered to toss her a lifeline. Leaning forward again, elbows planted on his cluttered desk, Killian rubbed his stubbled chin thoughtfully for a moment, trying to refocus on what he could do now to help her and show he wanted to ease her burden - would always, always, be at her side from now on, if she would allow it. Emma had said, when her defenses were still down and he had held her close, trying to imbue any bit of strength he could, that Rose wasn’t the only one - that there had been other victims.

Galvanized with sudden inspiration, he pushed his bookkeeping aside in a messy heap to one corner of his desk and quickly opened a new window on his laptop. If he wasn’t going to be able to focus on his own work, he might as well accomplish something worthwhile, something he could take to Emma as proof of how fully he took her at her word - a starting point for their inquiry. His eyes began to scan lines of text in rapid fascination - both amazed and appalled at the sheer amount of information at one’s fingertips once he chose to look, and at the horrifying reality of there being so much to be found.

He was soon fully engaged in the task, his other concerns slipping away with the minutes that ticked by until he could call it a day, and it suddenly felt as if he had managed some worthwhile work after all. Perhaps not for Jones Shipping Ltd., but important all the same. He tried not to picture the scoff and disappointed shake of the head his father would have given at that; Brennan Jones did nothing if not for the furtherance of their name and holdings, and his imagination’s echoes of the sharp retort that would be on his mother’s lips did no good either.

All the same, he was anxious to show Emma what he had turned up, and in only a couple hours’ searching. It wouldn’t be what one might call pleasant dinner conversation - certainly not what he’d usually entertain as fit for a second date - was he crazy to consider it as such?  He felt Emma would want to know all the same. It was proof that what she had seen the night before, horrifying as it must have been, was hardly mistaken or imagined. And it was a first stop toward finally uncovering the truth after all this time. Emma deserved to be set free at long last - they all did.

When it finally neared five o’clock, Killian had never locked up his office and left work so quickly. He headed straight for the town square and those mesmerizing green eyes he was eager to feel upon him again. He had been missing them for longer than he’d ever fully realized.

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

The morning after intense visions Emma always felt a bit hazy, slightly dazed and headache-y, almost as though suffering from a mental hangover of sorts, from exerting such focus and emotion. That morning was no different, but she shuffled gingerly through her usual routine as always, wincing but not about to waste time recouping her strength if she still hoped to open for business as planned.

By the time she had returned to the gallery, a shocking amount of coffee in her system and a satisfyingly crisp and greasy bacon sandwich from the local diner in her stomach, she already felt more herself. She had called the young lady, Violet Clemens  back and hired her after all. She was going to need help, and the sale she had already made - to Ruby Jones, of all people! - had boosted her confidence. She might as well sink everything into this; if she went down, she would go down swinging with all she had.

Violet had joined her in the shop just after 12:30, and they had spent a cheerful couple of hours putting the last items and displays in place. The other woman had proven a real asset already: agreeable, quick, and a good eye to boot. She was pleasant company and a worthy distraction. Emma was already exceedingly glad of her presence.

It was just half past three when Emma paused to stretch, catch her breath, and survey their progress with a proud smile. There really wasn’t too much left after Killian’s help the previous day, and all that she and her new employee had just accomplished. Smiling broadly, she thanked Violet once more, and got them both a cold water bottle from the small fridge she’d had Killian’s help in nestling on the shelf under the counter. They were due a cool drink and a moment’s sit down, she felt sure. 

While they were still sipping their drinks perched on the tall stools she’d placed behind the counter, the bell above the shop door jangled merrily to announce the arrival of Mayor Walsh Ozman with his wide, charming-the-public smile. Emma stood and moved forward to greet her old acquaintance, asking what they could do for him, even though she was privately amused at how well the public servant schtick seemed to suit him. She would have never imagined that the unhappy, mean-spirited boy of their youth would be wearing that wide smile and winning local elections when they all grew up. Then again, she couldn’t have pictured much for her future either, not back then. Still, she mused curiously before returning her attention to Walsh’s reply, she would have to ask Killian if it was an election year and if Mayor Ozman was trying to win over these two newcomers to his town by turning on the charm.

As it turned out, the mayor was also hoping to make an early purchase - it seemed that he and his wife were quite close to their 15th anniversary, and having lived in Storybrooke all that time, he was anxious to shop for a gift somewhere completely unknown to her. He genuinely did want to offer any help he could as a town representative, but if he could find the right anniversary present at the same time, he would be incredibly grateful.

Violet happily began to show him around the shop, directing his attention to various framed photographs which might work especially well as romantic gifts - the close-up bud of a red rose, two swallows entwined in flight, a couple’s joined hands in silhouette against a sunset’s orange and gold. Not only that, but she kept up a lively patter of information that proved just what a sponge she had been for all of the information Emma had told her so far about her process, materials, and subject matter. Violet answered the mayor’s questions nearly as well as Emma herself could have done, and it pleased Emma more than she could say, thinking that not only had she helped someone in need of a job, but that she had managed to find someone with the pep and sweetness they needed out front, all the engaging personality she herself often fought to project, as well as a genuine interest in the art itself.

By the time Violet had shown Walsh all the way around the store cheerily, the mayor had a selected photo in hand once they returned to the counter and Emma was marvelling at how lucky she had been to find such a natural saleswoman along with all of Violet’s other positive traits. The red rose picture Walsh had selected seemed a touch obvious, but then, who was she to judge? She had chosen it to crop and display as she had because its blatant appeal almost guaranteed it would sell. They weren’t even officially open yet, and this was her second painting sold. If this could keep up, she might not have as hard a road making her gallery succeed as she had anticipated.

As she rang up the purchase and ran the mayor’s card, Violet carefully and efficiently wrapped the frame as she had been shown. Walsh grinned broadly the whole time as her new assistant prattled on. “You’ve really saved me a long, drawn out search with this, ladies. And Marjorie will love it too. Plus, it was a chance to keep business local. Your gallery is going to be a great addition for Storybrooke, just wait and see.”

“I certainly hope so,” Emma replied, a pleasantly warm glow of pride in her chest as she did so.

“You just give me a call if there’s anything I can do to help out,” he reminded again as he headed out the door with a wave. “It is part of my job, after all.”

When he was gone, Emma found that they really had accomplished nearly all that she had planned for the day. With heartfelt gratitude, she sent Violet off a bit early, promising that she was just going to lock up and make an early night of it herself as well. No need to tell the younger woman that she was going to be picked up at five like a kid after daycare for her own safety.

Violet hadn’t been gone but a few minutes before Emma had all in order and was gathering her things to leave, true to her word. She made sure the lights were out in the back office, that all was in its proper place, and was just bending to gather her things from under the counter, when she heard the door open once more, its bell chiming in announcement. Standing straight again, she had begun to speak before even seeing the person who had entered. “I’m sorry, but we’re not open for business yet. I was just leaving for the day, and - “ but the rest of her polite dismissal died on her tongue when she recognized the person who had arrived - a face she had hoped never to see again.

“Well, seeing as I’m already here, you’ll just have to make an exception, won’t you?” The question was taut and dangerous, hardly a question at all, though phrased as such. Every nerve in Emma’s body stood on end in response. Her limbs took on the same sort of wary motionlessness they had years ago, like a rabbit going statue-still in hopes of evading a predator’s notice, yet ready to dart away the moment an opening appeared.

Vic Franken hadn’t darkened her path again after she’d paid him off for her safety and peace of mind once he found her in Boston. Emma had hoped that fragile truce and space would hold, despite his breach of parole, but her former “guardian” never had been particularly wise, and he was eerily apt to return to what he knew, what was easiest, particularly when he was desperate. Emma wet her lips nervously and attempted to keep breathing calmly, steadily, focused on taking in any weakness she might be able to use to her own benefit. The past six or seven years had not been kind to him by the looks of it. Always tall and wiry, Franken appeared almost unhealthily gaunt, with dark shadows under eyes that were still as sharp and wild, darting quickly about the gallery space, to her, and back again. His clothes were worn and wrinkled, his hair stood on end in places, and he was moving closer, coming to stand just on the other side of the counter - much nearer than Emma could handle without her knees going a bit watery in spite of the fact that she wasn’t 13 anymore and she had every right to order him out of her place of business, whether he thought so or not.

“You s-shouldn’t be here,” she managed to say coolly, her voice only quavering slightly, for which she was grateful. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, intending to look serious, but also hoping to hold herself together as best she could.

“Damn it!” he howled, the loud exclamation ringing in the air between them as his large hand slammed down on the counter, rattling the surface with a bang, and causing Emma to shrink backward against her best effort to hold her ground. “You aren’t so high and mighty that you can just shove me out! I put a roof over you head, and you owe me for it! I’m not leaving ‘til I’m good an’ ready!”

At that, Emma regained herself through sheer outrage alone. This monster had made her childhood miserable, and she wasn’t about to have him barge in and take anything else from her. Standing taller and tipping her chin up to face him squarely, Emma’s spine returned to her after the shock of his appearance, while her hand scrambled carefully through her things beneath the countertop. She hoped Franken wouldn’t notice what she was doing before she could lay hands on the pocketknife she knew was somewhere in her purse. Granted, that wasn’t much of a weapon, but she wasn’t going to face him without any sort of defense - not ever again.

An eerie sort of calm washed over the man for a moment then, as if he and Emma were locked in a stalemate and her facing him steadily had given him pause. His exacting gaze continued to take in the large main room of her shop, and Emma held her breath, finally feeling her fingertips graze the handle she was searching for at the bottom of her purse. She knew better than to drop her guard; his quiet hesitation was like a hurricane’s eye, the calm before the gale began to batter and howl once more. Grasping her prize, Emma pulled it free and flicked it open, not wanting to show her hand too soon and yield the element of surprise if she had to wield it. 

As Franken returned his focus to her, an unnatural almost proud look crossed his features, as out of place as it was, particularly when an attempt at some sort of paternal smile twisted his visage. “Seems like you’ve done alright for yourself since I saw you last, Emma,” he finally murmured in a cajoling tone.

She snorted; regardless of how dangerous it might be to antagonize him, she couldn’t even pretend they were on terms to make friendly small talk. “If I am doing well, it’s no thanks to you,” she retorted bitterly.

Franken’s nostrils flared as he reeled back to his full height, the calm attempt at appealing to her good side shattered in an instant. “Ungrateful wench!” he hollered, eyes bulging wide as he swung a hand wildly, catching the edge of a large, framed portrait on the wall behind him and knocking it to the floor, where it crashed on its face and sent glass shattering outward in a wide spray. “After I took you in, fed you, clothed you, saw that you had a roof over your head? Now you’re too good to return the favor?”

Emma gasped in dismay at the largest piece in her gallery’s fall and destruction, but was quick enough to dodge his flailing hand when Franken reached out in an attempt to grab her shoulder and haul her close. She was just fast enough to evade him, thankfully. She might be fully grown now instead of a scrawny, underfed kid, but she still didn’t need to find out what he would do if he got a good hold on her. 

“Took me in?” she spat back, practically seething in anger that he would dare pretend he had actually provided any sort of genuine care. “Is that what you did?” Shaking her head in disbelief, Emma finally raised the small blade before her, as if warning him to keep his distance, even if there wasn’t much more space behind the counter for her to put between them. “Which part am I supposed to be grateful for, hmm?” she barrelled on, now that the gates were open, her words kept spilling out. “The beatings that left me so sore I could barely sit or walk for days afterward? The hours I spent locked in the pitch dark cellar as punishment for my demons? The shame and fear you made sure I never forgot from the moment I crossed the threshold of your house until the day I got away from it?” The small pocket knife wavered along with her hand, and her vision blurred with hot tears of frustration, but Emma didn’t falter. “Tell me what exactly I should be thanking you for?”

With a wild growl, he whirled away from her, grabbing frames from their hooks and hurling them against the walls or to the floor, knocking a large easel to the ground and smashing his foot through the canvas print it had held. He was on as much a tear as a toddler having a fit, but imminently more dangerous. Rounding on her again, his eyes were wild, and if possible, Emma would have sworn he was foaming at the mouth.

It was then, in desperation to save the work he hadn’t already destroyed, that she acted without thinking clearly and charged out from behind the counter she had carefully kept between them - so focused on making him leave that she left herself vulnerable by coming too close. “Get out!” Emma cried, mindless of his larger build and out of control demeanor; the threat he posed flying from her head as her work - the pictures she’d poured her heart and soul into, and the inventory she needed to keep her business afloat - clattered to the ground, breaking and being trashed before her eyes. She might still have the small blade gripped in her sweaty fingers, but she wasn’t thinking about defense as much as ridding herself of his presence before he destroyed her means of livelihood. “You have no right to anything from me! You need to get out of here before I call the police and tell them you’re in town!”

Franken whirled from the far wall where he’d been wreaking havoc and instead turned towards her seething with unrestrained rage. There were many times in her years growing up when Emma had feared that this man was unstable; dangerously obsessed with her “unholy” visions and driving them from her by any means necessary, and that his volatile fanaticism would injure her beyond what she could heal from or survive. Emma had spent far longer than was fair, wasted too much of her life, waiting to be out from under his thumb, no longer catching her breath and ducking a fist sure to fly or a bruising belt buckle if she said too much or let the wrong words slip. It had been long enough now though that she wasn’t guarding every thought and impulse, and she didn’t stop to second guess or recognize the danger as she took her stand. Willing to defend this little space she’d made for herself, even if it meant facing the monster from her past head-on and all alone.

The violence that twinkled maliciously in Franken’s deep, dark gaze should have been a warning, but Emma was too riled up and determined that this time she wasn’t backing down, wasn’t letting this pathetic excuse for a man take anything more from her. Where a younger, more wary version of herself would have shrunk back and put space between them, Emma instead pressed forward capitalizing on the man’s momentary shock. She wasn’t sure what she intended to try next if he didn’t move, but her body seemed determined to herd him out the door, with or without the full thought and cooperation of her racing brain.

Barely a moment’s warning, where a low, evil chuckle rumbled from his throat, evidencing anything but humor, was the only signal Emma got, and the next thing she knew, Franken had struck so fast she didn’t even see the movement - like a copperhead concealed in dank marsh water, having already bitten a person before one even knew it was there. Her head whipped to the side with the impact of his fist shooting out and making contact, leaving her ears ringing and her lungs gasping for air.

Emma struggled to keep her feet beneath her, even as the world around her tilted sideways. A wailing inside her head like sirens brought back all the times she had fallen before this monster as a child, curled tightly in a ball to protect herself from the blows he’d rained down on her for the smallest imagined infractions or the involuntary glimpses of prescient knowledge she couldn’t help possessing - they’d been part of who she was even then, as much a her hair or eye color, and they refused to stay hidden. Emma had attempted to - for all she was worth - having immediately learned speaking of what she saw, no matter how important it might seem, only earned her more suffering and degradation. 

Flailing her arms, she managed to catch the side of the counter and steady herself before she went tumbling to the floor. Franken was right there, coming for her again with his arm raised, no doubt reveling in the same sort of drunken power he had missed while the inexorable familiarity of the old, horrible pattern clutched Emma by the throat with fear. 

This time she wasn’t having it. She’d fight him even if it broke every bone in her body. With a cry of pain soaked in years of suffering unheard, Emma pushed off the counter, leading with the sharp pocket knife and sheer desperation, she meant to make her own mark this time. “Leave me alone!” she bellowed, as she took her first step to meet him.

But, despite his own seeming haze of madness and unsteady mind, Vic Franken was still quick and powerful as a gator and just as mean. Much like he’d always been, he was too large a foe for her to fell unprepared and without proper defenses. His meaty paw caught her wrist with crushing strength, until her fingers were forced to release her blade and it clattered to the floor and skittered away uselessly as she felt her tendons and bones ground painfully beneath his grip. 

He pulled her close to his face until their noses nearly touched, as if trying to understand why he couldn’t make her cower the way he once had. Emma could just begin to hear the blessed sound of sirens in the distance that she prayed were coming their way. Thank goodness she had shouldered the extra cost of hidden cameras and a security company who monitored their feed continuously. When he’d begun to tear her gallery apart it would have been obvious help was needed though she’d had no time to call for it.

“You think this is over?” he hissed angrily. “I’m not finished with you…far from it. You won’t be rid of me until I say so. Don’t you forget it.”

Flinging Emma away like a discarded ragdoll, she stumbled with the force of it, tripping on the debris that littered the floor and slamming back into the counter that had saved her minutes before. Franken fled out the door and was gone, and she slumped to the floor - for the moment too dizzy and aching to get up again. Trying to catch her breath and make her surroundings stop whirling around her, Emma breathed slowly, closing her eyes and allowing her head to lean groggily against the smooth, cool surface until she could gather her bearings.

The siren sounds drew nearer still, for which she was so thankful she could cry, but then she heard the door swing open once more, and she lurched frantically to attention, struggling to get her feet under her for fear that he had come back to finish her off. What she saw instead almost started her laughing hysterically, having never imagined this particular visitor’s appearance would send relief washing over her.

“Emma?” Ruby Jones’ voice was shocked and disbelieving, even concerned, all rolled into one as her heels click-clacked right across all the broken glass towards her before she crouched at her side, fingers already gingerly dabbing at the trickle of blood from the broken skin at her temple and then holding an honest-to-goodness monogrammed handkerchief to the spot. “What happened here?”

Emma reached out to still Ruby’s hand, shaking her head with as little force as possible and still wincing, “More who than what…” she managed, still trying to fully gather her wits and fighting for her speech not to sound slurred. She swallowed, wetting her lips and pressing on. “It was Franken….my old foster father…remember?” Ruby nodded, mouth and eyes both gaping wide at her. Emma sighed, “Thank - thank goodness it sounds like those sirens are close… don’t wanna tell this all more than once.”

“Vic Franken?” Ruby growled, her wide eyes narrowing. She looked for a second as if she might have clawed the man’s eyes out herself if she had been here just a little sooner. Emma again had to choke back out of place hilarity at the other woman’s defense of her. Rose would have loved it; she was just trying not to get whiplash. “What did that bastard think he was doing coming here?” Ruby snapped out.

Emma chuckled lightly, squinting against the way even that made her head hurt. Somehow Ruby’s fiery temper made her heart feel a little lighter. This nightmare was still dogging her, but the sheer absurdity of someone she’d have sworn even two days ago couldn’t stand her being ready to fight for her, lightened the dark cloud that had settled over her. Giving the former debutante a mischievous, if weary, side eye, she teased. “Whoo, Miss Ruby! That’s quite a mouth you’ve got there for a nice Southern belle! What would your Mama say?!”

Ruby rolled her eyes at the teasing with a dismissive snort, even as she let Emma grip her forearms and help her to stand again, holding on until sure she was steady. “Well, first she would have told me to walk on by and leave you where you fell, so clearly I don’t much care what she has to say.”

Emma began to nod her acknowledgement that what Ruby said was true, then quickly thought better of it at the shot of pain that lanced through her. 

Ruby shrugged, offering a crooked smile. “Besides,” she added ruefully, “Mama despaired of me a long time ago.”

Emma drew in a sharp breath, a few sadly clarifying things about Killian and Rose’s sister instantly becoming clear. 

“Now,” Ruby continued, red fingernail raised to point at Emma authoritatively, “you are gonna report this sorry excuse of a man so they can nail him to the wall, and then we’re gonna get you patched up, okay?”

Emma didn’t get to respond further as they were interrupted by what seemed to be the entire Storybrooke police force’s arrival just then, with a worried David Nolan leading the charge. She’d give her former defender credit. Though he looked half beside himself when he first burst through the door, his deputies flanking him, David quickly saw that the perpetrator was gone and, while she was injured and shaken, Emma was no longer in immediate danger and had someone at her side. With an almost visible effort, he reigned in his protectiveness and brought his anxiety back under stern professional control. 

Turning, he began capably barking out orders to his fellow officers - not unkindly, but feeling the urgency and not at all wanting to allow Franken to escape and cause this sort of damage again. Through the buzzing that seemed to have taken up residence in her brain, Emma heard David directing a perimeter to be set up to keep Franken from getting out of town, with an APB being put out with Franken’s name and description to all possible news outlets. He also organized the coordination of his people coming in to gather evidence and block off the space outside on the walk so gawkers couldn’t  make their way in and disturb anything that could aid in their search. 

Though there were an overwhelming number of people swarming all about inside the shop, Emma was grateful that only David himself came over to ask a few questions of her. Ruby had led her, wordless as she had ever seen the youngest Jones sibling, over to one of the tall stools at the counter, coaxing her into gingerly sitting down, being kind enough even to avert her gaze and hold back her own questions when Emma leaned slightly over, her still-spinning head against Ruby’s side as she attempted to swallow her nausea back down her throat. Ruby just rubbed a hand across Emma’s shoulder blades gently and stood there as steady and calm as a pillar of marble.

David stooped to look into Emma’s eyes with his own careful concern as he reached them. “Do you feel dizzy? Nauseous?” he asked promptly, his words clipped and tight, making the strain he was still under to remain calm and professional all too clear. Emma was fairly certain he already knew the answer anyway. If she tried to shake her head and deny his suspicions, her world would only keep spinning more frantically.

Just barely meeting his anxious stare with her eyes slitted narrowly open, she managed a half-convincing, “Calm down, Nolan. We all know I’ve had worse.”

The sheriff’s lips pressed together into a thin line, his whole expression pulled taut enough that Emma couldn’t even gauge whether anger, guilt, or fear was playing the largest role.  His arms crossed firmly over his broad chest as he stood back to his full height, sensing that hovering would not make her any more agreeable, but he didn’t cease watching her, not allowing her to shut him out. “That isn’t funny,” he ground out, low enough that in the bustle around the shop only she, Ruby, and himself heard the admonishment, yet she felt chastened all the same. “You are clearly not safe, even out in the open, in broad daylight, and what if the security company hadn’t called us soon enough, if Ruby hadn’t walked in when she did? Emma, you could have been - “

Her eyes shot up to meet his savagely, knowing the rest of his sentence and not wanting it spoken aloud. Despite the ringing in her ears and rolling of her stomach, her fierce look froze the words on David’s tongue. She’d traveled so far, worked so hard to be more than the helpless, pitied victim of that man’s abuse - and she wasn’t letting him make her one again.

Before any of them could speak further, or the tension between them could fully dissipate, the door flung back on its hinges wildly as someone else rushed into her gallery. “Emma!” Killian’s unmistakable voice called out, cracking with worry on the second syllable, even as David moved aside slightly so his friend could see her for himself.

A strangled sound escaped his throat, and in moments Jones was across the room and on his knees before her, reaching out as if to pull her close, then jolting back as he took in the trickle of blood and the bruising that had already begun to color the side of her face. Looking wracked with indecision, he simply held his place before her, as near as he dared, and breathed out a choked, “What happened, Swan? Are - are you alright?”

“She will be,” Ruby offered with much needed certainty from beside Emma, laying her hand on her brother’s shoulder, as if to steady him and remind them both that she was there.  It was new from her - for both of them - but her typical self assurance was bolstering in the fraught moment and incredibly welcome.

Killian finally released a full breath, his forehead falling to rest upon her knee, and his fingers reflexively clutching her denim-clad leg for a moment as he trembled with relief. After a moment to gather himself, he looked up into Emma’s face from where he crouched before her, eyes swimming with unasked questions and the fear - still all too close to the surface - that he had nearly lost her.

Emma didn’t have the strength to hold back, not in that tremulous moment when she was hurt and wanted to scream at the unfairness of everything falling apart around her. She grasped his t-shirt at the shoulder, comforted by his warm solidity beneath, and ran a hand over his brow, amazed that he was there and was so intensely concerned - and that she allows herself the luxury of that - before trailing her fingers through his unruly dark hair. “It was Franken,” she murmured lowly, just wanting it all out, like poison drawn from a wound. “He was here, mostly after money, I think…” she paused. “But as you can see,” she gestured to her face, “that clearly wasn’t enough to keep him from leaving a souvenir for old times’ sake.”

She could see the angry tic in Killian’s jaw, working to restrain the fury he felt, and though his was quieter, it seemed to run even deeper and even harder to contain than David’s had before it.

At that, David broke into the moment. “Killian, why don’t you take Emma to Storybrooke General to be checked out? I can swing by there later, when all this is under control, if I have any questions that can’t wait until tomorrow.” He waved to the crime scene which her gallery had become as he spoke.

Killian’s “Aye” and terse nod were all that voiced his agreement to the sheriff’s suggestion, but he stood and offered Emma a hand; balance and support to pull herself up if she chose to take it. Ruby squeezed her hand, promising she would check on her later as well.

She wanted to argue, to say the fuss wasn’t necessary, but as she stood and then wavered unsteadily, she knew there was no point. She merely took Killian’s arm and leaned on him wordlessly without a fight. None of the three people surrounding her would let her close call be brushed aside - not this time. For now, she accepted the concern and decided she’d give herself a minute in which she didn’t have to be so strong.

    *~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

A few hours later Killian was leading Emma from the waiting room of the small local hospital, walking and as close behind her as humanly possible without getting their feet tangled and making her fall. She wanted to tell him that she’d be fine, to take her back to her car and then go on home, but the determined and independent core she had built up, the one which usually allowed her to offer those placating refrains so easily seemed irretrievably weakened. She couldn’t push him away. Where she would usually deny or ignore whatever had shaken her, Emma couldn’t this time. After all she had accomplished and how far she had traveled, after how long she had denied herself and stayed as far away as she could, it hadn’t been enough - not long enough, not far enough - her past and its monster had still found her and attacked.

So she didn’t want to need Killian Jones’ warm and steady palm at the small of her back, the comforting heat and gentle, guiding pressure easily felt through the thin material of her cotton blouse, but need it she did. “Come Lass, the truck’s over here,” he murmured, soothing and low near her ear, leaning in to speak for her ears alone as he steered her toward the corner of the lot where he had parked. 

There really hadn’t been much anyone could do for the busted lip and rapidly blackening eye she was sporting, other than cautioning her to ice it often and to take aspirin as needed for the pain, but they had made sure nothing was broken in her nose, cheekbones, or jaw. She had also been cautioned, since she’d suffered some nausea at first, that if she became dizzy again or threw up, she should return for further examination. She hadn’t presented with a concussion, but one might sometimes show up later, and they wouldn’t want to miss it if so.

The doctor who had looked her over and the nurse were both concerned about sending Emma home alone; they wanted her observed and awakened every couple of hours. At Killian’s assurance that he would stay with her and do just as they suggested, however, they had relented and she had finally been released.

It wasn’t until he was helping her up into the high seat of his truck’s cab and moving to shut the door that she finally forced herself to protest - it was too much, he didn’t need to put himself out.

Killian was having none of it. He wouldn’t even let her finish, interrupting her protests in a heavy handed way she hadn’t yet seen from him. The solemnity of his vow was irrefutable when he swore that “This time, Love, you won’t be alone until that bastard is caught. Not until this is over.” His eyes burned into her like twin blue flames. “You are too precious for me to do otherwise.”

As much as the fervent emotion from him stole her breath, frustration mounted within her right alongside it. She’d spent so much of her early life beholden to one person or another, moved and driven by the whims of Fate or the system. She didn’t want to be a responsibility or a chore to anyone - not even someone honorable, who took his role as seriously as Killian. Especially not to Killian. She shook her head angrily, biting back tears. “This is stupid! I’ll just go…”

Jones didn’t even hesitate. “Then I’m going too… to the end of the Earth, if that’s where you’re headed.”

She was swiping at the errant tears that wouldn’t be held back any longer, wincing when she got too close to the tender area near her eye socket and sniffing back worse sobs as she beseeched him in last resort. “Why? Killian, why would you do that? So you can get yourself killed trying to protect me?!?”

But he merely shook his head, leaning into her space, pressing his forehead to hers and his warm breath caressing her cheek. “I’m not going to let that happen, Swan. We’ve both lost enough. I’m with you now - no matter what - and we’re going to stand and fight.”

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @cssns @kmomof4 @jrob64 @jennjenn615 @searchingwardrobes @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @apiratewhopines @xarandomdreamx @anmylica @booksteaandtoomuchtv @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @bluewildcatfanatic @xsajx @teamhook @revanmeetra @iamstartraveller776 @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @blackwidownat2814 @blowmiakisscolin @let-it-raines @motherkatereloyshipper @jonesfandomfanatic @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @lfh1226-linda @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @darkcolinodonorgasm @resident-of-storybrooke @drowned-dreamer @stahlop @wefoundloveunderthelight @eastwesthomeisbest @sotangledupinit @justanother-unluckysoul @ultraluckycatnd @bdevereaux @caught-in-the-filter @belovedcreation @lenfaz