#besides he's got a point with a lot of thing

[dastardly-imbecile]

NOTDEER

AO3 HERE

Simon nods at you. He’s tall enough that, at the angle your phone points, the slant of light only reaches his neck, face still obscured in shadow. You can make out, through the barest changes in shades of gray, the suggestion of a nose, the theory of a brow, hypothesis of the lips. Indistinct enough that you could not draw him, defined enough that you can recognize him. --- When you cannot trust your own memory, alone on a trip in the woods, what else is there to do but submit? OR the incomprehensible monster who haunts your campsite is an alcoholic

---

Wordcount: ~7.5k

Inspired by this wonderful drabble by @ceilidho. Also, mandatory nods to the 'Goatman' and 'Fleshgait' creepypastas.

TW: this is some halfbreed horror story, so there WILL be graphic depictions of violence and death! Read at your own discretion!

It starts like any good romance: a grove of darkly flowered dogwoods and a rousing campfire, a bit too much to drink and a night just cold enough that you have an excuse to huddle together. 

It starts like any good horror movie: a storm and a drenched forest, clouds blotting out the stars and the sounds of many toothy things in the realm beyond your sight. 

It starts like any story ever, which is to say a hapless protagonist and a presence that watches, that waits. 

It starts like this: you are sitting around the campfire with three of your friends, trying to spear your marshmallow, fallen into the fire. Giving up, once it grows indistinguishable from all the other lumps of charcoal. 

Darren laughs too hard at that, puts an arm around you when he goes to grab a new marshmallow. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why: Darren’s had a crush on you, ever since you drunkenly hooked up with him at a party in high school, and he’s just the right combination of too forward and too coy to be annoying. Makes rowdy, boys-locker-room jokes, sneaks looks at you to see if you laugh. Loudly talks about some new date around the group, bemoans his singleness in your private messages. 

You haven’t brought it up. No use making things awkward. No use letting him down gently, not when he’ll deny your claims, make it into some big, pick-me delusional-woman deal. 

Besides, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the attention a little bit. You’d be lying if you said the night and the campfire and the shitty beer buzzing through your veins doesn’t make any warm body look a bit appealing. 

“Hey,” Kelsey says from across the campfire, “grab the bottle.”

You’ve known Kelsey since third grade—the longest out of everyone at this circle. Were neighbors, close enough that when the fighting between her parents got bad, she’d come crawling through your window and you’d sleep in the same bed, back-to-back. She was your first kiss, during spin the bottle in middle school. Sure took that a lot better than Darren did. 

He does, changing course to reach for the beer. His arm brushes you, not entirely accidentally. You meet his eyes, smile, and the surprise that lights in them makes your grin widen.

With a bit of sloppy, tipsy incoordination, Kelsey fills her own red cup. The liquid is piss-yellow, and it tastes like gasoline, but anything is good when you’re already drunk and a hundred miles from the nearest liquor store. 

Wordlessly, Lou holds out his own cup. You don’t know him all that well, as a matter of fact, but he’s some friend of Kelsey’s from college and she insisted on bringing him along so she doesn’t, quote, get all caught up in your pining third wheel bullshit. Quiet, but the type of funny that makes you think he’s been saving all his humor up. She pours him one, and then, without needing to ask, you and Darren. 

Above, there is the distant rumble of thunder. You realize that you can’t see the moon anymore—it was full, ten minutes ago, and you suppose it’s technically still full, but out of sight, out of mind, all that. The campfire is the only source of light in the woods, that and the flashlight steepled by Lou’s feet, and it gives the whole clearing a sort of airy, unreal sense. Heat mirage, wavering light making everything a bit less solid. 

Kelsey pours a fifth cup. Sets it on the ground. Darren raises his eyebrows. “Wow.”

“What?” She asks. He laughs, like she’s being dumb—which is one of the reasons why you’ve never even tried dating him—and juts his chin out at the extra cup. 

“Going double, really?”

“What?” She repeats, looking down, then back, “it’s for Simon.”

“Who?” You ask, tilting your head. 

“Simon? Remember? Jesus, he lived on the same street as us. Remember, when Mom and Dad were divorcing, he let me stay at his house for two months because your folks didn’t like me?”

You remember the last part of that—your parents had developed an aversion to Kelsey because she dyed her hair and got a septum piercing, and they were the type to call that a bad influence—but not the first. As far as you’d known, she’d gone off to stay with her cousins for that stretch of time.

“No,” you say carefully, “who-”

Darren interrupts you, gesturing around the fire. “And where is Simon?”

“He just got up to take a piss,” she snaps, and the conversation’s getting heated, too heated, pushed along by the same things that made it fun—that being, alcohol and two groups who don’t know each other all that well and sleep deprivation—tipping over the edge of delirious entertainment to irritation. 

“Kel,” Lou says, careful and slow, “maybe you shouldn’t drink more, actually. Nobody named Simon came with us.”

She pauses. There is a strange, slow moment, where time stretches like taffy and the fire seems to freeze, and her face falls in a way that makes her look unlike herself. It’s what you imagine a doppelganger to look like—all the right features, all the right proportions, but a different person behind the eyes, windows to a different soul. 

“Sorry,” she says, and it’s back, all her spirits in the right body, “I don’t know… fuck, I’m mixing some shit up. Yeah, I don’t…”

Another peal of thunder. You look up at the sky. When you were a kid, you always had this wriggling thought in the back of your mind—that you should not look at the sky, in case something looks back, peels you open from epidermis to intestine and puts you back together wrong. 

No, you didn’t. Where the fuck did that come from?

“I think it’s gonna rain,” You observe. Darren throws back his beer, throat working in an effort to chug it, up-down-up like a ship on turbulent waves. Across the campfire, Kelsey looks at her cup with faint distaste. After a moment of consideration, chucks it into the large back garbage bag hitched to the nearest tree—Lou follows, though his cup is considerably emptier, and you as well, after a moment. 

Guess who drops his cup on the ground?

“C’mon,” Kelsey says, pointing. Darren looks at it, picks it up with a two-fingered grip like one might a piece of toilet paper on the bottom of their shoe, chucks it into the bag. 

“My bad,” he says, “Smokey the bear’s gonna get me, huh?”

“He’s for wildfires,” Kelsey snaps, “you’re just a fucking asshole.”

She doesn’t like him much. That’s also why she insisted on bringing Lou. 

He holds up his hands in a back off sort of resignation, pushes himself to his feet. You follow—as you do, a raindrop strikes the corner of your eye, teeters perilously close to falling in. By the time you blink it away, there are more—upon your arms, your legs, striking with the force of slow bullets, which is to say not like bullets at all. Shitty metaphor. Blame it on your BAC. 

When you make the trek back to your tent, Darren sticks with you for a bit longer than would necessarily make sense—it’s only when you don’t spare him a glance, while unzipping your tent, that he finally peels off. 

You turn around—the same instinct that makes you double-check the oven is turned off—to examine the campfire. Stupid, because the rain, extinguishing even the embers, but it does make you realize that Lou left his flashlight there. It illuminates the clearing, the four logs, and the absence of the fifth cup. 

Kelsey must’ve thrown it away. Didn’t see her do it, but Smokey Bear and all that jazz. 

Doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep. A full day of hiking—well, insofar as hiking means trekking a case of beer halfway up a mountain, which you think very much counts, actually—has given your body plenty to be tired about. 

—

When you wake up, it’s the middle of the night. If the darkness beyond your tent does not tell you that, then a quick glance at your phone does—the stark 2:54 splayed out across the screen. 

More pressing is the pressure on your bladder. Most of you wants to stay warm and comfortable in your sleeping bag, but the rest needs out, so you shove your way free. Stumble around a moment before you manage to unzip your tent. Can’t bother to look for your flashlight, so you grab your phone, use it to illuminate the way out into the edge of the clearing and into bliss. Not really needed, in any case—Lou’s is still on, and the rain has stopped, which makes the trip remarkably clear. 

When you turn around, you almost scream. There is a silhouette in the center of the glade, made stark by the stuttering light of the abandoned flashlight. Tall enough to dwarf you in the vertical direction, broad enough to do the same in the horizontal, and the only reason you do not shriek is that freeze manages to claw a victory over flight and fight. 

Instinctively, you put your hand out in front of you, phone still in it—and, when that tinny light lands upon the figure, all the panic suddenly bleeds out of you like a punctured lung. 

It’s just Simon. You met him in the campus coffeeshop, junior year of college, because he was sitting in your usual study spot. It was a silent competition, for a few months, to see who could get to the spot first, until one day, fed up, you sat directly across from him at the table. Another month of silent stalemate, both working across from each other, until you’d broken the ice by asking why he was ordering tea at a damn coffeeshop, and the rest is history, so to say. 

He’s a good friend. Kelsey likes him more than she likes Darren, for sure, and he and Lou could spend a century in happily companionable silence. 

“God,” you groan, “scared the shit out of me. What’re you doing?”

He nods at you. He’s tall enough that, at the angle your phone points, the slant of light only reaches his neck, face still obscured in shadow. You can make out, through the barest changes in shades of gray, the suggestion of a nose, the theory of a brow, hypothesis of the lips. Indistinct enough that you could not draw him, defined enough that you can recognize him. 

“Same thing as you,” he replies, “felt good?”

You snort. “You’re so weird. By all means, the spot’s yours.”

He doesn’t move, as you step around him, though you get the sense his head is turning, keeping his eyes upon you. 

“Remind me,” he says, casual, “how long’re we staying here?”

Right. He’d been a last-minute addition to the groupchat. You’d only added him because you’d remembered him mentioning, offhand, that he did some hiking. Well, in his words, less nature walks, more hunting. 

Thank God he’s not one of those guys that poses with dead deer like they’re fish. 

(Guess who is?)

Though, maybe you wouldn’t mind too much if he was. Since you were a kid, you’ve always wanted to cut a deer open, dig your hands into its guts and pull everything out, line them up all neat on a white table like you’re playing offal-solitaire. Push a finger into its eyesocket until you touch the brain, fuck yourself on its antlers. 

You blink. “Sorry,” you say, “spaced out. Uh, three days I think? A fourth, for getting back home.”

“Good,” he replies. 

A moment where you stare at each other, and then you add, a coy smile tugging at the corners of your lips, “fine if I use the kettle for coffee first tomorrow? You’ll have to wait for your tea.”

When he laughs, it’s a deep, burrish sort of rasp that digs into your sternum. “Fine by me, dove.”

—

You don’t remember making it back to your tent, but you must, because when you wake up, you’re back ensconced in your sleeping bag. The only proof you have that you went out at all is that you forgot to plug your phone back in, and it lays by your head. When you blearily prod at it, the screen does not light up, and you groan when you realize it must’ve died. 

Oh well. Get off that screen, enjoy the marvels of nature, all that. Lemons into lemonade. Water into wine. 

You’re not the first one up—that’s Lou, who’s busy heating up a cast iron over the replenished campfire, boxed pancake mix to his right. He nods at you, and you nod back, perfectly content to stay silent when it’s this early—talk can wait until the sky’s finished birthing the sun. 

You circle around to the other side of the fire, set up the kettle over the grate. By the time the water’s boiling, Kelsey is out, and by the time you pour out four mugs, Darren pushes his way into the open. 

“Hey,” you say, “where’s our teabags?” 

“Didn’t bring any,” Kelsey replies, “none of us drink tea?”

“Oh. Simon must’ve brought his own,” you reply, and the group freezes for a second. Not in the strange, unreal way from last night, but instead in the way that happens when someone’s just made a very poor taste joke. 

“Who the fuck is Simon?” Darren asks, looking up from his half-burnt pancake, “some bloke you and Kel know?”

She frowns. She hates when he calls her Kel. 

“I…” you say, glancing at her. Past her, to the line of tents, to the four tents, not five. “I swear… I talked to him last night?”

The last words are uncertain. Did you? You remember him, of course, tall and broad, but now, if you try, you cannot see his face in your mind’s eye. 

“...I think Kel freaked you out,” Lou says, “must’ve been a dream.”

“I think they’re fucking with us,” Darren says, and you shake your head, though you can’t tell whether it’s to deny him, Lou, or yourself. 

A dream makes enough sense—went out to piss, sure, forgot to plug your phone back in, had some tired-drunk-hallucination midway through. Kelsey’s little thing messed with her head, and maybe she’s the one fucking with you, and it worked a bit better than intended. 

When you think back on college, in that coffeeshop, you find that you don’t remember a single thing about a hulking man in the corner of the place. Makes less sense the more you think on it—why would he be there, not a student? Why would you talk to someone like that? Back then, at least, you were timid enough that you wouldn’t correct a waiter on your misheard order, let alone sit yourself down across from a stranger. 

Weird dream. You scrub a hand over your face. 

“Sorry,” you say, “must’ve… I don’t know.”

“Maybe lay off the alc, huh?” Darren asks, like you’re not only attracted to him when you’re drunk. You nod anyway. 

The day passes as lackadaisically as any day with four twenty-somethings alone in the woods can go, which is to say, easily. You while away a few hours in the morning just strolling through the desire paths that circle your clearing, listening to the birds sing overhead, the squirrels bouncing through great leafy branches. Even see a deer at one point, as it leaps over the path, and it dredges some quiet, half-grown memory from some quiet, half-there part of your mind, a dream within a dream within a bender. 

Lunch is canned ravioli, and the afternoon is a few rounds of poker played with sticks and rocks. Darren suggests—a few too many times for it to be funny—to turn it into strip poker, until Lou starts taking his pants off, and then he shuts up. 

“There’s a lake a few miles from here,” Kelsey says, consulting a map as dusk conquers the horizon, “we should go tomorrow.”

“Didn’t bring swimsuits,” you observe, “or fishing rods.” 

“We can skinny dip,” Darren suggests. 

A moment of silence, to emphasize that he’s being ignored, and then Lou says, “scenic hike, then.”

It’s settled. When night is fully upon the forest, Darren walks to the cooler, and as you once again lose a marshmallow to the flames, he yells back to you. 

“Who drank everything?”

“What?” You call back. A moment of silence, the sound of rustling and the clinking of glass bottles. 

“All the beer! We brought a 12-pack up, and we had nine after last night, and there’s only seven now.”

“Jesus,” Kelsey drawls, “you were counting? Alcoholic, much?”

“It’s not counting, it’s common fucking sense. Three bottles last night, so there should be-”

“Maybe it was Simon,” Lou says. The way he’s leaned towards you implies that it was a comment meant for your ears only, but he’s a bit too loud or everyone is a bit too sensitive, because they stop their argument immediately. 

Your eyes fix upon the marshmallow in the fire, past the point of softening and edging into char. When you were in third grade, a firefighter came to your school, gave a presentation in front of the class. You remember he described a burning house and a woman who wasn’t able to get out. Hid in the bathtub instead. When they went back inside, she was melted into the porcelain. Human lard, he said, smiling, smells just like Sunday morning. Anyone like bacon? 

Yum. Your tongue prods at the back of your teeth, and you try to remember what you ate for dinner. 

A tense moment, nobody sure how to respond to that, whether to brush it off or to play in it. Eventually, it’s Darren who half-laughs, half-groans, “shut up.”

He lumbers back to the fire, carrying two bottles in his hands. 

“So,” he says, handing one to you and one to Kelsey to pour, “again, who is he? Some neighbor kid?”

“No,” she says, staring at her hands, “I think I met him… somewhere else.”

“I think I met him in college,” you blurt, and she brightens immediately, meeting eyes with you. 

“Yeah, me too! That’s it.”

“I think,” Lou says, “the problem with that is that you went to different colleges.”

Darren snorts. You consider passing him the cup, but rapidly change your trajectory to Lou. “Woah. Can’t even get your story straight.”

A new furrow has worked its way into Kelsey’s brow, and she tilts her head. “Did he go to our high school, then?”

“I’d know him,” Darren says, and she shrugs loosely. Looks like it takes a conscious effort to clear herself up, to smooth out the tension in her skin and reach down her throat with a hand and wring her kidneys out like bloodsoaked rags. 

“Dunno, then. Maybe he’s one of my mom’s friend’s sons. She introduced me to a ton of those, back in high school. Or maybe I am messing with you.” She smiles impishly, but you don’t have to examine her eyes to know that she’s lying, that she’s trying to cover. 

The topic passes, eventually, but the mood it sets does not. Lou’s some massive horror buff, apparently, and he regales you with the type of story that takes you back to ten-year-old summer camp. Even Darren gets into it, and you’re reminded why you came on this trip with him in the first place—when he’s not being horny or being an asshole, he’s surprisingly funny, good at setting the mood. 

“...drip, drip,” he says, “and you’ll never guess, what she sees when she’s looking at the trees above the car-”

“Oh my god,” Kelsey moans, “it’s way too fucking dark for this. I’m going to bed.” She points an accusing finger at Darren, “and if I catch you dripping water over my fucking tent-”

“Would never,” he says lightly. She giggles as she stands, staggering to her feet, out from the dome of the firelight and off to the dark lumps of the tents beyond. 

After only a minute, Lou follows, yawning and murmuring a quiet, “night.”

And then, there were two. You glance over at Darren, and through the haze of tipsiness, in the flickering light, he looks almost good. Firelight is better than a diet—it casts all the planes of his cheek in chiseled levels of light and shadow, cuts off the extraneous until all you can see is the shape of a person. 

He must notice, because he grins. 

“You scared too?”

You return the grin. It feels like slipping on someone else’s skin. “Maybe.”

“I can think of something to help that.”

You swat at him, laughing. “And that is?”

“Come to my tent. Find out.”

“God, you’re corny. Fine.” You point at the campfire, “you go ahead. I’ll put out the fire. Smokey Bear, you know.”

He chuckles, and for a moment, you almost think this might not be a mistake. 

The fire’s almost entirely burnt out already, but you give it a few more minutes as you go fumbling about for the shovel. Must trek all the way to the cooler before you find it, buried under a tarp, and by the time you return, there is someone sitting on your log. 

Simon, you know instinctively, from the hunch of his back, from the rasp of his breath. You grin as you come up behind him. 

“There you are. Thought we scared us to sleep, and you were just too chicken to tell us.”

He laughs. It’s deeper than Darren’s, sends a tremor rattling through your chest. 

Carefully, you sit down next to him—he left your space free—and stare into the fire. You don’t feel particularly like looking at his face right now. Maybe you’re afraid of what the firelight will do to it, how the shadows will cut him, shave away the flesh to expose the bone. 

You’ve known Simon since high school. He wasn’t a part of you and Kelsey and Darren’s group—new student, transferred in sophomore year, bit of an outcast, from arriving late in the game and for being generally offputting. Dark clothes, dark eyes, unspeaking. 

It wasn’t until you started talking to him, after being assigned to tutor him in maths, that the wider student body warmed to him. Still, Darren’s never liked him—sees him as competition—and Kelsey’s never liked him—still thinks he’s a bit weird—and Lou, you’re pretty sure, doesn’t like him either, though you can’t say why. 

“Can’t believe you drank the beer,” you say, “and didn’t tell Darren.”

“Wasn’t v’ry good,” he replies, “prefer bourbon.”

You cast him an askance look. “Who’s bringing bourbon on a camping trip?” 

He doesn’t respond. Eventually, you add, “next time. For you,” and he huffs out a muted bolt of laughter. 

“You gonna fuck him?” He asks, after a moment. You chew on your bottom lip.

“Maybe. What’s it to you?” 

You dated Simon briefly, senior year. Your hookup with Darren was a rebound of a sort, in that way, and you don’t think he took it very well—to this day, he still glares at him, still clenches his jaw when he makes some stupid comment. Earlier, when Darren made that joke about strip poker, he looked like he was going to launch across the clearing and pummel him. 

Crash to the ground, break his nose, dig his fingers into his eyes and crush his chest. You remember a factoid—something about lungs, when spread out, something about the length of a tennis court. You bet Simon would do it, slowly unpeel every nerve from the walls of his chest and string them up around the trees like he’s toilet-papering a neighbor’s house.

Your heart beats a little faster. You bite down harder on your lip. 

“He won’t make you cum,” he says, and you shrug loosely. 

“Then who will?”

He tilts his head like you’re asking a really stupid question. You suppose you are. 

When his hand clamps down upon your upper arm, it startles you—for some reason, you haven’t been expecting him to be solid, are not used to the feeling of his fingers on your skin. He’s cold, despite the fire. 

Wordlessly, he yanks you to your feet, drags you to your tent. You don’t necessarily mean to pull your feet, to resist a tiny bit, but it feels right—makes it righter when he yanks open the zipper to your tent, near-throws you inside. It’s spacious enough that two people can fit, low enough that he must duck, and Simon hunches his back in such a way that the shadows obscure his face, paint him in broad strokes of gray. 

You hardly have a moment of peace on the ground, back against your sleeping bag before he’s kneeling, putting a hand in the nexus of your thighs. Such an insistent pressure that you scrabble to tug your pants off, leave long scratches down your stomach with the clumsiness of speed. The cold air almost stings against your bare sex, but before that’s too much a problem, Simon’s lowering himself. There is a brief moment in which his face is in the light, but you blink, and you miss it—and, by the time you’re looking again, his tongue is hitting your cunt, and stars bloom in your vision. 

His hands were cold, but his mouth is warm, and he licks a long stroke to your clit. Focuses on that, for a moment, sucking on it gently, which is enough for your legs to wrap around his back in half-greed half-gratitude. 

When he bites down upon it gently, the brief nip of teeth, you moan. When you were a kid, your neighbors left their bedroom window open one night, and you watched the husband fuck the wife upon the bed, intertwined as closely together as the friendship bracelet Kelsey gave you. After he was done, he peeled off the wife’s skin and ate her whole. Started with the toes and ended with the eyes, shoved her bones down his throat like a fire-eater. 

How does one eat an elephant? 

One bite at a time!

You laugh. Simon knows you well enough that he doesn’t ask you why. 

Instead, he brings his mouth down to your hole, circling it with his tongue, as his hand goes up to rub at your clit. You push forwards into his face, desperate, greedy, and he strokes his hand down your thigh. He’s warm now, warm as you are. 

“More,” you manage to pant, when he extends his tongue into your opening. If anything, he slows—teasing bastard—and now, it’s with a luxuriating sort of tension that he inserts a single finger into your cunt. Follows, a moment later, with another, curves them down and uses his thumb to spin a slow circle over your clit. 

It’s enough to send you over the edge. Your body shakes, walls clenching in on a gaping nothing, and though the climax leaves you limp-boned and hazy, it’s clear that this is only the start for Simon. He rises to his feet to shuck his pants off, followed by his underwear, which does much to reveal that he’s already hard. 

Good. You’d be insulted, honestly, if he wasn’t. He kneels, and you reach out a hand to run over his cock, feeling out the shape of the veins, stroking a single finger over the tip and smearing his precum about. He places a hand upon yours, gently shifting it off, and the other goes to your waist. Without what seems like an effort at all, he flips you from your back to your stomach. Now, you are facing the wall—he may as well have no face, no body, just a pair of hands and a dick. 

“Eager dove,” he murmurs, and you arch up towards him, wanting to be filled, to be contained and released, but all he does is stroke a slow, almost reverent hand over your ass. “Had my eye on you, you know? Ever since I saw you.”

“Please,” you half-moan half-snap, and he finally obliges with a thrust forwards that takes the breath from your lungs. There is an immediate burn. It is not given time to fade, time to adjust, before he’s pushing himself deeper—you shudder, clenching with the effort it takes to accommodate him. The hand upon your ass, he brings up, brings back down again, a sting to distract from the pleasant ache within you. Less a slap and more the way a man thuds a new car, more possession and less the intent to hurt. 

“Not leaving,” he says, and you don’t quite process what the words mean. Simply nod—you’d not if he told you to break your phone and slit your throat with the glass, you’d nod if he asked if he could cut you chin-to-clit and crawl inside your body. He bends closer, close enough that his chest is pressed to your back and his chin notches into the crook of your shoulder. 

You’re already sensitive from his previous workings, and with this—him, hitting spots inside of you that you do not think anyone else could, not in any sense of the word—it does not take much to bring you over once again. A full-body shake that stars from your core, expands outwards like ripples in a lake, violent enough to make you click your teeth together. Warmth, seeping inside of you, and when he tenderly pulls back, it gushes out in a stream that might as well be blood. 

There is movement behind you, shuffling, and by the time you regain the wherewithal to turn back around, sit up, he’s already pulling his pants on, back to you. 

“You’re leaving?” You ask, trying not to sound insulted. True love you did not think this was, but he could at least stay the night. 

“Some business t’ take care of,” he grunts, “I’ll be back soon.”

It’s a good enough excuse that you let your head fall back upon the pillow. You don’t hear your tent zipper being pulled open, but when you look back up, he’s gone. 

—

Kelsey screams. Once, again, again. 

You wake up. 

She screams. 

It spurs you into action, and you leap from the warmth of the bag, fumbling with how quickly you unzip the tent. Burst into the open air—see, from your peripheral, Lou doing much the same thing. 

Once you’re out, it’s not hard to see why. 

Hanging from a tree directly above the campfire, by his wrists, is a man. Is Darren. His chin is tucked into his chest, and he is naked, stomach cleaved open. 

Strangely, there’s no blood, no puddle. You stare at it, some yawning emptiness that might be horror opening inside of you, look down, then up, then down again. 

His dick is cut off. You think, in some ironic world, that would be funny. 

Lou reaches Kelsey first—she stands at the edge of the log circle, looking up, face ashen and eyes wide. It reminds you of, when you were in seventh grade, when you walked into her house after school and found her Mom dead in the kitchen, a knife embedded in her neck. It was her Dad. They never found him—Kelsey’s always been scared that he’ll find her, someday, do the same thing. 

Your hand twitches. It was you. You killed her. She never found out.

You rub your forehead with your hand. Maybe you’re getting a migraine. You can’t remember what you were thinking about. 

“We have to go,” he says, after a moment, voice high with panic, “c’mon, don’t… don’t stay for anything, we have to go.” He whirls around, meeting eyes with you. “Hey! Where’s Simon?”

Silence. Kelsey, after a moment. 

“You’re joking.”

He hesitates, face suddenly as stricken as hers, all blood drained out. “I…”

She whips around, face almost nose-to-nose with his, “you’re fucking joking, who the fuck is Simon, what-”

“I was with him,” he swears, backing away a step, head swiveling around—like Simon will materialize at any minute—“I… he came into my tent, told me he couldn’t sleep. We played poker and he took all my rocks.”

“No,” you say, distantly, like your voice is not your own, “he was with me.”

With me seems like a better word than fucking my brains out. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Kelsey says after a moment, half-sobbing, “whatever- whatever the hell he is, let’s leave.”

“My phone,” Lou says after a moment, dashing towards the tents. You follow, and when Kelsey catches up to you, her hands lock onto your arm. They’re warm. You place your hand over hers, and wonder how long it takes to make a corpse feel real. 

When he emerges, phone in hand, there’s little hope upon his face. 

“Dead,” he says, “flat-out dead, not no service, dead.”

“Mine’s dead too,” you say, recalling that first night, forgetting to plug it back in. You haven’t remembered to do it since. 

“We need to leave,” Kelsey repeats, “no point in checking.”

You don’t need any further reminding. The path that led you to the clearing is easy to find. It’s significantly lighter, going down, with not even a pack upon your backs—makes the journey feel quick, even if it’s agonizingly slow. You do not stop for anything—not food, not water, all done with a numbness of your feet and the strange fog in your mind. 

“I should’ve known better,” Lou says, as the sun reaches his zenith—it comes out with the certainty of a thought that’s been stewing for hours—“I��ve watched a thousand horror movies, obviously. You both think of a man that doesn’t exist and you get confused when we prod you on it, and we’re in the woods, oh my god.”

“Don’t start,” Kelsey snaps. Her voice has stabilized from earlier, but she still has that wide-eyed, deer-in-headlights look. 

“It was so obvious,” he repeats, “and of course, Darren dies first, because he’s the confident asshole, and…”

That feels a tad insensitive, but you suppose the charitable part of his brain has short-circuited.

“And what the fuck does that make you?” Kelsey asks, “the meta guy? You die next. You’re fucking Randy Meeks.” 

“I know,” he replies, and that quiets her. It puts you on that line of thinking—that of horror movies. Logic dictates something along the lines of a final girl, unless your filmmaker is avant-garde or a sadist, so it could go either way for you. 

You don’t realize you’ve turned back around until you’re short of breath—until you realize that somehow, you have made a 180 on the trail, and are now going uphill. It takes another five minutes before Lou notices, before he stops in his tracks, and says, “we… we got turned around.”

“What?” Kelsey asks. He points up the slope. 

“We’re walking up. I recognize that tree! We just passed that rock! Oh my god.”

He puts his head in his hands. She stares dully up the trail, as if uncomprehending, before slowly turning around. 

“Let’s go.”

There’s not any hope in the words. Another bit of time—you don’t have any way to tell, but you think it might be an hour—before, once again, you are climbing up. 

“There’s not really any point,” you observe. 

“No,” Lou says, and he turns again. 

When the sun begins to sink below the horizon, when the sky darkens like a bruise, you break back into the clearing. Logs to one side, tents to another. 

Darren is gone. You look up at the tree, and see not even a rope mark—and, without the puddle of blood, there is no sign that he was ever there at all. 

“Fuck,” Kelsey says. Turns, kicking out at one of the logs, screams the word, then collapses to her knees, sobbing. Lou kneels by her side, rubbing a hand along her back. Looks up at you, after a moment. 

“We’re sleeping in the same tent tonight. All three of us. He seems… he seems to only get one of us at a time. There is no Simon.”

“There is no Simon,” you breathe, digging your fingernails into your palms. No Simon. You did not meet him in college, did not meet him in high school, he was not in your tent last night and you have never felt his hands upon your skin. 

When you were a kid, you’d repeat that mantra to yourself, there is no, there is no there is no there is no there is no there is no there is. 

When you were a kid…

You blink, and you are in the tent. Must be Lou’s—cramped, with all three of you, but you and Kelsey are sharing a sleeping bag, and Lou is in his own. You stare at him, sleeping, and then crawl out into the cold air. Sit for a moment, in the tent, look at the darkness around and the things beyond it that you cannot see. 

Quietly, you unzip the flaps, pull yourself into the open. Walk a slow circle around the camp, half-contemplating, half enjoying the cold air. 

On your third loop, you see Simon, sitting in what used to be Darren’s tent. Your heart stutters briefly in your chest, but you relax just as quickly. He’s so familiar that it hurts. 

You’ve known Simon since first grade, when he would chase you around the playground, and make you kiss him when he caught you. Kelsey’s always hated him. So has Darren. Even Lou, from the first moment he laid eyes on him. When you told them that you were bringing him along on the trip, Kelsey dug her fingers into your neck and strangled you until your nails were bloodied from scratching at her skin. 

“Hey,” you say, ducking down to sit next to him. You didn’t think to bring a light with you, on this trip, so he’s shaded in darkness, but you can hear the movement of his body, feel the soft brush of his lips as he leans down to kiss the top of your head. “Mourning?”

“Somethin’ like that,” he replies, “Lou thinks he can get you out?”

“Yeah,” you reply, “he’ll try again tomorrow, I bet.”

He laughs. You wonder if he has a mouth to laugh with. 

“Not gonna work, Dove. You know that.”

You shrug listlessly. “Makes him feel better.”

One heavy, warm hand settles around your wait, tugs you closer, until you’re half-onto his lap. You nestle your head on his shoulder. He smells like blood. You dig your nose into his chest, inhale deeper. 

“I love you,” you say. His fingers dig in, the tiniest bit, pinpricks of sensation down your side. 

“I know. Love y’ too much, sometimes.”

“Is that possible?” You ask. He laughs, and you swear you can smell it, swear you can taste it. 

“Guess not. I’d just do anything to keep you. Anything, y’hear?”

“Anything,” you whisper. You’re so close to his heart that you swear it goes straight through, you swear you can dig your teeth in and tug it out and speak to it directly, mouth wrapped around his aorta. 

—

When you wake up, you’re sprawled on the ground outside of Darren’s tent. Stumble to your feet, steadying yourself with a hand upon the flimsy material, walk around listlessly until Kelsey pushes her way free of last night’s abode. She looks around, surveying the space, before her eyes lock on you. 

“Where’s Lou?” She asks. You blink once, taking in the tender hope, the wish—she wants you to say, bathroom, or in my tent, or, over there, behind that tree, peekaboo!

You swallow once, and whisper, “I don’t know.”

It is like some invisible wall collapses, making her suddenly smaller. “What do you mean-”

“I mean he’s gone,” you reply, running a hand through your hair, pretending it’s someone else’s, someone you never knew and someone you know as intimately as yourself, “I mean he’s… he’s dead, probably.”

“No,” she says, “no, we were all together- he couldn’t get us, it’s not possible, I- where were you? Why are you out here?”

“I saw him last night,” you whisper, “Simon. I… I went outside.”

“No,” she repeats, “why the fuck would you do that? Is it you?” The accusation comes with the force of a slap—you’re half-surprised one doesn’t accompany it. She backs away a step, pointing, “is he yours? You’ve- you’ve seen him the most, haven’t you, and he fucking killed Darren because you hated him, and he killed Lou because he was trying to get us out, and, oh my God.” 

Another step. She turns, still staring at you over her shoulder—like you will pounce, like you will come for her—begins a halting run down the path. Accelerates to a sprint, by the time she’s out of your view. You place a hand to your chest, and feel the beat of your heart, and wonder what’s wrong with your legs. 

Not ten minutes later, you spot her over the horizon, still running—if at a flagging pace. She turns, when her eyes meet with you, but it’s short order before she’s back in the clearing, collapsing on the log before you. 

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” you say, not turning towards her. Almost surprisingly, your voice wavers, and some animal instinct buried in your hindbrain twitches, caught in the throes of death. “He… it… whatever he is, I didn’t summon him, I didn’t ask for anything. I see him, and I know him, and what am I supposed to do?”

She’s quiet for a long moment. Pushes herself up to a sitting position. 

“Tell my Mom that I love her. And my Dad.”

You can’t remember having a family. You can’t remember being a kid, can’t remember meeting those people that were once your friends. Again, you think of the doppelganger. Maybe you’re the clone, maybe you’ve slipped into the skin of whoever used to inhabit this body. 

“I don’t know if I’m making it out either,” you reply. She laughs. 

“What, he’s gonna kill you? Please.” Again, a peal of laughter, and she can’t seem to contain herself, one hand wrapping around to cup her stomach. 

“I didn’t say I’d be dead.” 

That sobers her. 

The sun falls across the horizon. She walks to the cooler eventually, digs around in it. Comes back with a single bottle of beer. 

“Go fucking figure. Only one left.”

She opens it, takes a swig, holds it out to you. You oblige, turning it about in your hand, take a cautious sip. It brings you back to the firelight, to the time of hours ago, to the life that you cannot be sure you lived. 

You see him before it’s fully dark. Behind Kelsey’s back, in the treeline, face hidden by the drooping leaves and the curve of the shadows. 

“You should go,” you tell her. She stares at you. 

“Yeah? Where?” 

“Let her go,” you say. If there is one favor you can give to your former life, then it’s this. If there is one favor he can give to you, it’s this. 

You don’t see him nod, but you push her anyway, urge her to her feet. 

“Go. Quickly. You’ll… you’ll make it.”

You don’t know if it’s any kinder, honestly. Deer chews its way out of the snare, must live the rest of its life with an amputated leg. Still, she gives you a single, wide-eyed stare, before she jerkily walks to the path, takes to a jog in the dying light. 

There is nothing between you and Simon, not anymore. You stand up, walk into the trees, and he comes towards you in the same measure. Keep walking, until your chest is bumping against his, nose pressed into his chest and legs arranged between his, some half-dissolved hug. 

You have known Simon for as long as you’ve known yourself, and where your skin meets, you can’t quite tell who is who, which limbs you can control and which limbs you cannot. 

“They’ll come looking,” he says. You say. 

“Is that a problem?” You reply. He replies. 

“No,” he whispers, hand coming around to sink into your back, “good hunting.”

“Good hunting,” you echo, and it feels like you could stand here forever, as still as the trees around you. 

You look up at his face. Meet his eyes. 

When you lean up to kiss him, it is the only thing you have ever been certain of.

[softspiderling]

illicit affairs - part thirteen | r.c

summary:

JJ only snickered as he fixed his cap, before turning to you with a smirk. “Hey. Kie run you off yet?”

“I don’t think she’d ever manage do as much damage as you yourself could,” you pointed out and JJ laughed, his hand curling around the arm of your chair, pulling you closer to him.

“See, when you used to say things like that, I thought you meant it, but now I know you’re just trying to hide that you actually like me.”

OR; JJ sees another side of you and you distance yourself from Rafe and your friends

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

warnings: mention of smoking weed and driving while intoxicated, vulgar choice of words (idk why I put this, I always use vulgar words help)

word count: 4,2k

author's note: hi. highly anticipated new chapter 👀 also I've noticed that the chapters do tend to be longer now (compared to the 2k-ish chapters from season one) but I just gotta pack everything in that needs to be in the chapter and i know you guys don’t mind hehe. hope you have sooo much fun reading! 🫶🏼

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

pt. thirteen: "tell your friends you’re out for a run”

kelce in 3 musketeers and their precious [05/02/24: 3:54 pm]: we hanging out this week?

top in 3 musketeers and their precious [05/02/24: 4:12 pm]: I’m down. Time and place?

rafe in 3 musketeers and their precious [05/02/24: 4:19 pm]: ask Precious

kelce [05/02/24: 4:21 pm]: hey what’s up??? why are u awol?

JJ [05/02/24: 4:26 pm]: gotta finish this up with john b and then i’ll meet you there

With a small sigh, you flipped your phone around, screen face down. It had been about a week since you got back from Nassau. It had been the same amount of time since you had seen your friends last. Rafe definitely knew you were blowing him off, and you did feel bad, especially since he had been worried about things between the two of you. But really, what other choice did you have? You needed some distance before you could pretend like you didn’t care that he was apparently starting some relationship with a random girl he met. And staying away from Rafe meant staying away from Topper and Kelce, too.

Topper definitely knew what he was talking about when he was warning you about having sex with Rafe.

“Can I get you anything, or…?”

You lifted your eyes from the wooden table top you were staring at to see Kiara look at you expectantly, raising a brow.

As it turned out, you didn’t have a lot of friends besides Kelce, Topper and Rafe, which honestly was never a problem before. Now, however, that you were trying to get some space from Rafe, it proved to be more lonesome than you had expected.

Not that lonesome though.

You had been spending a lot of time with JJ lately, which did manage to distract you. It also meant spending a lot of time over on the Cut, mostly because it was more convenient, but also lowered the chances of running into your friends. You weren’t exactly trying to hide that you were out with JJ, but honestly, you knew you were preventing a lot of headaches that way.

Another place you had been frequenting more often was the Wreck, where you were now. It was one of the last places anyone would expect you to be, despite it being on Figure Eight.

“Can I just get a diet coke on ice?” you said, and Kiara gave you a brief nod, disappearing back inside. It didn’t take long for her to return with a can of diet coke and a glass filled with ice.

“Thanks,” you said and Kiara only responds with a wry smile, which was fair. The two of you barely interacted before, considering you were in very different circles. Despite her parents’ lavish home and their establishment on Figure Eight, Kiara considered herself a pogue, distancing herself from your part of the island as much as she possibly could, whereas you did enjoy the privilege your parents were able to provide you. Though you did see where she was coming from. In spite of all your differences, you both were two sides of the same coin. Before Sarah joined their friend group, Kiara was the only girl among her friends for the longest time, if anyone could understand you, it was her.

“Can I ask you something?”

Kiara paused, eyeing her parents behind the bar and the rest of the customers who seemed to be content, before she nodded with a small sigh, sitting down across from you, serving tray in her lap. She looked at you expectantly, while you struggled to find the right words.

“You’ve been friends with those guys for years… Did you ever.. Catch feelings for any of them?”

You knew you were revealing your feelings with your words, but what was Kiara gonna do? Go tell Rafe that you loved him?

“If you’re asking because you’re worried that you’ve got competition with JJ-“

“That’s not why I’m asking,” you quickly intervened, huffing. “You know my friends.”

Kiara leveled you with a look, squinting her eyes at you before she sighed, shrugging a bit with her shoulders.

“Well, it helps that JJ is a fucking idiot.”

You quirked a smile at her. “No argument from me.”

Kiara rolled her eyes with a scoff but you could detect a hint of a smile when she turned away. It took her a minute, before she finally found an answer to your question.

“I think it’s easy to mistake platonic love for romantic one, especially because you do spend so much time with your friends. There were times where I thought I was in love with one of them,” Kiara said, making you raise a brow at her. “But then I imagined kissing them and immediately realized that I would hate doing that.”

Yeah, you were definitely fucked.

You exhaled softly, leaning back in your chair, clearly unhappy with her answer. Kiara stayed silent, allowing you to wallow in your misery before you lifted your head again, finding her still looking at you. Right, JJ was one of her best friends and you basically just admitted that you were in love with one of your best friends.

“So is this the part where you’re telling me to stay away from JJ or…?”

“Nah, I ain’t touching that with a ten foot pole,” Kiara jeered, crossing her arms in an x. “JJ and his mortal enemy’s best friend is just a disaster waiting to happen. I want no part of that.”

“Mortal enemy?” you echoed, snorting. “What, are they going to fight for my honor?”

“What would you describe them as then, missy?” Kiara shot back. “Besides, I think you’re capable enough of fighting for your own honor.”

With a small laugh, you nodded, taking that as some sort of gesture of peace, which was nice. You were in no mood for more drama.

“And I think you know what you’re getting yourself into by getting involved with JJ, especially when your friends find out,” Kiara added, “I’m assuming they don’t know yet?”

You pulled a face, which was answer enough for Kiara. She didn’t have to tell you that this would end catastrophically, you knew and yet, here you were.

“Who died?”

JJ let himself fall into the free chair next to you, his crude words serving as some sort of hello. Kiara rolled her eyes, giving you a look which you knew meant really, this guy? and stood up, pushing JJ’s cap further down his face before she left to take care of the rest of the customers.

JJ only snickered as he fixed his cap, before turning to you with a smirk. “Hey. Kie run you off yet?”

“I don’t think she’d ever manage do as much damage as you yourself could,” you pointed out and JJ laughed, his hand curling around the arm of your chair, pulling you closer to him.

“See, when you used to say things like that, I thought you meant it, but now I know you’re just trying to hide that you actually like me.”

You rolled your eyes grinning as JJ looked you up and down, taking you in now that you were much closer.

“They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“Undercover ray of sunshine posing as an ice princess, I get it,” JJ said, like it was a matter of fact. Before you could argue with him, he leaned over to you, pressing his lips against yours.

Cheap trick.

Still you kissed him back, everything else pushed into the background for a while. While you didn’t want to think of Rafe while you were kissing JJ, you couldn’t help but compare them as you were with him. It was easier, being with JJ. Whenever you kissed Rafe all you kept thinking was is this the last time? am i kissing too much? this kiss feels different. With JJ, it was just kissing, no worries or thoughts behind it. It was nice, for a change.

You didn’t know how long you kissed, only breaking apart when someone cleared their throat. Looking up, you found the rest of JJ’s friends surrounding you, all wearing different expressions.

“Hey guys, didn’t see you there,” JJ greeted them cheerfully, as if this was the most normal setting.

“Hey,” you greeted them, lifting your hand for a wave.

“Hey,” Sarah said, sitting down next to you, glancing between you and JJ. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Yeah,” you answered, smiling a little awkwardly. “How have you been?”

As you and Sarah spoke John B took a seat next to her, leaving Pope to stand.

“I’ll go grab another chair,” he said, gesturing to a table in the back, but JJ stopped him.

“No need. We’ll make some space.”

“Please don’t,” John B said dryly, but JJ had already tugged you over in his lap, freeing up another chair.

“Jesus,” you muttered, brushing your hair out of your face, giving JJ a dirty look. Pope only sighed loudly, dropping into your now free chair while you got comfortable in JJ’s lap.

“You good?” JJ asked, his hand coming up on your back to support you.

“Yeah,” you sighed, “Can you just warn me beforehand next time? I don’t like being manhandled.”

“Sorry,” JJ apologized, wincing. “Was trying to act fast.”

You huffed quietly under your breath and as you lifted your head, you realized that that the others had watched you the entire time. Especially Pope seemed particularly interested, leaning his chin in his hand.

“So how exactly did this happen?” he asked, gesturing towards the two of you, like he didn’t quite understand.

“Oh Pope my boy, you know it was only a matter of time before she fell for the Maybank charm,” JJ said with a waggle of his eyebrow, though they quickly creased when you dug your elbow into his ribs. “Guess I was a little persistent.”

“Now that sounds more believable,” Pope stated and John B nodded in agreement.

“Gotta say, I do like the two of you together,” he added, throwing his arm around the back of Sarah’s chair. “Maybe you can get JJ under a control a little, tighten his leash.”

“Big surprise, John B supports pogue and kook macking,” JJ snorted and you furrowed your brows.

“Hold on, I know for a fact that I’m not the first girl JJ’s been with that’s not from your side of the island.”

“You’re different,” Pope replied and the creased on your forehead deepened even more.

“How am I different?”

Before either of them could answer your question, Kiara returned with several bags of food, and another bag filled with drinks.

“You guys ready to go?”

You all piled out of the restaurant, getting more than one look thrown in your direction and you were sure that Kiara’s parents were glad that you left.

You had come in your own car, so you split up, JJ riding with you, while the rest of his friends piled into John B’s old VW van.

While you drove over to the Cut, soft music filtered out of your car’s speakers. Out of the corner of your eye, JJ was relaxing in the passenger seat, his hand out of the window, following the motion of the wind.

“Enjoy being the passenger princess for once?”

“Excuse you,” JJ said, affronted as he looked over to you. His long hair was swept over his forehead, but it was no use pushing it back, the wind blowing through the open window kept tousling his hair. “I was a passenger princess long before you decided to grace me with your presence. John B doesn’t trust me around the Twinkie anymore after I drove it into the tree in his backyard.”

“… You know what, I’m not even gonna ask.”

“Smart,” JJ acknowledged with a nod and you only rolled your eyes with a laugh.

The drive to John B’s place didn’t take too long, his van already parked in front of his house when you arrived. There wasn’t really a parking spot per se, so you parked right next to him. As you got out, closing the car door behind you, you couldn’t help but notice how your car seemed to stand out like a sore thumb. Your jeep was sparkling, especially after you had just picked it from your your monthly detail the day before, the blue car paint shining even more than usual, a stark contrast to John B’s van and house.

You tried not to think too much about how it mirrored you and your place here with JJ and his friends. Pushing your thoughts to the back, you followed JJ into the house, where it was clear that the Pogues had a routine; while Kiara unpacked the food on the small coffee table that was surrounded by the couch and an odd assortment of arm chairs, Pope cleared the paper bags, Sarah and John B disappeared somewhere, before returning with plates and cutlery. Everyone seemed to contribute to the shared meal that you were going to have.

Well, everyone except for JJ, who made himself comfortable on the couch. His eyes found yours and he patted on the empty nook on the couch next to him. Letting out an almost unperceivable sigh, you joined him on the couch. You felt a little weird, sitting around doing nothing while the others were fixing up food, like you were just a picture perfect “kook”, but honestly, JJ was the definition of the pogue, and he couldn’t be more relaxed sitting next to you, opening a can of beer while his friends finished setting up the table.

It wasn’t much later that everything was set up so you could finally eat, the food more than enough for the six of you. After you finished eating, everyone leaned back in their seats, tummies full.

“The food was really good, Kiara,” you said, the other girl looking up to you. “Your parents really know what they’re doing.”

“Thanks,” Kiara answered with a small smile, frowning when Sarah accidentally yanked on her hair when she reached for her bag, rummaging in it before she cheered.

“You know what’ll make today even better?” she asked before thrusting her hand forward. “This!”

The others clapped and cheered, but it took you a second to see what Sarah was holding was a joint between her fingers. In about a second, the joint was lit, and burning in qualms in Sarah’s mouth before she passed it around. You were impressed at their speed, not even you and your friends were that quick. Even though you didn’t really feel like smoking, you figured a little wouldn’t hurt.

You had suspected it the moment Sarah pulled the joint out, but when it finally reached your hands, it confirmed your suspicions. The joint felt familiar between your fingers, like one you’d smoked so many times before when you put your lips around it.

You wondered Sarah had just snuck the joint when she was at home, or if she had asked Rafe for one of his hand rolled joints. It was funny, you thought, how Rafe would do something so trivial like rolling his own joint, but you knew he liked knowing what was actually in there.

You passed the joint to Pope, already starting to feel the effects of the weed spreading into your systems, your limbs starting to loosen. Leaning your head back on the couch, you allowed yourself to relax a little, JJ’s warm body close to yours. The others talked among themselves, what exactly they were talking about, you didn’t really know, but you also just didn’t care.

It wasn’t long until JJ had the joint again, taking a few puffs before he offered it to you.

“I’m good,” you declined, making JJ pout.

“Come on,” he tried to coax you. “Just one more drag.”

“I said no JJ.”

JJ sighed, shaking his head, taking another drag. He leaned over you to pass the joint to Pope, but before he sat back down, JJ curled his hand around your neck, pressing his lips against in a kiss, blowing the smoke into your mouth.

“Jesus, JJ,” someone said behind JJ. You weren’t sure who it was, probably John B.

You were too busy coughing, not having expected the smoke filling your lungs, your hand coming up to punch his shoulder. You being you, not one to to back down, you kissed him back, biting down on his lips, a little more forcefully than needed. JJ grunted, his knee slotting in between your legs so he could press closer to you.

“Ugh, guys, really?”

“Get a room.”

You barely acknowledged their words, unusually so. It was rare that you engaged in public displays of affection and this was definition more than affection.

“I don’t think they’re gonna stop.”

The rustling of the couch and the door opening and closing was distant to your ears, too busy being surrounded by JJ. He however, seemed to clock immediately that the two of you were alone, moving to lay you down on the couch. JJ didn’t waste a second, his mouth finding your sensitive skin on your neck, working himself down your chest with small kisses, sucking on your skin every now and then.

You lifted your head a little, watching JJ plant kisses on your chest, sprawled on the couch gave you the worst kind of flashback. This was not the time to think about Rafe.

“Wait,” you stopped him, both of your hands on his chest to push him off of you.

“What?” JJ breathed out. His blonde hair was in streaks over his forehead, and you couldn’t help but notice how pink his lips were, undoubtedly your doing. Served him right.

“I’m not gonna fuck you on this couch.”

“Oh good,” he sighed, “cause I was planning on fucking you on this couch.”

You snorted out a laugh, slapping his chest and JJ sat up with a laugh, running a hand through his hair.

“You know they’re not gonna come in, right?”

To be completely honest, you had forgotten all about this friends.

“It’s not about them,” you answered, somewhat evasively. “Just not today, okay.”

JJ cocked an eyebrow at you. “You sure I can’t convince you?”

“Yes, JJ.”

Still, he leaned over, his hand on your waist.

“What about second base?”

“Jesus Christ.”

The house was dark when you got home. You tried not to happen too often especially too many nights in a row, knowing your parents would be on your ass if you spent too much time away. To be fair, you hadn’t expected to be hanging out with JJ and his friends for this long, because you just didn’t know where you fit in with them, with your friends disliking his friends so much. The joint helped though, and against your smartest instincts, you smoked another round with them, making you relax and turn your thoughts off for a while. Despite the darkness of the night, you could make out someone sitting on the steps of the porch, and first, you thought it was one of your parents. But as the headlights of your car shone over the front of the house, you realized it was Rafe. Was it too late to wish it was your mom instead?

The trilling of insects was the only sound when you turned your car off, getting out without any difficulty. The slam of the car door echoed through the drive way and Rafe seemed unamused as he pushed himself off the stairs, walking towards you with deliberate steps, his phone in his hand.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, with a frown and Rafe pressed his lips together.

“You’ve been MIA. I was worried,” he said, eyeing you up and down. “Where were you?”

“Out.”

“With whom?” Rafe wanted to know, knowing the same thing you knew. You didn’t have a lot of friends besides of him, Topper and Kelce. “You hanging out with someone you shouldn’t have?”

“Just Scarlett.”

You tried acting nonchalant, shrugging with your shoulders but the movement only allowed the strap of your purse to slip off. Before it could drop to the floor, Rafe caught it with his hands, giving you a look.

“You’re high?” he asked, but it sounded more like a statement than a question. You weren’t sure if it was the weed he was smelling on you, or if it was just plain obvious.

“And you drove like that?”

“How else would I get home?”

Rafe looked at you like you were stupid.

“You could have called me.”

“Because I need you to save me?” you scoffed. You weren’t entirely sure what was up with you.

Lie. You knew exactly what was up with you.

Rafe only stared at you, his nostrils flared, clearly agitated, and for a split second, you expected him to leave, leave you standing in front of your house, but he only wrenched your keys out of your hand, unlocking the front door for you. Despite the anger radiating from him, his touch was gentle when he ushered you inside the house, his hands steady on your back as you walked up the stairs, like he expected you to fall.

Surprisingly, you got into your bedroom without making too much noise, but instead of leaving, Rafe shut the door behind you, placing your purse on your drawer.

“What’re you doing?” you asked, frowning in confusion, the devil’s lettuce clouding your mind. You really needed to sleep.

“Getting you shower, because you might actually fall and drown yourself,” Rafe huffed, his hand around your arm when you moved to sit on your bed. “Don’t. The smell will seep into your sheets”

You rolled your eyes at him but you still let him drag you to your bathroom. He let go of your arm when you stood on the pink bathroom rug, gesturing towards your clothes.

“With or without clothes?”

Your face was blank as you stared at him.

“You’re not watching me shower.”

“Precious, I trust you to shower by yourself about as much as I would trust Kelce to drive my truck,” Rafe sighed, sitting down on the small ottoman, crossing his arms. For a while, you stood in the middle of your bathroom motionless, before you realized he wasn’t joking. With a small sigh, you started undressing, letting your clothes fall on the floor. You hesitated, pulling your top over your head, your bra soon following. Even though Rafe had seen you naked before, you still felt vulnerable as you got undressed in his presence, your eyes flitting to him.

His eyes zeroed in on your chest, but instead of making a lewd comment like you had expected, his face hardened before he turned away without saying anything, his jaw clenched. Your brows knitted together, but you kept quiet, your underwear joining the rest of your clothes on the floor, before you stepped into your shower, turning it on.

The water sobered you up a little, the cool droplets feeling refreshing against your skin. While your head was still in a daze, it lifted slightly, and embarrassment started to settle deep in your bones. You made quick work of washing the lingering scent of the weed of your skin, before you turned the water off, the stream becoming smaller drops, before the water stopped completely. You didn’t get out immediately though, trying to let go of what you were feeling, having to face Rafe, who was still here to take care of you, despite your behavior.

When you finally got out of the shower, your clothes on the floor were gone, and so was Rafe. Before he had left, he had put out your bathrobe and a towel, which you quickly used to dry off and wrap your hair. Exiting your bathroom, you went back into your room, and it looked like Rafe was never here, except for the glass of water that stood on your nightstand.

You picked it off, taking a sip and before you knew it, the glass was empty. You hadn’t even realized how thirsty you were until you’d seen the crisp water. With a small sigh, you pushed the empty glass back on the nightstand, before crawling into your bed, knocking out as soon as your head hit the pillow.

The next morning, when you woke up, you felt slightly less terrible than you had anticipated. The sun filtered in through the closed blinds, which you didn’t remember closing, though you did appreciate the sun not completely shining into your bedroom.

Throwing the blankets back, you got out of bed, your movements slow. With a yawn, you padded to the bathroom, turning the lights on your feet coming to a halt when you caught your reflection in the mirror.

“Fuck.”

Slowly, you traced your finger tips across the splatter of hickeys that JJ must have left on your chest. You honestly hadn’t even noticed.

Rafe knew you lied to him.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author's note: so there were two version of this ending, one with rafe tucking precious in and the one you got. if you don't like it, @eldrith said to go the angstier route so complain to her <3 BUT WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS???!!?! <3

[ruinix]

The think fast I'm a random girl tik tok with Will Smith or Quinn Hughes?

Hello, lovely. With Quinn, yes, yes. (Sorry, I don't write for Will 😞 he's my child). I doomscrolled for this and another challenge in my inbox. I tried, of course. I always do. I hope you’ll like this. My bad for taking so long! You asked this back in April. I hope you’re still there. We thank @mrshelenhoran for sending me the picture on the left (of the banner). It visually screams QUINN—the facial hair, the nose, the plump lower lip.

Outfits & Evasions

TW/CW: 18+, Fluff, lots of kisses, Tiktok Challenge: Think fast, I'm a random girl. Slight suggestive tones.

Count: 1907 words | Masterlist

You are blasting songs in your shared walk-in closet. Hearing you sing along in some verses perfectly eases Quinn while he prepares for your date.

He combs through his hair with his fingers. When his hair keeps poking out by his ears in an uncomfortable way, he puts the tiniest bit of hair wax to tame his waves, tucking them behind his ears. After doing his hair, he washes his hand, drying them soon after.

He stares at himself, examining his beard. He runs his hand over it, tilting his head from side to side, his fingers feeling its length along his jaw, his chin. He squints at his moustache which is the same length as his beard. It is more than a stubble now but still tamed in his opinion. He wonders if he should’ve shaved it earlier.

You did tell him that you liked his beard, but that was two days ago. What if you don’t like his beard for your date? What if you prefer him to be clean shaven? Or maybe a shorter beard? Maybe he should trim it. Will you hate him for his facial hair? Why the fuck is he getting antsy right now?

He should stop.

So he does.

Sighing, he exits the bathroom, still hearing you rummage through your things behind the slightly ajar door beyond music. He wants to peek in and ask about his beard, but he also doesn’t want to interrupt whatever you’re doing. He knows that you take your preparations seriously, especially for dates.

However, he is curious if he is matching you. He likes it when his outfit matches yours, or at least, compliments it. He holds himself back because he also wants to be surprised if you are, so he doesn’t peek. Besides, despite being so proud of his fit—a safe combination of white linen-shirt with sleeves rolled up and khaki colored dress pants—he is open to change when he finally sees you. He doesn’t want you to change because of his clothes. He can do it himself. It will take him less than a minute to put on a new outfit. It will be easy. Well, he hopes it will be.

After he put on his dress shoes, ignoring the call of his sneakers, he sits down on the couch, throwing a slight glance to where he hid a bouquet of flowers he got delivered an hour ago. He lets the minutes pass, patiently waiting for you.

He scrolls through the messages from his family and replying to them while ignoring the “important” mails from Canucks management. At some point, he is humming a tune of one of your songs as he goes to Instagram. He instantly goes to your profile, staring hard into your posts like it’s his first time seeing them. He undoes the second button of his shirt after his body heats at the simple sight of your beauty. What can he do? You’re marvelous. While he is a simple man who easily gets turned on by you.

He hears your footsteps, halting his horny thoughts. He looks up, his jaw dropping instantly. You’re wearing a cream-colored dress with light brown ribbons crisscrossing down your sides, cinching the waist before it comes down to a flowy skirt that ends just a couple inches from your knees. Your neckline is low enough to hint your cleavage, giving ample space for your well-coordinated necklaces—some he had gifted you throughout the length of your relationship. You wear a particular flower-shaped earring with tiny diamonds on their centers and a few bracelets. . You looked amazing, so comfortable and pretty.

The shoulder bag that is perfectly the same shade as his pants is brimming with keychain trinkets, loudly blinking against each other. Quinn bets those trinkets weigh heavier than your bag and its contents. He will, for sure, carry it by the end of the night and he won't mind that. He’ll be delighted to carry your stuff for you.

You are matching him. The colors of your outfits fit and compliment one another. It makes him feel giddy, a slight blush coloring the tops of his cheeks the more he looks at you. He wants to say that you’re beautiful, but his words keep getting stuck on his throat as he stares while you set up your phone against the window. He’s utterly mesmerized by the way your skirt moved with your steps. You look ethereal.

"Quinny. Come." You grin, beckoning him with your hand and especially with your sweet smile.

That smile distracts him. He doesn't notice that you have this devious look in your eyes. That your phone is already recording, red circle blinking as time increases. That you are giggling, not just because of him following you without protest, but also because you are clearly concocting something. Quinn usually can see when you are planning something, but not now.

All he can think about is that you are calling him, so he needs to come to you.

He’s so lost in your smile, in the sparkle in your eyes, in you.

"You look handsome," you praise him the moment his hand touches yours.

Now, Quinn is full-on blushing. Your compliments truly hit him down to his core. There was something about compliments when they came from you. They mean so much more, because he knows that you mean your words. You are pure like that. The light of his life.

"You're beautiful," he throws back, grabbing your waist, pulling you flush against him, sighing when you wrap your arms around his nape. It emphasizes how perfectly you fit against him, in his arms. “We match., my Love.”

“Yes,” you murmur.

Quinn gazes at your lips that shine with your tinted lip gloss. He’s getting too focused on them, his mouth watering. His need to kiss you grows by the second, so he does. Just a soft peck. Then another, his tongue darting out to lick your glossed lips, groaning at its taste mixed with you. Again, another, slipping his tongue past your pretty lips, meeting your tongue. Perfect. You taste perfect.

He cups the back of your head. He feels absolutely greedy as he kisses your lip gloss off your lips, as he keeps on deepening the kiss when you want to take pictures with him. He can’t help it. He needs to kiss you. All the time.

"Quinn," you murmur, smiling into the kiss.

You giggle when he groans a whimper, because you’re torturing him now. You pull away just enough to not allow him to slip his tongue into your lips again, to make him be at ease with small desperate kisses. He needs to kiss you as deep, so he tries to beg his way with those kisses, panting as you reciprocate some kisses but not all. His brows furrow together as confusion settles in his gut.

Your hand presses on his chest, pushing him away, so he backs off. Hesitantly. Tears almost burn their way out of his tear ducts. He finally notes the evil glint in your eyes. What the fuck is happening—

"Think fast, I’m a random girl,” you say in a raspy tone that almost draws him in.

No, it does draw him in. He almost kisses you again, your words not sinking into his hazed mind until they do. They sink in a snap. The hair at the back of his nape stands. Sharp shivers ran down his spine as you lean in, luring him in like a siren singing to lure weak-willed men who don’t know they are walking to their deaths.

He instantly recoils from you, instantly six feet away. Maybe even more. Especially when you try to chase after him.

“No,” he grits out.

The word almost doesn’t come out because he never likes saying no to you, but he has to right now, because you’re a…random girl?  Honestly, he’s confused as fuck. He only wants to kiss you and you’re not you? This is fucked. He doesn’t like this. Is this a test? He doesn’t like this test.

“Come on, let’s kiss, Quinn.” You manage to grip his arm. Your nails graze his skin. “Just one kiss.”

Quinn nearly folds. How can he not? You are looking at him with such wide eyes. Your touch electrifies his whole body down to his soul. You’re telling him to kiss you, the one thing he wants to do right now. Your tongue licks your lip before you bite down on it. You blink up at him, your hand running up and down his arm. He’s so close to doing what you ask.

Instead, he grips your hand, firmly pushing it away, then he turns away. His heart pounds in his chest from the adrenaline, from the sting of the mere act of putting his back on you. His body tenses. His whole being is protesting. He hates this.

When you try to touch him, he moves away, refusing to look at you directly. He side-eyes you, but even then, he is only looking at your hands to avoid them. He can’t look at your face. He knows he’ll lose it. He tries to be mad at you for trying this test on him, but he can’t. He is only upset that he wants your hands to touch him again. The sound of your giggle is making him cave.  

“So this is what you’ll do when you have a persistent girl on you?” You ask, stepping back, holding your hands behind you. “Saying no and not letting them touch you?”

Quinn finally looks at your face. He’s refusing to speak, his lips pursing together. He’s getting annoyed by the distance between you two more than he should be annoyed that you are laughing at him doing his best because this is literally unfair. You are never going to be a random girl. Not when you’re you. He will easily just walk away if there is an actual random girl trying to kiss him. Fuck, he might even just call security, wherever he is. He should say that, but he is really upset that you’re too fucking far.

He knows you can see him being upset, because your laughter dies down, your lips pouting. “It’s a TikTok challenge, you know.”

He grunts, his hands twitching from the need to pull you in his arms.  

“Aww, come on, Quinny.” You spread your arms for him to which he squints at. “I’m no longer a random—”

He rushes to you, hugging you tightly.

“Kiss me,” he demands. He melts when you kiss him, appeasing him. Your proximity pushes his upset out of his system. “If you’re going to test me, don’t do it when I’m desperate for you. Is that clear?”

“Okay.” You shiver, nodding, gripping and crumpling his shirt.

Quinn doesn’t care about his fucking shirt. He only cares that he gets his point across. It’s clear that it is. So, he punishes you with a deeper kiss, holding you to him with a hand on your lower back and on your nape.

He doesn’t stop.

He kisses and tastes you for minutes, until he feels you rubbing your legs together, until he hears your tiny whines and moans.

It's his turn to tease you. Not with a challenge. Just with a promise of more.

He stops kissing you, grinning when you groan.

“Time for our date, my Love.”

[thezombieprostitute]

Good Friend

Summary: Steve Rogers visits your quiet little town.

A/N: Loosely based on a dream from last night. Entirely written on my phone.

Warnings: Implied kidnapping and stalking. Please let me know if I missed any.

Your little town was all astir; Steve Rogers, Captain America, was visiting! No one knows what made him decide to come to this small town in the middle of nowhere, but the mayor and city council weren't going to ask too many questions.

Initially you'd thought about not attending his little signing party, certain it would be overwhelming for you and maybe him. But when your online friends found out you were in the area they begged you to get an autograph for them. They'd always been such good friends, how could you say no?

When it's finally your turn for the signatures you're caught off guard by how handsome he is in person. There's an aura about him that cameras just can't capture.

"Hi," he smiles at you. Seeing the pictures in your hand he points to them, "who am I making them out to?"

You give him the names of you friends and he gets to signing them. You were scared he'd be tired of doing this by the time you got to him. Scared you were asking for too many. Scared he wouldn't be as nice in person. But he's putting your fears to rest

"Can I ask which of these is for you?" he asks, his cheeks a little pink.

"Oh, they're not for me," you shake you head, cheeks feeling warm.

His smile drops just enough that you notice. "You're not a fan?"

"I am!" you quickly reassure. "I just didn't want to risk asking too much of your time. Besides, they just get photos. I actually get to see you in person.'

His full smile returns. "Your friends are very lucky to have someone as kind as you."

"That's so nice of you to say." You have trouble keeping eye contact as your cheeks heat up. "I...I should get going. You've got a lot of fans and I don't want to be the reason someone doesn't get their time with you."

He bids you goodbye and you're so flustered by how your name sounds in his voice you don't register that you never gave him your name.

------

As he watches you leave, Steve is even more determined to follow through on his plan.

When he was first entering the realm of social media, under a false name per the suggestion of SHIELD, you'd taken the time to help him find his way. You taught him the "language" and gave him good advice on proper conduct. You never questioned why he didn't already know these things.

He'd found your real name and location and decided to see if you were as kind in person as you were online. You did not disappoint.

In a few weeks, when the hubbub of his visit has died down, he'll take you to your new home. With him.

Tagging: @alicedopey ; @delicatebarness ; @icefrozendeadlyqueen ; @irishhappiness ; @kmc1989; @lokislady82 ; @peaches1958 ; @ronearoundblindly

[kettleinusefornow]

Rough ride..MDNI

PART 2

CHAPTER 14: Weirdly nice

Sae Itoshi X Reader fic

Contains breakup and miscommunication

Revenge sex

Iceskater!reader

eventual happy ending </3

teenage love

ALOT of angst

CHP LIST CHP1

CHAPTER 14: Weirdly nice

As Y/N’s eyes widened at his wrist, her eyes flickered to Sae’s. His eyes didn’t look away. ‘Look at the road, not me! Do I look away first?!’

“Um!- Where are we headed?”

Y/N smiled slightly as she looked past him, through the window. HIs gaze was sickening. It still looked at with that cold indifference. He didn’t reply, shifting his attention to the road once more. Accelerating. 

“I thought we could grab breakfast first but you smelled of toast and scrambled eggs. Let’s head to.. The museum.”

‘Smell? Is he calling me smelly?’

“Oh that sounds nice, should I book the tickets now?”

Sae looked at Sae with confusion but the real question mark was over Y/N’s head, countering his confusion and amusement with disorientation.

“Why would.. There's no need.”

That was the end of their small conversation in the car before it was parked and they both got out, walking to the museum through the parking lot of Yoh Shomei. The museum of art. The walk from the parking lot was a.. Cold one. 

The air was dry, making Y/N’s nose freeze up every time she took a breath in. The worst thing wasn’t the cold winter, it was the awkward distance between the two. One step, they would be right beside each other, the next? A meter away. The real reason for this sudden shifts in gaps was Y/N. 

‘For the love of god, why can’t I walk straight?!’ 

Her short dilemma was solved in a few seconds though. A large hand came to Y/N’s shoulder. It pushed her toward itself. Closing all distance there was. Y/N didn’t say anything. She couldn’t say anything. Her throat felt all choked up, words unable to spew out. 

“Cars.”

One word. One word was he needed to explain himself as he pointed at the passing cars. Y/N turned her head to the figure beside her, his face still had no emotion to it. Once again, she was the one getting affected by this. 

Maybe it was because of this small interaction, that the time they had together at the museum was a little more enjoyable than expected. They spent their time just walking from one art piece to the next. Barely any commentary added. 

Sae seemed particularly more interested in ones that depicted the ocean. He would just peer at it until Y/N asked him something. It was eerily.. Melancholic. 

Y/N would just watch him silently whenever he went into this deep thought. 

They decided to end their museum trip at the cafe inside the place, taking a seat near the windows, the wooden furniture which had a light brown touch to it, greatly echoed the surrounding scenery of cold and empty. 

“So.. Tell me Sae.”

Sae, who was sitting in front of her, was asked the grand question. He simply stared at her. It was like he was looking into her soul, rather than her eyes.

“I’m.. Sorry Y/N. I am a terrible person, boyfriend, friend and family. I selfishly shut down your feelings just to validate mine. I should have communicated with you what happened. I.. Don’t ask for forgiveness, I just want you to know that I’m sorry and you have all the right to hate me.”

Y/N sat there looking at him. Her eyes didn’t move, neither did her eyes. The silence accompanied by the soft howl of wind against the windows. 

She finally spoke. Clearly.

“So I’m just supposed to forget about the days I cried over you?”

Sae finally showed emotion on his blank canvas of a face. His eyes dilated and his lips slightly parted. He didn’t have an excuse, he couldn’t have an excuse. He quietly looked down at his lap. What could he possibly say to that?

‘Should I get on the floor and beg? No. She wouldn’t like that..’

Was one apology going to fix all his mistakes? Can Y/N really accept it and move on, or should she make him feel more guilty? 

“XXXX.”

Sae whipped his head back up at her. His pupils trembled ever so slightly. How should he reply to this..?

SORRY FOR THE LATE UPLOAD. I was hella sick and was at the hospital the whole day.. ALSO I NEED YOUR HELP TO DECIDE HOW THE NEXT CHP SHD BE! WHAT SHD Y/N REPLY BE?

©kettleinuse4now | please do not translate, repost, refer without permission | don’t steal and say it’s your own (ahole behavior)

@pinkymangacaps @realrintaro @syleepy @shidoushair @kaiserismywaifu @randomhumans-blog @evxelisy @mwezieclipze @hihi5649 @swagkittybear @i-eve-i (More to be added lol)

[inabsolutions]

idle hands.

ficlet request: spoiled kitty cat hybrid mc and big dog hybrid caleb. doing anything. watching paint dry idk. cw: pseudocest. very slice of life and silly. mc a bit (a lot) airheaded in this one

Your owner is away for another one of her business conferences, and so, “You know what that means, Caleb?” you say excitedly.

Caleb sighs from where he’s been laying down on the floor. The pointed ears atop his head swivel back and forth in a rhythmic pattern, as though scanning for intruders. Silly thought, considering their owner wasn’t even home to protect, so what is he so diligent about? Then again, there are a lot of valuables in the house… That’s probably it, you decide. Caleb, always so considerate. You didn’t understand humans and their attachments to inanimate objects, but it’s nice of him to care so much.

(It doesn’t register even once in your mind that maybe it’s because he’s guarding you.) 

“Don’t tell me you’re going to slip away to go outside again?” Caleb says, sharing none of your excitement. Even his tail is lying flat. 

“Of course. What else is there to do when Granny Josephine’s away?”

You leap down from the top of the cabinet—a favourite place to bask in the sun—and as always, Caleb automatically springs to action to catch you in his arms. 

Again, unnecessary. You would have landed on your feet regardless (being a cat hybrid has its perks), but it’s nice of him to care so much. You nudge your nose against the underneath of his jaw, and his grip on you tightens. 

“Let me down already,” you demand, wiggling in his hold, tail poking at his cheek. He’s way too big compared to you; you feel swallowed by his embrace, and the urge to escape anything that threatens your freedom is itching at your skin again. Even dealing with the collar had been an arduous task; Josephine had scolded you so, so many times about leaving it on despite your reluctance, something about how you might be taken as a stray or how you might get yourself lost—which you took great offense at, because you don't think you’re that directionally challenged. Who cares if you’ve accidentally walked into the wrong alleys a few times, isn’t that normal? Besides, it’s like stumbling into an adventure, isn’t it?

When you told Caleb that, he’d only knocked you on your head. You’re domesticated now, he had said, so act a bit more like it.

You pouted and tugged at his leash in annoyance. And you’re a little bit too domesticated, ge. It wasn’t long ago when we were both strays. I can’t believe how much of a one-eighty you’ve done on me. Really, what’s so great about staying inside all the time?

It keeps you safe, he said. 

I can keep myself safe, you insisted, but he didn’t look too terribly convinced. Which, not your problem. He’s always been overprotective anyways, even more than your current owner. 

“No,” Caleb says. “We’re staying inside. The last time you went out, you got into a fight.”

You scowl. “I could have taken him,” you mutter. Just thinking about that red-eyed stray is getting on your nerves, the audacity of the guy to run just as you’d been about to land a punch on him. Scared witless by you, probably. 

Caleb doesn’t look too convinced, though. He crosses his arms, and all six feet two inches of him towers over you in displeasure (you would know exactly his height; you measured him in his sleep, then got annoyed at how tall he was compared to you). 

You throw up your hands. “Fine,” you huff. “But it’s your fault if I get so bored that I start scratching the furniture again.”

“There you go again,” he says, flicking your ear. “Trying to cause mischief when things don’t go your way.”

“I just hate being inside all the time,” you say with a pout. “There’s only so many times I can knock over vases before it gets tiring.” 

“Idiot,” he says, but it’s laced with no small amount of fondness. Which means that he’s seventy percent through to giving in, so you strike again. 

“Please? How about the backyard, we can at least play in the yard, right?”

“The open backyard that leads to the forest,” Caleb says dryly. He shakes his head, and the leash at his neck sways. You watch the motion with a predator interest, getting the urge to paw at it again, snap your mouth over the silver chains.

“Focus,” Caleb says.

You blink, your attention shifting to Caleb’s face instead. His hair has gotten longer these days, frames his face in a way that it hadn’t before. “What?”

Caleb’s mouth curls in amusement. “I guess you don’t want to go outside after all,” he says. 

“What—no, I mean, yes, I mean, what did you say?” you fumble with your words, and when Caleb only smiles that much more, you get fed up and swat his leg with your tail. It does absolutely nothing to him, and he doesn’t even flinch. Annoying, you think. 

Turns out, you learn later, he’d agreed to your plan. So there you both were, the patio door unlocked and open as you prowl around the yard, scanning for little animals to terrorize while Caleb is sitting with his back to the wall, eyes fixed on you like a sheepdog on its herd. You’ve managed to catch one of the more stupid squirrels that dared to encroach on your territory, and you clutch the animal’s tail as you wave it at Caleb, “Ge, look what I found!”

“Good job,” he says, eyes half-lidded. “Be careful not to get bitten though.”

“Of course not, do I look weak enough to let a squirrel bully me—ouch!” In your excitement, the squirrel slipped from your grip. It dashes for its freedom, but not before sinking a bite into your thumb in vengeance first. 

Caleb’s on his feet immediately, frowning as he makes his way to you. His tail’s all puffed up in alert, and you’d find it funny if it wasn’t for the ache on your finger. “This is why I told you to be careful,” he frets as he inspects your hand. 

“It hurts,” you say morosely. 

“Of course it does,” he says. “You were bitten.”

“By a squirrel! Of all the animals, it just had to be the lamest one.” 

You complain to Caleb as he disinfects your wound, your tail swishing back and forth in irritation. “You have to get revenge for me, Caleb,” you say solemnly. “I can’t live with myself if it gets out that I’ve been bested by a squirrel.”

“Mhm,” Caleb says as he wraps a bandaid around your thumb. “If I see that squirrel again, I’ll definitely chase it down for you.” 

“You’d better!”

Caleb ruffles your hair, flicks the tip of your ear playfully. “Of course. You’re the one asking, after all.” 

(He’d insisted on going inside after that, though, and no amount of pleading eyes got him to budge. You sigh, and vow to chew on his ears once he’s asleep so that you can blame it on your own sleep. Stupid Caleb.) 

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

Happy pride, y'all!

Is now a good time to drop my possibly hot/possibly lukewarm Joshua Graham x Caesar thoughts?

Those two never slammed ham, not once. Never even got close. Though I can see the appeal, and even the justification, in some people thinking they had a long-term relationship (or some other sort of entanglement that involved sex), I disagree. I think their relationship was a lot more fucked-up and pent-up than that, honestly.

Edward Sallow, aka "Caesar", is clearly gay. Even more clearly, he's a self-hating gay man, what with all the rampant homophobia and misogyny that perpetuates the entirety of the Legion. Homosexuality being punishable by death within the Legion—as well as all his preaching about self-sacrifice—co-existing with him buying Arcade as a boy pet (which is 100% what it is, you won't convince me otherwise) given the opportunity really seals the idea in my mind.

Joshua Graham is, at the very least, deeply bi-curious, but the New Canaanites were sure to hold onto the "God hates gays" rhetoric of their Mormon predecessors, so he's never acknowledged those feelings outside of burying them deep inside. By the time he's reached young adulthood, he's begun to acknowledge that he'll simply always have this secret yearning, and he tells himself he's fine with that. In his eyes, it's just one of the trials God has decided to give him in order to strengthen his faith.

Their relationship starts out as a quickly blossoming friendship (though Sallow definitely thought Joshua handsome from the beginning), a mutual admiration for one another's strengths and skills. Joshua admires Edward's charisma, his ability to take charge and make things happen. Edward thinks Joshua has a fascinating mind and commends his capacity for self-control, decorum.

While these two never slept together, they did share a closer physical intimacy than many folks around them; sharing all their meals together, being constantly hip-to-hip, sleeping on bed rolls right beside one another. Spending every moment of every day together for years on end will do that to you. Joshua appreciates having a close friend, as he always struggled to properly socialize in his youth. Edward also enjoys their proximity, but things are quickly becoming complicated for him.

While I can't imagine the guy who would later style himself as Caesar putting himself fully out there to possibly be rejected, especially over feelings that had grown so deep, I also can't imagine him keeping mum or being particularly subtle about his attraction. There are times where Joshua, too, "struggles with sin" and finds himself wanting to be really close to his companion, and Edward is quick to pick up on these "lapses in judgement". Maybe they kissed at some point, maybe they didn't; personally, I lean towards "they didn't, but there was one point where they both could very clearly feel that Joshua was thinking about it a bit too long".

These "near miss" moments accumulate over time, each one another small wound to both of their egos, another pound of weight on their friendship.

Edward's jealous, possessive, and only increasingly so as the years tick by. Though Joshua has a critical role in the overall function of the Legion, he's not really allowed to get close to any of his subordinates or advisors, lest they disappear, sent to other Legion outposts or worse. Bad things tend to happen to the (typically enslaved) women he has sex with, even if him doing so only happens sporadically. After all, it's still a sin, even if it's not with a man, and the much-feared Malpais Legate has a reputation to uphold, anyway. Even when he tries to keep his dalliances under wraps, though, somehow the mighty Caesar always manages to find out. Eventually, Joshua is effectively living in celibacy once more, and out of nothing but pure desire to avoid Edward's wrath.

Things begin to deteriorate long before the Battle of Hoover Dam. The two men are still close, but less like good friends and more like a toxic, codependent couple who refuse to break up. Joshua resents that he feels like he can't be close with anyone, even Edward, without there being major consequences. Though he'd never admit it out loud, he's deeply lonely and also sick of feeling like he constantly lives under the other man's thumb. He resents, as well, that Sallow continually insists on pressuring him into acknowledging a side of himself that he's perfectly happy to take to the grave.

Edward, on the other hand, resents feeling strung along and is driven crazy by the idea that he's managed to claw himself up to the position of a full-on dictator but still, somehow, can't have the man he wants. There's a part of him, as well, that dislikes not having full and total control over Joshua, given how much he knows about his secrets.

The reeling response across the ranks after the loss at Hoover Dam was not an initial incident; it was a final straw. Already deeply frustrated by his constant perceived rejection (and possibly sensing that Graham might've been searching for an exit door in the wake of his increasingly restricted lifestyle), Caesar found it rather easy to decide to make an example out of him. Besides, just putting him to a very public death is an easy enough way to ensure Josh can't tell people how truly weak he is.

I imagine he cried when he was finally alone that evening, coming to terms with the fact that the love of his life (or, the person that could've been if he'd just seen sense) is gone. There's not much joy in it for him, though, when he begins to hear whispers about the Malpais Legate surviving the fall.

[the-deal-breaker]

Ace + Sebek Headcannons

As I've mentioned before, in my head Ace and Sebek don't start dating until their second year, you know, growth and being friends first. And no one, not a soul, knows how they got together. They were pining one day and dating the next, refusing to tell anyone how. Ace cause he likes hearing the theories, and Sebek because it's no one else's business. Even Mallus doesn't know because he didn't want to bore his liege.

Sebek doesn't think he has any couple nicknames for Ace. Ace says that calling him 'insufferable,' 'idiot,' or 'brat' with that small smile on his face feels like a Nickname just for him.

Ace is definitely a jack of all trades, he's a little annoyed that he can learn something after just one lesson. But it was very entertaining to watch him learn how to use a sword.

Sebek tried letting his hair lose during his second year, like not sleeked back at all, but he didn't like it all that much. But he kept it because it made him look better, Ace joked every time he slicked it back, saying he found the guard again.

Ace was the original choice to be the next dorm head. He lasted two seconds and hated it, all the responsibility. Sebek had to deal with Ace trying new makeup for this role, but if Ace feels good.

More 'Cannon' headcannons :

Whenever Sebek starts yelling, Ace yells back, if not louder, to the point it sounds like a fight. But they're just talking about the weather or ideas for break, or just normal things.

Sebek is actually the more clingy one. Ace tried to fight it at first, but he is very weak against his overprotective boyfriend. He'll just keep teasing him every time he's being picked up.

Speaking of which, Sebek knows very much how much Ace likes being pampered. Besides, fake injuries heal quickly.

Ace gives Sebek a lot of nicknames. Such as 'loudmouth', 'Croc', 'Soldier', 'dark knight', 'Fangs', 'Lightning spark', and many more.

Their actual cute nicknames for each other are 'My heart' and 'My Home'

Unrelated:

During their third year, Ace meets two new first years from Scarabia and Octavinelle. Who he somehow adopted, but claims he didn't. Sebek takes his role of fake dad very seriously.

[radicalcrashout]

thinking about the weight of gabriel on natalie's life

about how she so rarely textually acknowledges him and even says she does not have a brother when henry says he didn't know she had one which is true but definitely complicated by how, as much as she herself has never known him, gabriel has always been so intertwined with her existence

natalie is of course far more than her dead brother's replacement but simultaneously that is in many ways what she was made for. it is the reality of why dan and diana had her; diana barely manages to cut herself off when she says ''we had natalie to re- and i know she knows''. how devastating must it be, to know that you were born not just because your parents wanted a child but because they wanted a child to distract from the one they lost. and it's not even that they outwardly state that they see your brother in you but that someone you have never known is so deeply embedded in your value to your parents.

and not to mention how gabe lives within the musical and often interacts with her—''morning sunshine''—and she sort of feels it because he is the personification of the ghost of memories passed down to her. he's not there, and yet he always will be.

and part of the crux of her relationship to diana is when her mother is finally able to tell her the circumstances around her brother's death. it is the thing that breaks through to her, for her mother to finally acknowledge that yes, gabriel has been here in our family and has haunted us to the point where we've warped his memory so severely in our minds and in yours. i don't really have anything to say about that other than how fucking devastating it is that so much of your relationship to your family is about someone who's long dead, someone you never got to know in any way besides the grief he left hanging over your parents and your whole life.

i wonder a lot about the life natalie had growing up. about the weight of all that pain on a young child.

[mantisfriendd]

I absolutely love the fnaf dead by daylight chapter

It really feels like so much love and care was put in to properly represent fnaf and springtrap well still having it feel like dead by daylight

This might be bad of me to say, but I might like springtraps dbd model better then the original?

This one has a semi realistic corpse in it, and he's smiling, but they still kept the ankle guts, for the true fans.

I feel like the dead by daylight devs really made the most of the potentially only time official fnaf content will be truly rated M.

Like yeah lots of horrific awful things happen in fnaf but we either only hear about them or they are abstracted enough that it isn't "gore"

I'm not a guy who thinks fnaf should be more "mature" I think that horror doesn't have to be rated M to be scary (not being scary is a different problem fnaf has had recently) but it is nice to have it on occasion.

Seeing springtrap stab someone on camera, and be covered in blood, it's not something we really got before, like yeah willy stabs someone in the movie but they live and it's not nearly as horribly gorey lol.

The animation team understood exactly how springtrap should animate, the little reference to the fnaf 3 camera poses, the movement, it's all A+ and I'm very particular about how animatronics should move.

In-between how he animates and the voice lines, this is the most characterization we have gotten for game Afton ever.

I hope the dead by daylight writers get a raise because every bit of text associated with this update is sooo good. Because of how little text we get from the series (besides books lol) these little blurbs are such treats, and are just soo nice.

I could probably say more but this post has to end at some point lol

[forsaken-headcanons]

i keep checking to see if my hcs have been posted yet but also im not sure what i expect when there's nearly 400 asks in the inbox,,

with that said. hcs that fit into my post-forsaken thing i made up earlier 2day +abt said post-forsaken thing

Noob's hair has grown out a LOT during Forsaken. It's a whole ass mane at this point and there's some faded dye from their scene times

shedletsky and BD post-forsaken decide to try and find the others. The first ones r Noob and Guest 666 (unbanned by someone idk whilst they were in Forsaken) because they were quite lieterally outside the HQ.

post-forsaken Noli is a theatre kid. lieterally. He opens a theatre and is in the process of turning c00lkid into a theatre kid.

of course c00lkid & bluudud also get sent back with their respective parents,,, except prettyprincess. since iirc her parent died. so she takes posession of an abandoned castle in the woods and makes the news as a stubborn kid who has taken possession of that one really fricken important monument castle.

also I, uhm.. kind of accidentlaly made a forsaken oc? kinda??! so hcs abt him since iirc theyr allowed and what the others (mostly 7n7, 8o8 and 6w6 since he kinda is apart of the parent gang) (his name is 993b3 btw)

since unlike the others, he was a hacker when he got forsakened (became one when he found his first kid limekiddo because he saw an easy way out of his shitty teaching job) he's a bit creepy and. kinda out of it. the others aren't too fond of him besides two time since they're both kinda out of it.

118o8 has a STARK refusal to aknowledge 993b3 because he was bluudud's science teacher at some point.

993b3 gets a lot of side eyes from the others because first thing he did forsakened after he found out his GUI was limited was. throw a temper tantrum.

whilst usually he is yinow. odd. he also duals from odd to AAA because he had another kid that didn't get forsakened due to still being a baby (grapetot) and whenever he thinks about what could've happened to em he gets really bad anxiety that usually drags for a while, even when it seems like he's doing better. during these either Guest or Elliot comfort him due to having similiar worries (kid and wife & sister respectively)

anx uh

thats it!!

bye!!

-🪷🪙 anon

now that the inbox is open again, we have a feeling we're gonna wake up to over 100 asks again. hoo boy /lh /aff /pos

ANYWAYS!! love 993b3 sm oml?? no wait his kids :( GANG GRAPETOT IS OKAY TRUST WE'RE TAKING CARE OF THE LIL GUY WHILE YOU'RE GONE TRUST!!!

[cagenewman]

Alright, so if the lovemaking is a close second, what's the number one reason that you married me? Don't… tell me that you're in love with me? I never would have known! And here I am, married to you just so I can be Rosalyn's dad and I have an excuse to watch cartoons every ight before bed. And, you know, the fact that I love you and no one's ever compared and I'm pretty sure that you're the bee's knees and have been to me since I could walk, but that's besides the point. Second chance. If you're counting that brief thing we had before you dumped soup on me, that was just a fluke. And you won't have to give me a third, because I'm not going anywhere unless you're going with me. Ohh, so that's what you want them to herd, is the girls. I thought you were considering getting sheep or goats, but no, I like the way that you think. Those summer nights when they're in the yard and we can't get them to come in the house, just call for the dog and have them do their thing to get them in for the night, not bad. When. When we have a baby around the house, yes, it'll definitely be good for them to have a little practice with something that can tolerate pulled ears and gentle drops a little better than a human baby, I agree. That's all I ask. And maybe send me any cute pictures you find. Thankfully, he has Lily in his life, so at least it's not like he's losing everyone -- she's not going anywhere, and they're thick as thieves, but yeah, we definitely want to keep an eye on him and just make sure it doesn't really impact him and his mental health. He can be a little… I don't want to say sensitive, but he's been through a lot in his short fifteen years. I go to war with myself over it all the time, thinking it would be good to just… rip off the band-aid and let him figure it out now, but I want him to focus on school, regular teenaged boy things, not a mother that ran off and started a new family without looking back. But, you know, she got her Lexus and her Hermes, she always thought that I was beneath her, I worked construction and had splinters and dirt under my nails and slept in a cheap motel and just so happened to have blue eyes and a nice smile. It's her loss. He is a good kid, isn't he? He never really gave us any shit -- I mean he gave us shit, every time we'd kiss in front of him, and he absolutely knew you were sneaking out, but he was so good about it. I think he just… had a good sense about you, could tell that you were gonna be good for both of us, and you were. You are. Oh, I know that you do, sneaky. Right, yeah, I guess that's something we have to keep in mind… who would've thought we'd be researching hot yoga and the effects it can have on pregnant women. Are you shaming me for shaming my sons? Is that what you're doing? God, fine, you all can enjoy your little…. stuffed keychain toys, go on. Sit around at the dining room table and talk about how great they are, I'll just sit here and pout about the one that's stalking me when I try to sleep at night with those weird eyes and the creepy teeth. I'm going to say something controversial: I think I liked the scary baby doll phase more. Okay. You know what, baby? You're right. You can pay for the haunted creepy internet toys, you're right. Daddy.

Is that what it is? You're just so good in the sack I couldn't live without you so I hitched myself to you permanently? Not that I'm complaining or saying that you aren't great in bed, but that would hardly be the first reason. Probably a close second though, so don't let it go to your head too much. Definitely would not be in our beautiful farmhouse if it wasn't for you either. Someday I would have worked up to the small home I was renting, and that probably would have been it for me. Renting a small, modern home, just living my best life with Rosalyn but not knowing I'd be missing out on so much more. You know, if I hadn't given you a what? -- Second... third chance? Something like that! Corgis become decent size, like thirty pounds, maybe they're not huge but they have the bulk behind them. Mean it worked in England and Wales for years herding, only thing I've come to understand in my research is that they won't hesitate to also herd small children so you know, when they're herding Rosalyn and Cienna through the home don't worry! Do think it would be good for them to have a puppy to bond with, and they love Willie, and I know he loves them dearly, but think it will also teach a lot of little responsibilities, being able to feed them, knowing when it is safe to pet them and not. Also the general of learning to be gentle with a little puppy when petting, attempting to pick up, things of that nature. If we're going to have a baby around the house, having a head start isn't a bad thing. So, I'll start looking and make sure there's a way to rescue or do this in the best situation for our family. It's going to be hard for Colton, I already know it, he wouldn't have to say it to know it's going to be difficult for him not having Shawn here. Think we're going to have to encourage open communication when it does happen so he doesn't start just hanging out in his room or anything. Plus, Shawn will be home for summer vacation, holidays, things like that we'll make sure of it. Can understand that being angry that he doesn't know he has more siblings out there in the world, but the thing is, you can't force them to let him have a relationship with them. Sometimes you're preventing pain because you see how much he cares about his siblings here. The last thing we want or need is for him to show up there and he end up arrested or something. You've kept him protected from pain, even if it's hard for him someday. Think he's smart and will understand regardless. Just want him to know that either of us will be here for him on the hard days, and I like to think he already know that. To be fair, stepping into Colton's life was easy, for a teenage boy he never made it difficult. I'm just effortless to love, obviously! I don't know how my toes are still cold, probably because I keep the air conditioning pretty high when you're not in the house so they just stay in a permanent state of cold. It is hot yoga when it gets above a certain temperature and it does make you sweat. We'd have to check what level would be safe as far as temperatures but until it happens I wouldn't mind just having those options regardless. Cage Lucas Newman, you are not going to ruin their fun. It's easy for kids to feel shamed over something that becomes really popular, really fast. Then they think if they enjoy it that they're weird, so they won't and if the girls see it they'll think they shouldn't either, or worse, they start teasing their little sisters for liking it. In which case, I will be putting you on permanent couch duty. It's not going to go in the nightstand. It will be on my nightstand and you'll be fine, you'll live. Plus it's not staring, it's a harmless little stuffed keychain. Don't be so paranoid, who's the one being weird now? Scared of a cutesty little fluffy monster. You wish, but remember I am working now, or going to be, and making decent money which means I can pay those bills too, my dear. So, who's you're daddy now? Yeah, I said it.

[adore-gregor]

Ooof

Looking at old posts, sometimes you just ask yourself what was I thinking 😅

[lokigodofaces]

It sucks when you learn something new which might be the answer to a question you've had for a while but you don't even know where to start to see if it really is the answer.

[svtskneecaps]

literally it's 3am where i live and i'm on mobile but FUCK IT i haven't posted any actual writing in like a YEAR on this blog whose description include the words "I WRITE" and i can't tell if i'm even going anywhere with this so fuck it under the cut is the prospective absolute mess of the first chapter of the flipo family time loop fic. (for clarity, flipo family as in slime, mariana, and juanaflippa) this covers loop 0, aka the relevant parts of canon. words: 1630

parts of it i popped off with and other parts i hate; up to you to identify them. also the italics and other formatting got erased when i copy pasted and i'm re-adding all of it by hand so if i missed a spot, no i didn't. if i missed an accent on a letter in spanish that was a typo, if i missed a ¡ or ¿ that may have been on purpose.

oh and for obvious reasons, content warning for mentions and mild descriptions of child death and child murder. no blood, and most of it is a three word mention; i'd say the brief paragraph beginning "Tilín didn't scream" is most of the reason this warning exists.

Charlie Slimecicle stepped off the train.

He’d been hoping for a bright, sunny day to start their vacation, but was sorely disappointed. The portal had apparently taken them pretty far, since they’d gone from noon to night time. Talk about jetlag. They hadn’t even been on a plane.

“What happened to the other guys?” he wondered aloud as he stepped onto the platform.

“Yeah no clue,” Phil said, scanning the empty station. “Thought they’d meet us here.”

“Guys!” one of the Spanish speakers--Vegetta, he’d said, when they’d all met up at the first station--called, from a lectern at the wall. “There is a book!”

They crowded around as he read the instructions aloud--something about pressure plates, Slime wasn’t paying that close of attention. He was a little more preoccupied with making sure it only felt like his brain was dripping out of his ears. That would be kind of embarrassing.

Which was not to say that he wasn’t enjoying the constant onslaught of people talking over each other using words he may or may not understand. In fact, it was the opposite; he was frankly thriving in the absolute chaos that kicked back up around him as a timer appeared in the wrist communicators they’d been provided along with their tickets.

“Como se dice ‘we are going to die now’?” He giggled, chasing Phil and Fit to one end of the station.

“¡Vamos a morir!” shouted Spiderman, echoed seconds later by the black bear in the collared shirt.

Giddy over the high of attempting to use his high school foreign language for the first time maybe ever, Slime absolutely didn’t contribute much to solving the puzzle, and before long the sound of the timer ticking down was accompanied by a loud buzzing alarm.

“It’s been an honor!” he shrieked at the top of his lungs. “It’s been an honor!”

The bear ran past them again, shouting, “I’m going to die!” in English this time.

“Adiós amigos!” Slime yelled.

The countdown ended.

And then his communicator buzzed, and there was a video playing on the screen, showing a cartoonish yellow duck in front of a blurry beach stock photo. He skimmed it absently--some generic welcoming message and another side quest for them--distracted by Maximus audibly losing his shit laughing across the station.

“Come on, I’m trying to take a vacation, I gotta work now?” Fit complained. “This is ridiculous.”

Slime wanted to jump on that bit, but the message cut off with coordinates marred by static and the noise of the emergency weather alert system and he lost his train of thought completely.

“I got the English book!” Spreen called, holding it with two fingers like it had personally offended him.

“English leader,” Vegetta said, seeming to find that amusing.

“English leader.” Spreen laughed and flicked the book away. Slime stepped back but somehow it still nailed him in the chest.

“Guess I’m reading then,” he said cheerfully.

“In Spanish?” Maximus said.

“Um.”

Vegetta called something, backing across the plaza with the book open in his hands. Phil backed up to the wall.

“Here,” Phil instructed, “we’ll read it here.”

“Okay okay.” He flicked it open. “So we have to get water wheel planks--”

Their peace lasted a grand total of thirty seconds as voices suddenly began shouting, overlapping in chaotic chorus.

“What is that?” Fit demanded.

“Is that coming from the other side?” Phil stared up at the top of the wall.

“This is the thinnest thick wall I’ve ever seen,” Slime said, giddy laughter bubbling out of him again. “Is this thing made out of pencil shavings? If I sneeze on it, is there gonna be a hole?”

“Nevermind, we’ll read it over here.” Phil dragged them away again, but the Spanish speakers were dispersing into the trees.

“Forget the book,” Fit said, “follow them!”

(In the end it was explosives that took the wall down, which in hindsight was a precursor to how a not insignificant portion of time on the island was spent. The first day, however, it was just funny, much like everything else.)

(That was to say, the first first day.)

The communicator had indicated that today there was something special planned, so he made an extra effort to wake up.

“Morning Jaiden!” he called to his upstairs neighbor.

“Hi Charlie!” He could hear her farming through the wall. “Glad you woke up on time!”

“Well you know, you know, El Backflipo couldn’t miss it,” he joked, sifting through his backpack. “Got any spare food? I’ll trade you uno backflipo.”

“I have so much toast, come here and get some, free of charge.”

With a quick backflip and some toast to start the day, he popped open the map.

“There’s a lot of people down the wall,” he noted, their green dots so clustered they formed one. “Wanna check it out?”

“Yeah sure.” Jaiden tossed some seeds into a chest. “Do you know what this event’s gonna be?”

“I have no idea,” he admitted cheerfully.

She laughed. “Yeah, me neither. I guess there’s an egg involved, but that’s all I know.”

He dug around in his backpack for a paraglider, nodding along. “Yeah, yeah, un huevo, I get you.” Shuffling the landmine from Vegetta to one side, he yanked out his glider and threw himself out her window. “Let’s go!”

(nothing like getting struck by lightning to wake a guy up in the morning)

Slime fiddled with the communicator as he waited for the line of people to get through the ticket machine; he already had his own, a nice B for Backflipo. The new live translations still boggled his mind. He had to fight the urge to chant weird shit under his breath, just to see what the bubbles would say.

He paid a little extra attention when Mariana walked up to the machine. That guy seemed cool. They’d done that pequeño dormir together on day one, and he had a good sense of humor. Egg parenting would probably be funny.

He was thrilled to see the B for Backflipo on the ticket Mariana stepped away with, even if Mariana was decidedly less so. This was gonna be good.

(it was, and it wasn’t)

So, Mariana wasn’t exactly the coparent of dreams. Then again, Slime was pretty sure Mariana could say the same about him. In fact he was pretty sure Mariana had said the same, but in Spanish, when he wasn’t checking the translation.

It was great. They thought they’d killed a child immediately and then decided to fake their own child’s death to get away with it, and then confessed their sins to a bilingual angel and built a farm and then he buried himself beneath an improvised cross and went into a coma until his sins were forgiven, or something, except his sins weren’t forgiven in time to save his own child’s life.

And then Juanaflippa was dead. Dead at Mariana’s hand.

His bitch wife killed their daughter.

(Everything went faster, after that.)

Slime wanted to kill him.

Slime wanted to kill him for killing their fucking daughter, but of course, Mariana couldn’t even be bothered to be around to take care of her alive, never mind to pay for his crimes when she died by his hand!

(in a better world, his rage started and ended there. in a better world, the anger fizzled out with the lack of a target.

this was not that world)

There couldn’t be an Egg Event with no eggs.

If he killed them all, it would bring her back.

(in a worse world, he succeeded. in a worse world, the Egg Event ended there.

this was not that world)

They held a trial.

If he won, it would bring her back.

(in another world, he didn’t convince them. in another world, they left his daughter in Hell.

this was not that world)

Tilín was still before she hit the ground.

Tilín didn’t scream. Maybe they didn’t have time. It happened so fast. He was sure it happened fast. Almost too fast. But everything went so fast, now, even though Flippa was back. Yet, time slowed down for this, like a rubberneck driving past a highway accident, watching him desperately trying to shock their heart back into motion.

“YOU KILL MY BEST FRIENDS,” Flippa wrote. He begged her to understand. She wrote, “i can’t believe it.”

She wrote, “I HATE YOU.”

(in a better world, the error would have been caught in April instead of July.

this was not that world)

His daughter fell to his bitch wife’s sword. The same way. The next day.

They’d only just gotten her back. And Mariana killed her again.

He only left eggxile for the funeral. She wouldn’t stay dead, but he had to be there.

Time went even faster after that. He was Gegg, or maybe Gegg was him, or maybe Gegg was Gegg, or maybe. . . ?

He went back to eggxile.

He wasn’t leaving without them. Tilín. Juanaflippa. He would do whatever was necessary. He would pray to any higher power. Lil J still owed him a goddamn favor, but the guy wouldn’t pick up his calls. Maybe if he put more shit in the shrine; angels liked shiny shit, didn’t they? He went back to the mine, where the gasses swirled in his head. He built the shrine. He mined. He built the shrine.

He went back to the mine.

He went back to the mine.

He went back to the mine.

“This is where I sit, this is where my bitch wife sits, and this is where my daughter sits, if I had one!”

He’d said that before. No he hadn’t. Yes he had.

No, he just needed to clear his head.

Charlie Slimecicle went back to the mine.

Charlie Slimecicle stepped off the train.

[coolgoodandfine]

lol lmao even. thinking about last year's resolution. i did spend over a week in a row doing drawings that i finished, but then i just... didn't post them? even though i planned on doing it? ah well. technically a fail, but i'm really not upset about it.

this year is the year of the gamer. i'm aiming to play at least one new game every month. maybe i'll post about it too, but idk.