#burn slowly i love you

[wannab-urs]

Burn Slowly/I Love You | Chapter 1

Warnings/Content/Summary: As always I live in a fantasy world where no one gets pregnant or gets STDs and no one uses a condom. This is fiction. Wear a fucking condom. Sex while intoxicated but like it’s two maybe three beers y’all they aren’t drunk. Alternating POV kind of? Reader has burn scars on her left arm, wrapping over her shoulder and a bit onto her chest. No other physical descriptors. Remember that Frankie is strong as hell so it doesn’t matter if you’re petite or amazonian, this man can toss you around all he wants to. Fuck first feelings later type beat. Eventual descriptions of PTSD, trauma, minor character death, panic attacks, flashbacks, etc.

Word Count - 2.2k

Your Chest is Heavy

You’re sitting at the worn oak counter of a dive bar just a few blocks from your apartment with a cheap beer and a copy of The Secret History. Reading at the bar is a good way to scare off most men who would normally approach you. The rest usually fuck off when you don’t even look up from the book, muttering “not interested” in their direction. It’s really hard to focus on this book, though. The plot is a little meandering, for one, but there’s also a lot of people here tonight making it loud. 

A sudden burst of laughter draws your attention. A group of guys stand around a hightop table on the far side of the room. At first glance, none are particularly appealing to you. Rowdy, obscenely muscular, clean shaven, close cropped hair. Not your type at all. You’re just about to go back to your book when one of the guys catches your eye. He doesn’t look quite like the others. Unruly dark curls stick out of a ballcap, a scruffy beard clings to his cheeks. He’s got broad shoulders and big arms like the others, but his face is softer around the edges. His eyes are still caught in the crinkles of his laughter when he meets your stare. Shit you’re staring. 

You quickly look back down at your book, curling in on yourself, hoping he doesn’t come over. You’ve basically used universal bar sign language for come talk to me and that is not what you want. Even if he’s really cute. 

“Dude, she was practically eating you with her eyes. Go over there!” Benny playfully nudges Frankie on the shoulder. 

“You haven’t had any action in ages, Catfish. Go,” Pope teases. 

Frankie scrubs a hand over his neck. “I don’t know. She was probably looking at you, Benny.” 

“She was definitely looking at you, Fish,” Will seems genuine, tone softer and less like he’s setting Frankie up to fail. 

Frankie sighs, lifting his cap and running a hand through his curls before stuffing it back on his head. “Fine. I’ll go talk to her.” The boys cheer like his love life is a fucking football game and he just scored a touchdown. 

Frankie slips into a bar stool beside you. “Uh… hi,” he says sheepishly. He feels like an idiot for doing this. 

“Not interested,” you mutter, barely even looking up from your book. Frankie’s face grows hot with shame. The boys will never let this go. Not a shot in hell. He sits there for a second, caught between facing your wrath if he doesn’t leave and facing the humiliation if he does. But just as he makes the decision to go, you look up at him. “Wait! I’m sorry. Habit.” 

Frankie cocks an eyebrow, but settles back into his seat. “I’m Frankie. Can I buy you a beer?”

“Yeah, Frankie. I’d like that.”

It wouldn’t have been right to send the man away without at least talking to him. That’s how you justify it to yourself. It certainly didn’t hurt that he was absolutely gorgeous up close. In that first quick glance you’d caught the curve of his aquiline nose, the pout of his plump lips, and the blush creeping over his golden cheeks. That was enough to warrant at least a conversation. 

And fuck it was a good conversation. He asked about your book, which led to a rant about all the reasons you didn’t like it and all the reasons you were still reading it anyway, his eyes wrinkling at the corners as he grinned at you. “What?” 

“It’s cute when you ramble,” he’d said, scratching the back of his neck. 

You talked about your job at the library and he told you he’s an ambulance driver. He jerked a thumb toward the guys still nursing their beers behind him, “Firefighters. Buncha pendejos,” he’d said a little too loudly, winking at you. 

You had fully intended on letting him down gently. You didn’t come here to find someone to go home with, you came here to have a beer. And yet you had asked him if he wanted to head out of the bar. And now you’re sitting in  his truck, rolling down the highway.

“Can you turn the AC on?” You’re sweating through your long sleeve black shirt from the heat and your own nervousness. 

“Uh… It’s broken. I’m sorry,” Frankie kind of winces, like it physically hurts him to admit. “Not far from the house though.” 

“It’s fine! Just a little warm,” you play with the sleeve of your shirt and take a deep breath. It’s fine. It’s just a little heat. You’ll be okay. Breathe. “Actually, can I roll the window down?” 

Frankie chuckles and hits the button to roll all the windows in the truck down. Your heart rate evens out as the night air hits your face. 

The truck rolls to a stop in front of a small white house. You pick at your fingers, seriously questioning if you made the right choice. He seems so sweet. You feel… safe with him. But-

“Cariño? We’re here,” Frankie speaks low, like he’s worried you’ll spook and take off. He slowly reaches over the console and takes your hand, stopping your fidgeting. He rubs a soothing thumb over the back of your hand. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah!” you say too quickly, too loudly in the stillness of the truck cab. “It’s just, uh… It’s been a while. I’m nervous.” Frankie pulls your hand up to his lips and kisses it before laying it gently back down on the console. 

“It’s been a while for me too. I’ll take care of you, though. Promise.” He winks at you and it’s so dorky and cute that it calms you down a little. 

Frankie barely gets you through the door before he gently presses you into the wall and his soft, plush lips find yours. You melt into the kiss, bringing your hands up to cradle his face. You knock his trucker hat to the floor and bury your hands in his hair, deepening the kiss with a swipe of your tongue. He tastes like cheap beer and his beard scrapes against the soft skin of your face. He smells like citrus and sandalwood. Your senses are gently overpowered by him, a soft wash of Frankie covering you and settling what remains of your nerves. 

Every fear you had comes rushing back as he slips his fingertips under the hem of your shirt. You freeze before grabbing his wrist and placing a palm on his chest, pushing him away gently. “Shirt stays on and hands stay outside of it, okay? I’m sorry…” Your body tenses in anticipation of the rejection you know is coming. He’ll kick you out. Or disregard your wishes. 

Frankie’s hands find your cheeks, drawing your face up to look at him. “Hey, it’s okay. Thank you for telling me.” He kisses you gently, reassuringly. It hits you again that you trust this stranger you just met in a bar. You deepen the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. He hitches his hands under your thighs and pulls them up around his waist, settling you against his very prominent arousal. You roll yourself against him and he groans into your mouth. His hands wrap tightly around your body and he carries you down the hallway. 

He lays you gently on the bed and immediately goes for the button of your jeans, making sure to stay clear of your shirt. He tosses your jeans and underwear on the floor and drops to his knees beside the bed. 

“Oh, Frankie, you don’t have to-” your sentence is cut off by the low moan erupting from your throat as Frankie pulls your legs over his broad shoulders and buries his face in your cunt. His hooked nose grinds against your clit as he licks into you. Your hands find purchase in his curls and you roll your hips into him, grinding on his face. Frankie eats it up… literally. He groans into your pussy and you feel it reverberate through your entire body. Your head is thrown back in absolute ecstasy as he sucks your bud into his mouth, lapping at it rhythmically. You clench around nothing, pleasure curling up in your core. “Please, fuck, don’t stop. So close,” you cry out. Your voice is desperate, wrecked, and your hips are thrusting involuntarily against his face. 

You come with a near pained shout, hands tightening in Frankie’s hair and pulling him into you even harder as you grind on his nose. Frankie licks a trail from your entrance up to your mound, then presses kisses all the way up your clothed stomach and chest. He nips at your jaw as he unbuttons his pants and clumsily shoves them off with one hand, like he can’t bear to take his mouth away from you. 

“Taste so fucking sweet, hermosa,” he rumbles in your ear. “Could eat you out all night, if you’d let me.” 

You think you would let him, if you couldn’t feel his hardness pressed against your thigh. “Another time, Frankie.” You push your thigh against him. “Fuck me, please.” 

Frankie doesn’t need to be told twice. He stands up and pulls you further to the edge of the bed. He looks down at you, unconsciously licking his lips. “Fucking gorgeous…” he says under his breath. You could say the same about him. Half his curls are stuck to his forehead with sweat and half are standing wild from your fingers raking through them. His big brown eyes are wide, almost in awe. His upper half is wrapped in a tight white t-shirt that accentuates his broad shoulders and strong chest. 

He grips his thick, uncut cock in his fist and lines it up with your entrance before grabbing your hips. He pulls your hips into him, splitting you wide open without moving his hips an inch. You don’t know if you’ve ever felt so full in your fucking life. Your hands fly to his muscular forearms, hanging on for dear life as he sheathes himself inside your tight heat. “Holy fuck, Frankie.” 

“I know, baby, I know,” Frankie whispers as he bends to cover your body with his. He drags his cock out a couple of inches and rolls his hips in a fluid motion, sinking back into you and grinding against your clit on every stroke. Moans spill from your lips unchecked. You don’t care if you sound sexy or if the words you’re babbling make any sense because he feels so fucking good. 

Frankie sits up and wedges his knees under your thighs, kneeling on the edge of the bed. He grips your hips in his strong hands and easily pulls you into him, hitting your g-spot with every thrust. Your arms fly above your head, grasping onto the sheets. Your shirt rides up a little with the motion and you almost panic, but Frankie tangles his fingers into the fabric and holds the hem tight against your torso. Safe. You trust him.

Frankie grips you so hard you know you’ll bruise and slams his hips into yours, driving you closer and closer to coming. “You feel… so good, cariño. So. Fucking. Tight,” Frankie bites out between thrusts. You babble incoherently, the head of his cock is slamming into your cervix and it’s making you feel a little fuzzy around the edges. Nothing matters except Frankie’s cock buried inside you and the coil of pleasure building in your gut. He’s fucking you like a rag doll, now. Your body has gone boneless with the intensity of him inside you.

Your orgasm rips through you like a flame, burning you up from the inside out. You scream his name as your eyes roll into the back of your head and your body goes taut with pleasure. Frankie steadily, brutally, fucks you through it. When your cunt finally stops convulsing around him, he drops your hips and leans over your limp, fucked out body. 

Frankie kisses you with a tenderness that seems at odds with the way he just fucked you, stuttering his hips into you one, two, three more times before pulling out and nestling his cock into the crease between your thigh and your torso. His cum splatters across your shirt in long spurts, coating you in his release. 

His forehead drops to yours and your heaving breaths mingle in the space between you. You meet his gaze and there’s something in his eyes… something like adoration. Affection. He shakes his head slightly and stands up. 

“I’ll get you a shirt to wear,” his voice comes out hoarse, rough with the after effects of his orgasm. He disappears into his closet and comes back with a big, long-sleeve t-shirt. You sit up slowly and take the shirt from him. 

“Thank you, Frankie,” you whisper. 

Frankie wakes up in his bed alone. His brow furrows in disappointment. He usually likes to make his hookups breakfast and drive them back to their car. He knows it’s a little weird, but it’s important to him that he takes care of you. He flops onto his side and catches a glimpse of a piece of  paper on his nightstand. It’s your number, your name signed with a heart and a note promising to return the shirt. 

Frankie smiles, feeling something dangerously close to hope for the first time in a long time.

A/N: This fic has been in the works for a while now. The initial idea was pitched in a chat with @beskarandblasters and she supported me every step of the way <3. Thanks to the Whorehomies for hyping me and this idea up! I appreciate y'all more than you'll ever know. And thanks to @str84pedro for the beta/grammar edit I love you!

Let me know if you want to be tagged <3

Tag List: @beskarandblasters, @cutesyscreenname, @atinylittlepain, @harriedandharassed, @jksprincess10, @fishingforpike, @dreamingofdaddydin, @sad-bitch-disorder

[saturdaysky]

a little morning pick-me-up

-

A morning on the way to Baldur's Gate. The party booked themselves into an inn and enjoyed real beds, hot baths, and privacy for the first time since the Nautiloid.

Gale and Mayhew shared a room, of course. They were filled with the relief of surviving the shadows and the glow of finally getting together, so their private room was probably a blessing for the whole party, honestly.

-

This was some ascended anatomy practice! Referenced some great stock from @null-entity.

[hairmetal666]

Steve and Eddie don't like each other at first. Or, no, that's not quite right. They're still bonded from everything. They're friends, sort of, but they don't spend time together outside the group, have trouble talking one-on-one.

Steve doesn't think about it much. So, he and Eddie won't ever be real friends, okay. He's a little disappointed, but mostly he doesn't understand how he feels about the other guy. He's always anxious when Eddie's around, clumsy and stuttering, infected with Robin's tendency to nervous chatter. It doesn't make sense. It's just Eddie. But that's the thing. It's Eddie and Steve doesn't know how to act around him.

And Eddie? Well, he spends a lot of time avoiding Steve because the fucking cascade of butterflies he gets every time Harrington is around. He knows what it means, knows even he isn't immune to the Harrington charm, but he needs to be. He needs to keep his heart safe. So, he keeps his distance because Steve Harrington is not for him and never will be.

It changes during movie nights. First it's teasing Dustin and Mike, mocking whatever horrible movie the kids put on, and then it's inside jokes, and playful bickering, and evenings with just the two of them drinking beer and sharing joints.

Then it's August. It's too hot everywhere and Steve's parents are home, so they're in Steve's car, driving with no destination, a couple joints in Eddie's jacket pocket and a six-pack in the trunk. They're listening to a mixtape Eddie made Steve, a bunch of metal. Steve still doesn't get it but there are a couple of songs he enjoys. Rainbow in the Dark starts--this is one Steve likes, reminds him of Eddie and not just because it's Dio. Sun filters through foliage and into the car windows, backlighting Eddie's curls like he's some kind of deity, beautiful and ethereal, not part of this world.

Steve starts singing along to the music, can't help himself. His friend throws him a beaming smile, big enough that Steve thinks his heart stops. He smiles back. He and Eddie sing the rest of the song together, and Steve is...he's content. He's happy. He hasn't felt this way since--well fuck--since 1983. Their eyes meet again, gazes linger, warmth pools in Steve's chest and low in his stomach.

Oh. He thinks. That's what this is. It settles something inside him, the knowing.

Time passes, they get closer, share a bed most nights. Doesn't matter where as long as they're together. Sleep better this way, both of them.

They're at the trailer when it happens, sharing a joint, loosely tucked against each other in bed.

"I've never had a friend like you," Eddie says. His eyes stay fixed on the smoke he exhaled. "I know you and Robin are--like, I get it. But you're--for me--"

"Yeah," Steve agrees. He flushes from his chest to forehead. "For me too."

It's enough, they both think. They're standing on the edge of more have been for months, but this? This is good. There's no need to push, to force. They're hurt, Steve thinks. They're healing. And they have time.

Corroded Coffin plays their first show back at the Hideout in December. Steve's never seen Eddie like this, performing. His shirt is cropped and artfully torn, his jeans more rip than pants. He's wearing eyeliner and his hair is wild. And the way he moves, sinuous and sleek, hips thrusting in a tantalizing rhythm as he shreds on the guitar. Steve wants so badly he feels it in his teeth.

He finds Eddie smoking behind the Hideout after the set. His eye are too bright, his smile manic, the adrenaline keying him up to the highest setting of Eddie. Steve knows he matches the energy, can't help it.

Eddie throws himself into Steve's arms, wrapping around him tight enough that no space lingers. The musician presses his face into Steve's neck, nuzzling, lips pressing against his pulse point. They touch always, share a bed and cuddle, but never like this; nothing like this. Steve pulls Eddie closer, and groans at the mutual swivel of their hips.

Eddie's breath comes in panting bursts, and Steve thinks, "here it is, finally, finally," but the door next to them bangs open and they jump apart at the noise.

Their friends and the rest of the Corroded Coffin guys come out, frolicking and shouting, complimenting Eddie on the show. If anyone noticed them embracing, notices the way they both adjust their clothing to hide their matching arousal, they don't say anything.

Steve wakes early the next morning, early enough that Eddie doesn't even stir beside him, hair wild and eyeliner smeared.

He gets out of bed, starts breakfast, chocolate chip pancakes and bacon, Eddie's favorite. He's so intent on cooking that he doesn't hear the other man come up behind him, doesn't realize he's even awake until a warm body presses to his back, long-fingered hands slipping under his t-shirt, tracing the scars on his stomach. He leans into it without a thought. They touch all the time, but they don't touch like this.

"Watcha making, sweetheart?" Eddie whispers.

"Your favorite," Steve answers.

Eddie makes a little sound, almost a whimper, and presses his face to Steve's neck. Steve lifts his chin, leaning into Eddie and offering more. Warm lips press against his jaw, down to the moles on his throat. A moan slips from his lips as he grinds his ass into Eddie's hardness. The other man groans, grabbing at Steve's hips.

Somewhere in the press of their bodies, Steve has the presence of mind to turn. He lifts his hands, cups Eddie's jaw, thumbs caressing the stubbled, scarred skin of his cheeks. "Okay?" He asks. His voice shakes.

Eddie's eyes are wide, shining, and he swallows hard. Steve knows he's overwhelmed, knows that the words won't come. Instead, Eddie nods, and finally finally they kiss.

Steve is flying. His blood soars in his veins, his heart lifts off. It was always supposed to be this. Always supposed to be them.

It was slow. It was easy. It was small jokes, and long looks, and little touches, and singing in cars and best friends and sharing beds.

His heart belonged to Eddie Munson for months. It will belong to him forever.

[mattodore]

you belong to me and i belong to you and so on

[layzeal]

i absolutely eat it UP that one of the reasons wwx is so hesitant to believe lwj has feelings for him is that he can't tell if lwj treats him with so much goodness and kindness because he's simply that good of a person or if there's ~something more to it~

and!! here's what gets me: he's 100% right to question that. because from all we know, lan wangji would still have protected and done everything he did even if he wasn't in love with wwx. it all comes down to his beliefs, and standing up to them by protecting him. wwx is afraid to jump to conclusions because his fears are genuinely very well based!

[jaywuzhere9029]

currently brainrotting over the amazing digital circus so hey tumblr hope you guys might like the thing im working on when it comes out </33 its a lotta frames and i just hit 100 frames in 35 seconds today after a week of working on it!! heres a few sneaky pics just for you all

[namelessgakusei]

I'm not on Team Lars but the moment I stepped foot on Eden he's slowly crawling to my heart

[fiendishartist2]

today i bring you random tma doodles. tomorrow? who knows.......

[ninjas-and-coffee]

Current Ninjago *wip* Projects List

Ninjago Arena: Ninjago but a Mortal Kombat game animation project

NRB: Ninjago but i wrote a bad rap battle or like 3

Darkleys Graduation: I made darkleys more serious and whatnot

Animatics: Dont be Sad -Tate McRae (Morro) Rockstar - CallmeKarizma(Jay) Thot -Tokyo's revenge(Llorumi critical/joke)

Art Projects that will take me 20+ hours to finish feat: Overjay au, Overlord Possesion type study??, Post-Possesion au(art and writing) Ninjago: WhatIf (art+writing). Other long ass art starts

For all the people who didn't ask why i keep disappearing or why i mention a project you've never heard of. There's a lot. And I'm not even including the 17fic backlog. Ufkbfkabfakb.

Feel free to ask about any of these, I just answer asks slowly because of anxiety around disappointing people or just not having an immediate response. Or if they're compliments i just save them for encouragement.

[warmspice]

I think love at first sight is fine and all but I want my love to boil me like a frog

[inquisitor-apologist]

Honestly I think the Kenobi show should’ve just. Been about Reva. She was the strongest part of the show, and I think that the narrative would’ve been a lot better if we got her full back story and perspective. Obi-Wan could’ve still been there, but Reva really should’ve been the main character

[wannab-urs]

I wrote another 200 words for Burn Slowly/I Love You, bringing it to about 1500... so it's coming along! I'm making very slow progress on it, but I don't absolutely hate what I have so far lol.

Sorry it's been like 2 full weeks, I have all the ideas for it, but the words aren't wording.

[eerna]

gestures wildly. it's about crafting a legend out of a living person. how the Ghost is something your friend made up on the spot to make you look cool, but then it slowly starts taking over your life. until you forget everything you believed to be true. until everyone you loved is gone. your clan is disbanded, your uncle disowns you, you have gone from a honorable nobleman to a wanted outlaw. BUT you did it for love - for the fact that you love your people and your island so deeply that you're willing to sacrifice your entire existence for them. it's not something any of their leaders have ever given them, and they see it, so they start turning to you more and more, telling about their encounters with you around survivor campfires, spinning tales until you are a seven-foot-tall monster who has risen from the dead to save them. you no longer belong only to your loved ones. you now belong to the entire island, and you will stay theirs.

[whitedahlia13]

“We can’t keep pretending that what I am isn’t going to ruin everything,” she blurted out.

His eyes narrowed, but his tone was calm. “Don’t say that.”

“One of us has to.”

“No, neither of us has to because it isn’t true,” he snipped, then softened, taking both of her hands and sandwiching them between his. “Lydia, come on... You’ve been doing so well. We just have to keep up with your therapy, and it’ll get better. You’ll see.”

“And in the meantime, if I keep blacking out?”

“Then I’ll keep looking for you. I’ll look for you every night if I have to. And I’ll find you too. I will always find you,” he emphasized.

“Stiles, we have to be realistic.”

“We are. We’re doing the best we can with the hand we’ve been dealt.”

“But that’s just it. This is my problem. It doesn’t have to be yours too.”

He withdrew from her, insult splattered across his face. “After everything we’ve been through, everything we are to each other... How can you say that to me?”

She reached for him but let her hands drop to her lap when he began pacing. She remembers how the small space only allowed uncomfortably short strides for his long legs, making the room seem more like a cage.

“I’m trying to give you a way out of this.”

Read more: ao3 & ffnet

[dirt-str1der]

Whatever

[funny-bat-fruitloop]

I'm making a Vlad/Reader for the depraved, except I'm doing this to practice realistic relationships while keeping the humor and dialogue as close to canon as possible. . Chapter 1 has been released, I'm planning to add more. posting fanfic here as well.

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

You were the outsider of your college group. Maddie studied biochemistry, her and Jack both studied mechanical engineering together, Vlad studied both alongside Maddie, and you? You simply studied computer science.

Sure, you later studied robotics and delved more into artificial intelligence, but at the time you were falling behind the trio. What makes matters worse is that you were in love with Vlad. He was too busy being in love with Maddie. Maddie and Jack were too busy with their Science.

You used to be closer during your first years. Then you drifted apart from the group.

Or the group drifted apart from you. But you phrased it the other way to feel better about yourself.

At least Maddie was nice. But it turned out that Maddie had a crush on you. You softly turned her down and told her you did not swing that way. She understood, and Vlad was elated that she stopped focusing on you.

She was surprisingly supportive, though, so she starts being more casual with her physical affections—she leaned against you and gave you hugs, at most, but never kisses of any type. Vlad glared at you every time.

You couldn’t handle Vlad’s glare towards you. You just couldn’t. You were so madly in love with him.

This wasn’t what you wanted for college. You wanted to thrive with less drama, not thrive in the drama of a love square. So you decided to turn it into a love triangle.

How? With distance.

You start making excuses about why you couldn’t hang out with them anymore. Maddie seemed pretty sad that you were becoming distant, and urged you to hang out with them more. Jack gave you puppy eyes, because it turns out that he enjoyed your dry wit and casual gifts—both clothing and food that you made.

Vlad looked...conflicted. As if as he did not know what to do with the slowly growing empty space. Every look he gave you after the start of you leaving seemed like he was having conflicts inside his mind.

But he did nothing. So you continued on with your life.

That was the start of your isolation.

You were pretty depressed now that you did not have anyone to accompany you. For the first few months of your departure from the group, people did not bother to include you in their friend groups due to your relationship with the “resident weirdos”.

You got into a robotics class and was forced to group with 2 other nerds, Gabin and Feen. It turns out, they were gay too. Dating, even.

Then the three of you started becoming closer in a platonic way. You were included in every conversation, arguments, and acted as a mediator for their spats which end up being resolved amongst the three of you.

Until the couple mutually broke up. You were devastated at the news, but it turns out all three of you were better as friends. Gabin turned out to be Bi and married a tall country Bisexual girl, and Feen turned out to be poly and married a few other people.

Even when the friend group grew larger, the three of you kept each other on your toes as you challenged each other to make robots. At some point, you made a lion-sized guard dog that read any sort of unique identification, like a treasured object, and chased intruders out of your home.

You gave this machine to a marketing professor as a joke. It ended up saving his life, which you did not intend to do at all (the machine dog was purposefully made with weak scraps for a chance for the victim to escape, in case it went haywire.) He was so grateful that he got you hired into a major tech company—Wayne Enterprises.

You got an award for it. Something close to a Nobel Prize. You’re pretty sure you were dragged out of the house with a blindfold, and were dropped onto the stage to receive the award. Or maybe you had too much coffee and dissociated the entire time.

Who knows. Photos of you taking your award in smudged eyeliner with a baffled expression became viral years down the line.

Gabin’s girlfriend also went out of the way to teach you “spellcraft”, which you thought was cool. She said that she could sense your “powerful bloodline”, and you entertained her by learning the basics.

You thought it was fun. Until a forced family reunion made you realize that Gabin’s girlfriend was absolutely not joking. Not fun.

Then it was your last year of college. You were forced to take a semester off due to the consequences of that disastrous family reunion. That year, you were having the time of your life while suffering with your thesis and OJT’s.

You almost missed the news of Vlad’s unfortunate accident. When you heard about what happened, your heart dropped to your feet.

Yes, you were trying to get over Vlad, but he did not deserve to almost die. You tried to visit him in the hospital but the nurses pushed you away. He needed something, anything, even if it is just to cheer him up.

You left some tupperware full of menudo and coconut milk pumpkin soup for the nurses to feed him. Nobody bothered to tell you that he left the hospital. He probably did not know that you cooked a large meal for him.

So you continued on with your life. You tried to reach Vlad a few times when you saw him back on the campus hallways, but he seemed too focused on...something. You did not want to bother him.

Life went on, and you managed to graduate in time. For your next couple of years, you worked as a robotics engineer for some more companies. Then you started a company with your friends several years down the line. You sold some patents, kept some patents, and you lived a comfortable life with enough money to support yourself, your needs, and your leisures.

You never got into a relationship, because you never tried. You were too afraid to be hurt.

Vlad Masters simply became Masters. He swindled, scammed, and stole with his newfound powers to become a billionaire. He’s seen some of your inventions sometimes, but what you made never really interested him.

Or rather, he was still conflicted at the thought of you.

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You were dared by one of your socialite friends to post photos of your outfit before your flight to Illinois, and announce your arrival on your barely active social media. You’ve always loved the gothic aesthetic and mastered your outfits throughout the years—though you slowly shifted your outfits to be more modern while retaining the aesthetic.

For some god damned reason, you got a somewhat larger following than you thought—more than 10,000 people were interested in your life. You mostly posted your projects, but your outfits got more attention.

The youth kept calling you “DILF” along with other unholy comments, no matter how much you tried to discourage them. They seemed to flock to your socmed ever since that photo of you receiving your awards became viral. They also kept calling you “pookie bear”, whatever that meant.

You tried to restrict comments, but a few of your friends kept disabling the restrictions. They enjoyed your suffering.

You were beyond your 40’s, sipping a cappuccino as you left the airport while holding your luggage in the other hand. Suddenly, a notification popped up in your phone. The sound from your phone indicated that it was a text message, and not another weird ass comment that required you to say “aren’t you disappointing your parents with these DILF comments?”

Your leg hooked around your luggage as you pick your phone up from your pants with one hand. It’s a message from...Jack Fenton?

0xxx-xxxx-xxxx: Hey Bucko! Remember me? Jack Fenton? Heard you were in Illinois! Do you mind meeting at our place in Amity Park and meet Maddie and I like old times? :-D

Oh shit. It’s your old college friends.

You cringed a little as you remembered the way you ghosted the first two people who were decent towards you. Sure, you had your reasons, but it wasn’t fair to them. You checked the rest of your schedule on your phone and find that you still have free time to spare. A quick google search about the town, and you found that your convention is just at the town next to Amity.

So you made your decision and decided to make this up, let bygones be bygones.

You: Sure! Give me the address and I’ll meet you there!