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lookedlikethebins · 6 months

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i'll say it twice

Finally! The long awaited Valentine's Day producer george x TA matty oneshot! I'm so sorry for taking as long as I did. Thank you for being patient AND a big thank you to the anon that inspired this fic with the prompt about matty coming to a club/one of george's dj gigs! [set ~6 months since meeting each other] ~5.8k words xo side note: i know nothing about being a DJ but a lot about cyclical anxiety and epic poems so i compensated xo

George had been semi-confident—and a bit overprepared—in his upcoming set, until Matty showed George the readings he’d suggested for the next week of class: Lover’s Discourse. The date of his set hadn’t registered until that moment, sitting with his arm around Matty and feeling embarrassed by his own obliviousness.

Valentine’s Day. Of course, the club wasn’t just holding an event to sell more drinks on a cold, mid-February Friday night; they were hoping to max their margins for the first quarter. For every one patron, there would undoubtedly be another—their date. George included.

The set had to be a bit beyond perfect.

For the next two weeks, each time Matty stopped by after his classes and office hours, George had been closed up in his studio. He would've been there most of the day, starting early in the morning (right after Matty left, if he’d stayed the night) and blowing past every mental stopping point in favor of fixing just this one last thing.

After Matty was left waiting outside for the third time, knocking and trying to ring George—phone on silent and face down on his desk—George gave him the spare key. Each time, Matty let himself in with a loud shout, letting the door slam shut; they’d learned George startled easily when he was working. When he was worried.

While Matty shouldered off his bag—as well as coat, scarf, sweater, and unbuttoned and rolled his cuffs—George would unplug his headphones and continue his work out loud. Matty often settled onto the loveseat beside George’s desk and leaned forward to best see George’s screens without hovering over his shoulder. Despite sometimes getting up to dance, Matty would never grow (outwardly) irritated when George would have to stop and adjust, redo, or take note of an idea for later. The only time Matty spoke during George’s work was to exclaim that a certain part of a song was his fucking favorite.

Most times, Matty’s excitable commentary was the reason George had to stop and make slight changes.

It would be Matty’s first time coming to see George work. Matty had asked if he could before—about other gigs and recent shows George was playing with the boys too—but George struggled to say yes. And thankfully Matty never pushed back or took offense when George stumbled over his answer. Granted, George had taken Matty to his label’s holiday party—and he’d been a hit—but his club set wasn’t for a closed group. There would be a room packed with people looking for the smallest pinhole in George’s quiet (misunderstood to be “stoic”) exterior, hoping to peep in on his private life.

But, even with all that fear and discomfort with the unfamiliar, it truly was sort of time for it, wasn’t it?

---

“Oh, fuck,” Matty said with a burst of laughter that seemed to surprise even him. “it’s loud.”

They had entered the club through the back entrance meant for employees. George made sure to pull around to the parking lot purposefully obscured by bins and out-of-place planted shrubs. They used the side streets and alleys of nearby buildings to get in without being seen by the group of patrons lined up outside, waiting to get in.

While George had been getting his bag out of the car, Matty stood by the hood, tapping his foot to the muffled beat sneaking through the club’s opening doors and sparse windows. But now, inside and standing on the farthest edge of the dance floor, Matty didn’t need to move his feet to the music; the floor was nearly moving for him.

It was what George loved the most: how the room, the physical space, came alive when music was loud—almost too loud. The air felt like it was breathing on its own from the shear pulse of the speakers.

It terrified George to think Matty might not like that feeling. The encasement of music. The ever-shrinking proximity to other people, while verbal communication became impossible and almost moot. All George ever had in those moments was the same unavoidable and inarguable beat moving him to keep time with the other bodies around him. That feeling of sharing the same heartbeat. He could live in the same suspended moment with someone, just a few minutes at a time.

“Is that… okay?” George said. He had steered Matty toward the back lounge for the invited guests and hired talent. Once George closed the door behind Matty, the wall of sound became a void, ringing white noise. “Do you want earplugs or something? I, uh, I probably have a pair somewhere. I’m sure I do.”

“No, no—I don’t mind that it’s loud. Just sort of forgot. Can’t tell you last time I’ve been to a proper club.” Matty placed his hand on George’s arm, gently squeezing it, before leading him further into the room and away from the door.

“Not a fan?” George asked. He immediately grabbed a bottle of water from the oblong coffee table. He twisted off the cap and handed it to Matty. It was Friday; he’d had his early and late classes.

“Just prefer a place I can sit down,” Matty shrugged. “And if I’m feeling wild: hear my friends talk.”

“You’re really not supposed to chitchat at a club.”

“Name another time I’ve been quiet that long, George.”

George paused. “Okay, so you might actually hate it here.” He was trying to tell a joke, but his chest tightened and twisted into a knot. Like he forgot how to create a laugh. He couldn’t.

“George, love, stop fretting—please? I’m starting to think I’m making you worse.” Matty swung his hand out to playfully hit George on the arm. The open water bottle made a small damp spot on his sleeve; luckily, he was only wearing a short sleeve, cotton shirt. “Pretty sure you’ve been doing all this before I ever showed up. You know what you’re up to—you’re very talented. I’m just here to listen, take a vow of silence, have a drink or two.”

“Oh, I should go get you one, shouldn’t I?” George muttered, looking at his watch and then the clock on the wall—they were a minute apart: George’s watch a minute behind. He was already floundering. The first time he brought Matty—any boyfriend at all for that matter—to one of his shows and everything felt like it was developing into a disappointment. A stumble. Two left feet. George could hear the music muffled in the other room; he just wanted to stand submerged in it.

“That—No, George. That’s not why I said that. I’m not angling for you to go and—Look, I just want to drink after I had to listen to someone wedge Ecstasy of Influence into our discussion for the third class in a row.”

“But I should go get them—they won’t charge me.”

“Oh, so it’s about showing off, not chivalry…” Matty said, offsetting his jaw as he crossed his arms and smirked at George.

“No! I—Matty, it’s Valentine’s Day," George said, taking out his phone. His phone matched his watch but not the wall clock.

“And you’re already going to get laid. I’m not sure why you think you have to butter me up—"

George sputtered in surprise and embarrassment as he heard someone talking just outside the door. “I meant, it’s Valentine’s Day so they’re going to be up-charging, I’m sure. Let me get you a drink. They don’t charge the people they hire.”

“You must not know what happens when a cute guy like me goes up to most bars,” Matty said, lifting one eyebrow. “I won’t pay for anything; Fuck, I’ll barely even need to be paying attention.”

George had never considered how Matty was as a single guy. He’d never really told him. Or maybe George had never asked. There wasn’t much for George to tell Matty, so maybe he’d forgotten people had dating histories that weren’t accidentally shallow or convenient. Had first loves before their late twenties.

The club owner opened the door while still finishing the tail end of his hallway conversation. “—on in twenty, okay? Yeah—George! Good to see you, early as always. What I like to see. JJ walked in five minutes before she was supposed to go on. Again.”

“She likes the spontaneity,” George said with a shrug, placing his bag down in one of the mismatched armchairs. “I can’t argue her style. She’s always great.”

“I just wish she could be spontaneous and not raise my blood pressure,” he said. “You ready to go on in half an hour?” George nodded, checking all three times again. “Great. Anything you need—you can go out and float around JJ when you’re ready. Get either of you a drink?”

“I’m okay, thanks,” Matty said. He placed a hand between George’s shoulders as he hunched down to look in his bag. George’s nervous energy was never something Matty could ignore. “George, did you want something? Or do you want me to get it for you.” Matty was teasing, probably feeling the tension in the muscles of George’s back. Maybe hoping for a laugh.

Instead, Matty’s kind and gentle smile—eyes following George’s hands as they continued to jostle everything in every pocket—was distracted by the owner’s follow up question: “I’m sorry—and I mean no disrespect—but who are you again? George, if this is a new label rep, I’m sorry I’ve forgotten again—”

“Label rep?” George turned toward Matty, who was still touching his back with one hand and had begun to hold his bicep lightly with the other. It was certainly no way to represent a professional relationship.

Matty looked down at himself. “I just came from teaching—Dammit, George, why didn’t you tell me I look like a corporate drone? Is it the tie? It is, isn't it?”

Finally, George smiled. The plane of his back under Matty’s hand relaxing as he laughed, shaking his head. “You don’t look like a drone, okay? And Matty isn’t my PR guy. He’s—” George had never actually called him his boyfriend in front of anyone before; at the holiday party, the moment everyone saw Matty walk in with George, they knew this was The Date George had after studio sessions so often. “He’s just here with me. No business.”

George couldn’t hear the music as clearly anymore, blood rushing in his ears. Matty moved his hand along George’s shoulder blades, slowly and soothingly. Finally, George’s fingers found the loose pair of foam earplugs in the front pocket of his bag. The last place left. He righted himself and held them out to Matty. He ignored the conversation he’d left paused with the owner for as long as it took Matty to tire from arguing he didn’t need them. He dropped his hand from George’s bicep to take them, his other hand not leaving George’s back.

The clock on the wall kept ticking, faster than the one on his wrist.

“Matty’s going to uh… he’s going to be up there with me.” George pointed loosely toward the door; he didn’t know what was out there, technically. Without being sure where the music was coming from, without being able to feel it faintly pulsing in his chest, he didn’t even know where the dancefloor was.

“Up where?” Matty asked.

“The stage. When I’m doing my set.”

“I didn’t think I would be allowed.” Matty shot the owner a quick look before adjusting his tie.

“Of course you are! But only if you want to. I won’t be offended if you’d much rather... not.” George wanted to give Matty the option to pick how he wanted to spend his evening. How to make it better without George intervening, even by accident, and making things worse—

“George,” Matty said softly. George blinked and realized the owner had already left the room; no commotion, no remark, no insistence Matty become part of the monolithic, pulsing, impersonal crowd. No pushback. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“I’m not a fucking idiot, you know that, right?” Matty said. He stood in front of George and placed both hands on his shoulders, as if keeping him planted on the ground. George didn’t know he’d been feeling an urge to pace until then. Until he couldn’t. “What’s got you this upset?”

“I always get nervous before I perform anything. You know that. You know me.”

Matty had been sitting on that studio couch every day for those two weeks. He’d been over when George accepted calls for other gigs and immediately interrupted his own train of thought to jot down his immediate thoughts and plans—afraid he’d forget the “genius” of the impulse. Afraid his instincts weren’t really instincts at all, just moments when inspiration would take pity on him.

While talking about his students’ coursework, Matty had told George about the idea of ancient Greek poets praying at the beginning of their works. Of asking the gods of inspiration—the muses, actually; George remembered feeling embarrassed by his own surprise and sense of clarity by this fact and connection—before embarking on their epics. The invocation, Matty had called it with a flourish of his hand.

Matty described it as if the idea was antiquated; no one thought creativity or inspiration was so out of their hands that it had to be requested at the beginning of every project. But sometimes, when George could feel expectations compounding and very separate things interconnecting into one daunting and terrifying moment, he wished there was someone he could hand things off to. Trust he had solid instincts when he was mid-set and suddenly becoming aware of his own hands and expression and body and position with the person next to him—the new DJ that just arrived and hovering too close and asking too many questions, but being so polite and was someone George should be very eager to show the ropes because he never had that... To trust he would have no need to second guess, critiquing himself for too long and missing the window to execute his plan. The swing of his set broken while George was left standing in horrifying, reverberating silence and—

“This isn’t nerves, George. You look like you might pass the fuck out. Or throw up. Maybe both.” Matty ran his hands across George’s shoulders and laced them together behind his neck, pressing their foreheads together. “It’s not me making you this anxious, is it?”

“No, of course not,” George said quickly. “I just want everything to be perfect—”

“Well, it can’t be.”

“I-I know. I know. Nothing can be perfect,” George mumbled, trying to echo Matty’s frequent and always kind encouragement. What George tried to remember when he was feeling his anxiety bind tighter with the feeling things were slipping out of his control. George had invoked Matty’s words a lot in the past week in particular. “Best-case scenario, then. I want the very best-case scenario. For you. I want you to have a good time and—”

“Do you not think I’m having a good time?”

“My set isn’t for another,” George looked at the clock on the wall only. “fifteen minutes. We’ve just gotten here and… literally stood in a room while I’m…” trying not to freak out or throw up or just blurt out that I— “That’s nothing very exciting.”

“Hey, that’s not all we did today; you picked me up from class, we had dinner, you let me read to you that botched essay intro, you told me about that tour invite and the boys, you invited me to see you do your job. George,” Matty stopped to reset his worried expression with another warm smile. “George, you do know you’re the reason I came, right? Not to experience the best DJ set of my life or have one too many and convince your band to dance with me, or even know any of the songs you’re going to play. I just came here because it meant spending time with you. And that’s why I’m having a good time. That’s it. This isn’t a performance review. I am not qualified for that in the slightest.”

“But—”

“George,”

“I’m not trying to argue,” George said. Matty nodded, moving both of their heads. Matty carefully ran one hand up and down the back of George’s neck, encouraging him to continue. “But… this is sort of your first… event with me. Next to me. Associated with me.”

“… And? We talked about this, right? It’s not industry people who know you, so I’ll have to be more… aware of what I’m doing. But just at first, like you said—I get it, George. I really do.”

“No, no. It has nothing to do with that… Or maybe it does. Fuck,” George stopped to take a breath, forcing it out through his pursed lips. “I want to do something you can be proud of. Be someone you don’t mind admitting is your date. I don’t want to embarrass you—"

“Embarrass?” Matty repeated with a soft but tense laugh. He cleared his throat and George could hear a sudden wetness sink his words. “What a preposterous fucking idea. And, actually, even more so: the idea I didn’t come here already proud of you. That I’m not already more than willing to walk out there and tell everyone who’s even remotely paying attention to me—free fucking drinks or not—” Matty gave them both the chance to laugh, the thickness falling away from Matty’s voice and some of the weight shaking off from George’s shoulders. “That I came here with you. I’ll go anywhere with you—anywhere you’re willing to have me.”

George dipped his head down to kiss Matty, quickly and without invitation for any lengthier response, considering the moment and environment. He wanted to say it. He wanted to tell Matty right then—without the expectation of anything in return. Just simply say. But that was sort of the point of the set. George hoped he could say it without the words; without the direct chance of rejection.

Matty kissed George on the cheek, hands sliding from his neck to smooth his collar and flip his silver earring so the engraving of the dagger’s hilt faced outward. His knuckle grazed George’s jaw as he stilled the jewelry from swinging.

“You’re going to be incredible—as you always are.” Matty said, holding the sides of George’s face. “Like, that’s not me setting a ridiculous bar. That’s actually sort of the baseline for you. Anything beyond that will just be genius—which, also very possible, I’m finding.”

George leaned against one of Matty’s hands—warm and firm and unflinching from the request for support—and sighed, a sense of relief hitting him.

George remembered what he was doing there. He could feel the music in the other room. He smiled. And Matty, the central reason for the tailoring of the next hour of George’s night, smiled back.

They waited in silence, George not trusting himself to say anything else. Not wanting to spoil it.

---

The music was too loud. But that was sort of the point. George was up on stage, feeling the rolling pulse of the room and the music, and didn’t have the space or sense in his head to hear himself think about anything other than just that.

The lights, flickering and flashing and swirling. The faces in the crowd—at least those he could make out—lighting up and excitedly reacting to the change in song, speaking to the person beside them—the only person who could hope to hear them.

The person beside him, waiting until George lowered his headphones to lean in to talk to him. Both of Matty's hands gently holding George's forearm. Matty's chest pressed against George's bicep and shoulder as he leaned in, trying to shout in his ear over the music coming from the speakers on all sides of them.

“I’m going to go get a drink, okay?” Matty said. George only understood when Matty pointed at the blue backlit bar directly across the dance floor. He’d been standing next to George for the entire first half of his set, enthusiastic and smiling. Bouncing and dancing. Trying to get George to do more than his usual simple sway to the music—Oh, come on! I know you know how to move your hips a bit better than that, love.

George gave him a thumbs up and a smile. Matty held up two fingers and lifted his eyebrows. He pointed to George’s empty glass resting on the low railing surrounding the raised stage platform. It had been a vodka soda that, thankfully, had barely had much of the first ingredient. George shook his head and nodded toward the bar with his continued smile.

Matty stepped down from the platform and began weaving his way around the dance floor. He avoided all the clueless drunk dancers, almost bodies possessed by the music, and nosey patrons that bothered to look up at the DJ and see the new face now walking among them, but managed to bump directly into Adam. Which meant within seconds, and a silent cheer of surprise, Matty had also found the rest of the band that had come: Ross, John, and Polly.

As if discussed beforehand, the moment they all saw Matty they collectively looked up at George and waved. As if they knew George would be watching Matty from the slightly higher vantage point. Because of course George was. He answered them all with a quick grin so they would turn away again. After a moment of gesturing and over-enunciated (but mostly unheard) sentences, Ross walked with Matty to the bar. The other three migrated to the side of the dance floor with a cementing nod and lift of a hand: We’ll wait right here.

Watching Matty struggle to get through the crowd to the bar, George quickly rearranged his mental lineup of songs. What use was Matty knowing—dating—the DJ if George played all his favorite songs while he stood in line, cramped in his reach for the bartender between Ross and the back of a guy with shoulders practically as wide as Matty was tall.

For a moment, being able to see Matty from a distance was sort of romantic. It was a thrill to be able to take all of Matty in at once—when most of their romance typically happened up close, barely enough distance for George to see the lips he was about to kiss. From his vantage point, George could watch Matty lean forward on the bar, his weight shifting onto his left foot with his right hovering just above the ground. Could watch as Matty began bouncing his foot with an unknown pulse of anxiety, impatience, or anticipation; George couldn’t see Matty’s expression to know.

George looked back at the decks, needing to focus to ensure his secondary ordering of songs transitioned smoothly. He looked back up at Matty—to see if he’d have to sub in another song before he was back on the dance floor—and saw him angled back toward the rest of the room, smiling and chatting, his face more in view. The only face George couldn’t see was that of the man talking to Matty, one hand braced against the bar railing and the other quickly—and so smoothly George barely noticed—fiddling with the end of Matty’s tie.

George checked his watch, trying to give himself somewhere else to look. He lowered his head and gave himself the chance to hide his flushing and crimson embarrassment. He didn’t mind someone else flirting with Matty—George couldn’t be upset with other men that fell under the very same spell he did after their first introduction. No, George felt embarrassed he’d seen them, that he had been watching at all. That he was observing when maybe Matty had no such idea. Exposing a moment perhaps Matty would rather not have George see; invading Matty’s privacy and knowing something Matty would always think George didn’t know. What a terrible basis for lo—

Finally, George looked back up. Resisting to do so almost like telling himself not to think of something—and only prompting further rumination. George saw Matty shaking his head, hand resting on his own chest, as if holding his heart. When the man nudged Matty’s foot with his own—yet something else George felt he should never have seen—Matty lifted his hand to point at George.

Four sets of eyes were now on him: Ross, Matty, the stranger, and now the bartender returning with Matty’s drink. George froze. He didn’t know what Matty had said about him in their conversation; he didn’t want to betray his point by doing the wrong thing. George had told Matty to keep things lowkey for the night while George acclimated to (very subtly) exposing his personal life, but with someone flirting with him why else would he be pointing at George? Surely, it was romantic sort of point—literal romantic gesture—right?

But how could George ensure Matty knew it was okay he brought it up, that he was happy and so proud to be up there but if only because it meant Matty could turn and point and mouth something that looked a hell of a lot like: that’s my boyfriend.

Before George could short-circuit much further, Matty put his fingers to his lips and blew George a kiss. He then folded his hand at the knuckles in a flapping wave. Almost like a joke. A tease. A giddy gesture that had George feeling like he was growing sunburnt under the minimal, flashing lights. A youthful, almost teenage, motion done with complete honesty and infatuation. For a moment, George felt relief, felt certain for a moment that his very ridiculous and overthought plan would work...

With his drink in hand—and small black straw between his lips—Matty started going back toward the rest of the group. His eyes were busy searching each face he passed for Adam or Polly he didn’t look back up at George at first. It was just as well; George was already so anxious, he was sure if Matty looked directly at him as the next song started, his entire heart would’ve dropped into his shoes. Maybe bruised, maybe shattered, maybe resilient enough to bounce back up.

Although, as the song started, George felt like his heart had stopped. Its internal pulse absent from his ears as the beat around them took over, pounding against his chest, ribs, temples. George dissolved into the music; hoping that the joy and repeatedly expressed excitement Matty had shown listening to it in George’s studio would appear on the dance floor in front of him.

Just one more time, George. Play that part just one more time… For me?

After a deep breath, George forewent any subtlety and made no effort to hide he was watching for Matty’s reaction. He pulled his headphones down around his neck. The sound diluted into the vastness of the room, in comparison to being fed directly into George’s ears, but he preferred it. He wanted the space and breathing room. At least for the moment.

Matty stopped his gesticulating and conversation with John, pausing as he registered the song. His pivot from speaking to emphatically starting to sing along was split-second. Adam stood sort of confused, amused, and dumbfounded as Matty’s apparently dire point faded away and he started dancing: swaying mostly his hips with the beat and holding his one arm up, while the other steadily held his drink in front of him.

Matty lowered his arm and went to take another sip just as the chorus was about to hit again, his usual stopping point when listening with George, but the song swung back around to the start of the verse. Just that part, one more time. For him.

Matty’s declared favorite, all over again. Right on time—jumping to that exact thump of the brutally danceable kick drum. George wasn’t sure Matty would even notice; he probably hadn’t heard the song that many times to know its structure the way George had to. Oh, maybe it was all a bit ridiculous to think—

But Matty had stopped dancing. His lips still moved along to the lyrics, but now like trying to whisper across the cacophony to George. The lyrics almost being stripped and returned to its poetic form. Spoken with slight disbelief.

While everyone else seemed slightly confused—feeling more betrayed by their memory than upset about any music decision or direction—Matty continued to melt right back into the song. Dancing just as he had, holding the back of George’s chair with gleeful distraction.

As George began to fade between the songs—no threat of the verse cycling a third time—Matty pushed his empty glass into Ross’s hands and began hurriedly snaking back through the crowd to the platform. Despite his evident excitement—shifting and shuffling his feet while he pulled at his sleeves—Matty still stood and waited for George to give a cue he was finished with his task at hand.

Admittedly, George wanted to stay in the momentary reprieve between his gesture, the reaction, and his direct confession—the purpose of it all. In that moment, he could only be relieved that he’d done it in the first place. He hadn’t yet had enough time to worry or feel embarrassed by his own ornately constructed vulnerability.

But if George stayed in that moment forever, he’d never hear Matty’s reaction. Good or bad, it would still be Matty. And that sure as hell beat a solitary moment of acquiescing to fear.

George lowered his headphones again and turned to Matty with the very best look of neutrality and obliviousness he could. Matty was looking back with that minute, timid smile: the one meant for George and almost undetectable by onlookers. A glimpse at the joy thrumming inside of him; almost too full to even attempt to express; settling for an undersell rather than falling short.

“Need something, Matty?”

“I love that song!” Matty leaned in toward George’s ear. His hand gently curled around George’s hanging safely under the table and out of view. He tugged and pulled George toward him, able to slightly lower—soften—his voice. “You know I love that song—thank you.”

“I-I wanted you to have a good time! A chance to know some songs—your favorites!”

“You didn’t have to do that—what about everyone else here?”

George pulled back to better see Matty’s entire face. “Yeah? What about them?”

Matty’s smile faltered as he lowered his eyes to George’s earring, now swinging in the air after being pressed down by his headphones. His lips parted as if he was going to speak but then pressed them back together.

“Matty,” George said, although not loud enough. “I’m really glad you came tonight.”

“Hm?” Matty moved his fingers behind his ear—as if his hair was even remotely long enough—to politely hint he couldn’t hear George.

“I…” George cleared his throat, hoping it would still be there even if he couldn’t hear it. Couldn’t hear anything but the music flooding his body just like the flush creeping up his chest and over his cheeks. “I love you.”

“What?” Matty cupped his ear and leaned forward toward George.

George found himself repeating the sentence, but far softer. “I—I love you.”

Matty lowered his hand and looked at George with a furrowed brow. “I-I’m sorry, George. I can’t hear you!” He gestured toward his ears with splayed out hands, mimicking the pulsing, pounding soundwaves thudding against him from the surrounding speakers. “Don’t forget though, okay? Tell me later?"

George nodded, smiling. Like he could ever forget.

"Sure, yeah. Later!"

Like he was ever thinking about anything else.

---

After his set, despite the band congratulating him and offering a few rounds on them, George wanted to go home. Wanted to get out of the noise. He was beginning to feel spoken over, crowded, and pushed out by the thumping music—then even more so when it was no longer him behind the decks.

Thankfully—and once again forgetting the holiday—no one teased George for turning in earlier than them. He and Matty were able to be back in his car, sitting in the parking lot, thirty minutes after his set finished.

“George, you’re incredible, you know that right?” Matty was speaking too loudly, but George didn’t mind; his ears were ringing too. And it also meant Matty laughed a bit louder than he usually did, too. “I don’t think I’ve had that much fun in a very long time.”

“I’m glad you came,” George smiled, his own laugh sounding muffled to his ears but feeling stronger in his chest. Matty lifted himself from his seat to lean over the console and kiss George, quickly but firmly.

“Thank you for inviting me, George. I was happy to be there with you not on business,” he said. “Happy to be your date tonight. Proud to be—even if we’re still the only people here that really know I was.”

George thought about saying it again—a third time—but he didn't think he could stomach the trade of an oblivious, neutral response to his intended confession for open, undeniable, almost amplified (possible) rejection.

Instead, he kissed Matty again. He braced his hand on the console and caught Matty's lips again before he moved all the way back into the passenger seat. Matty broke the kiss—without pulling away—with a near-muffled, definitely mumbled confession of his own:

“I heard you, you know,” Matty said when George inquisitively pulled away at the sound spoken against his lips. “After you played my song—what I told you not to forget; I heard you. I-I just wanted to see if you’d say it again. If you wanted to—If you meant it.”

“Do—would you like me to... say it again?” George asked. It was a nicer response than quietly pleading, please don’t break my heart. I’m sorry if I—

“No, no, you don’t owe me another one," Matty held the sides of George's face, anticipating his emotional and physical retreat and apology. "Especially since I still haven’t answered.”

“You don’t have to right now. Let's just go home and—"

“George, I think I should tell the man I’m in love with that I do love him, don’t you? Seems like a reasonable thing to do.”

George reached for Matty's face, holding him and trying to get a good look at the man in love with him. Trying to spot the moment Matty would break, would maybe lie and soften what he'd admitted to. Matty held his joyful—and increasingly teary—look at George.

"You do?"

"Yes! Yes, George. I love you! Of course I do." Matty laughed and pulled George in again. His hands dropped from holding George's face to rest flat on his chest. Feel the beat of his heart.

"Wait," George muttered, turning his face to break the kiss but not pull away. "Say it one more time... For me?"

#gatty #gatty fic #matty x george #george daniel x matty healy #producer george and TA matty fic #andfacedown fics #(not yet i know but shh)#producer george oneshot #THANK YOU for waiting & enjoy MWAH!!

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dynoguard · 1 year

Text

"Night on the Town"

"We dated for a year and a half, the reception-"

"-was a mess, absolute travesty. We wanted Swedish meatballs."

"They're just like vorma. Something both sides of the family can enjoy equally. And we all also equally shared in the food poisoning."

"But that's normal wedding stuff, which is kinda the point. The dinosovian conception of marriage has more in common with ours than not."

"There are compromises, of course, but neither of us is very traditional, so its easy to accommodate most of our family's little demands. Like, I took her name, which made my traditionalist mom and aunt very happy."

"And made uncle Robert very annoyed, which I greatly enjoy."

"But to be fair, in a nod to her traditions, we chose to live in our own home rather than a multi-generational arrangement, as is thyrene custom."

"Sweetie, plenty of humans live in multi-generational homes."

"Can you not print that last bit? My mom reads your magazine."

-Dyo (34) & Melynie (28) Sledge, Newlyweds

Dyo and Melynie were made using multiple midjourney generations, photo-manipulation, and digital painting.

Normally, when I post something of this complexity, I don't give full details because its just a massive volume of information almost no one will care about. But I figure what the heck. Might as well show it off once.

MJ can do theropods pretty easily (assuming you're not picky, don't want feathers, and it doesn't need a tail), almost any other kind of dino is going to be a collage process. Ankylosaurs are a major blind spot.

So here's just some of the prompts I used to make bits and pieces of this composition.

photograph of a humanoid snapping turtle with a large, thick shell

an ankylosaurus anthro with a long, powerful, alligator tail, large, thick shell, green scales, white horns and spines, ankylosaurus tail, thagomizer :: long green reptile tail, over the ground, photography

a green humanoid ankylosaurus, photography, nighttime city background

photograph of a an attractive, heavyset woman with red hair wearing a sweater and jeans, standing on a city street, looking lightly up, friendly, happy, nighttime scene*

a green ankylosaurus tail, photography, black background :: alligator tail ending in a knob of bone

To get the image I wanted, it had to be built in chunks, assembled and then painted over and photobashed to blend the pieces.

Getting thyrene clothing to make sense requires some sci-fi hand waving. the smart-fabric cinches around the gap between the back armor plates and the main torso. The "hood" is a flap that buttons on one side and is open in the back. It's a cold weather outfit.

*Midjourney's dataset leans to extreme thinness, so 'chubby' or 'heavyset' will typically produce a normal looking thin-to average person, while "zaftig" or "plump" are required actual heavyset builds.

#dynoguard #questionably canon #unreality #dinosovians #midjourney edit #ai assisted artwork #anklyosaurus #thyrene #sci-fi #dinosaurs #anthroart #scalie

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tagedeszorns · 2 years

Text

It's the Imperial Palace-Halloween-Party and Alpharius/Omegon have just arrived!

Nobody knows what their costumes are referencing (the ancient terran texts they are based on are very obscure), but that's exactly how they like it: Being their own meme suits them very well.

Fulgrim is pissed, because he wanted to do a cool couple's costume with Ferrus, but being the piece of slag the Lord of the tenth is, he went with a boring "Error 404 costume not found"-shirt. So Fulgrim latched onto Perturabo, who, of course, dressed up as daVinci. So now there's daVinci and the phoenician-Mona Lisa.

Russ read an ancient terran text, too, but mixed it up. He is dressed up as "Riding Hood the Killer of the forest" accompanied by his Lumberjack- and Granny-wolf. Both wolves ate their costumes within minutes. Bjorn flatly refused to dress up as sidekick "kid" and therefore had to stay outside.

Since Lorgar already looks like the Emperor, he dressed up as their father and now is patronizing everybody just like the original. He forced Kor Phaeron to wear a Malcador-costume, too. No one would have thought it, but they are actually hilarious and very amusing in their roles. Amusing enough that the real Malcador can only with difficulty stop the real Emperor from angrily throwing papier-mâché pumpkins at his seventeenth son.

Vulkan loves his Godzilla-costume, because this pre-unification terran god (it had to be a god, since there were so many little statues!) is so damn cute! And kind of a dragon!

Then he spots Mortarion as Mothra and tackles him in a hug, since they both chose that ancient myth, oh glory day!

Magnus decided on a stage magician-costume, but every time he asks one of his brothers to "think of a number, I'll tell you which one you thought of!" or "pick a card and put it back into the pile!", they just go "Bro, you're a Psyker, that's nothing special!".

Curze is sulking beneath the buffet-table, because all the comments he gets on his very authentic "toatally normal imperial writing clerk"-costume are "Serial killer! They look just like everybody else, don't they!".

There he's joined by Stormseer Targutai, who brought a big plate of everything down under the table with him. Jaghatai wanted to dress up as one of the most famous race horses in terran history, Nijinsky, and so he needed two more legs. Since Targutai is way too good-natured to refuse, he humoured his Khan - at least for about ten minutes. Then he wandered off, spotting the buffet table. Now the back-half of a horse is happily munching on fingerfood, sharing it with a sweater-vest-clad Night Haunter.

About an hour into the party, the two are getting more company, as Corvus appears under the table as well. He shares Curze's fate, since everybody is mistaking his thoughtfully build (yet horribly sewn) Rosa Luxemburg-costume for Mary Poppins. How can it be nobody is recognizing one of the most courageous revolutionaries terra ever produced? It can't be because Raven Guard suck at anything artsy-crafty. No.

The only one of the brothers wo bothered himself with reading about classic terran Halloween-customs is, of course, Guilliman. But unfortunately for him, the texts are very old and very fragmented, so all he could take away was "scary things, but make it slutty". His zombie-make-up and fishnet-stockings are still getting him quite a few admiring (it has to be meant admiring!) comments, though.

It's a little bit frustrating for Dorn, that he really did his best with a "very dangerous inwittian predatory cat-like monster"-costume, but all of his brothers just want to cuddle the incredibly adorable furry-thing that's sweating like hell next to any open window he can find.

Sanguinius has plastered himself with about a hundred goggly eyes of all sizes, because he wanted to look like an angel. Surprisingly it isn't working. But Magnus is squinting at him, muttering "You look like someone I know, but I can't remember for the life of me ...."

Horus employed three of the mournival for a clever group-costume (he thinks it's clever). They are impersonating one of the most famous para-military strike-teams of ancient Terra. Now the Warmaster is sporting a big grin and a cigar, while Abaddon is visibly seething, because he wanted to be "the pretty one", but instead has to wear about a ton of gold chains, while Aximand is constantly telling him, having to wear a blonde wig is not that funny, either. Loken and Tarik played rock-paper-scissors for the remaining spot, Gavriel lost (on purpose) and now Torgaddon is very happy with a baseball hat and the license to behave crazy (within limits).

Angron is running around naked, bodypainted very green, yelling at everybody "I'M SHREK, GOD OF ORK!!!! WAAAAHHHG!!". The palace serving staff is now hiding from him. He counts this as a win. He makes no effort to explain why he is naked.

The Lion is pondering joining team "under the table", since Vulkan has spotted his very authentic Saint George-costume and continues to pounce at him, happily exclaiming "I'm a dragon, fight me!".

Now I have written an incredibly long text, although I only had the idea of drawing Alpharius and Omegon as Spy vs Spy. But that was fun! The Imperial Halloween Party is sure to be a great success.

Also, it seems Horus' costume isn't that obvious. Well ... 😊

#Warhammer #Spy vs Spy #Mad Magazine #Alpha Legion #Halloween #Primarchs #Imperial Palace #Horus Heresy #Alpharius #Omegon #All the Primarchs

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dross-the-fish · 11 months

Note

Soooo, since Halloween is around the corner, could you possibly write (or draw if you feel more like it) Adam and anon participating in some Halloween activities of your own choice? Thank you!! ☺️

(And on top of that I want to thank you for sharing your art and writing and thoughts on these characters and stories, I really do enjoy whenever I see your stuff on my dash. Sorry if that overly sweet, but I do mean it 😅)

Thank you so much anon! I decided pumpkin carving was the activity for this drabble. Modern setting drabble because I don’t know what Halloween was like in 1918 London.

Adam turned the pumpkin over in the palm of his hand, the gourd looking comically small in his grip. He inspected it for flaws before presenting it to Anon.

“What about this one?” he asked.

Anon examined the pumpkin and gave a satisfied nod, “Perfect! This is an excellent jack-o-lantern pumpkin!”

Adam grinned, “How will we carve it?” he asked as he unconsciously tugged the hood of his sweater a little further down over his face. Though the times had changed and people in the 21st century were more tolerant of those that were different, Adam Frankenstein still felt anxious about being exposed. Halloween was one of those rare times when he could go out without being stared at and he’d come to appreciate the holiday. Among the other ghouls and monsters he didn’t looks out of place.

Tucking the pumpkin under one arm he held out his free hand for Anon to take. Anon did, grinning up at him and chatting eagerly about their ideas for carving the jack-o-lantern. On the way home they picked up some sweets and Anon suggested they attend a costume party later in the week.

“Are you sure I should do that? I’m not easy to buy costumes for. What would I even be?” Adam asked as he crawled out of the car. The vehicle was a tiny thing and Adam hated to ride in it as he was forced to sit with his knees halfway up to his chest and his head bent so it didn’t hit against the roof.

“Whatever you wanted!” anon replied, “I’m going to be a werewolf, maybe you could be a vampire!”

Adam grimaced, “I’d sooner not, vampires are real and their condition is a tragic one, as is the case with werewolves. I have known both in my life.”

Anon stared at him, “One day you have got to tell me your story. You know most of us aren’t aware that monsters are real.”

“They aren’t monsters, they’re people, some of whom choose to do monstrous things. The werewolf and vampire I knew were both kind people doing their best to cope with their illnesses.”

“Point taken. Though that cuts our costume options significantly. What about zombies?”

“Also real. Also tragic.”

“Witches?”

“Hrmm, I’ve never met anyone who called themselves a witch but it wouldn’t surprise me if they too were real and tragic,” Adam mused, his tone full of gravity and seriousness but a twinkle in his eye gave away his good humor.

“Alright, we can figure out the costumes later,” Anon chuckled leading him into the kitchen, “let’s start carving our pumpkin and I want to taste some of this candy!”

“Isn’t that for the trick-or-treaters?”

“Shush, it’s called the grown-up tax, we get a cut of the Halloween candy!” Anon insisted selecting a sour gumball for themselves.

Adam laughed and shook his head, he found modern candy to be too sweet and it always tasted a little odd so he declined when Anon offered him a piece.

“You can keep my cut,” he gave the pumpkin a small tap, “Sharp fangs or square teeth?”

“Fangs of course!”

“What about the eyes?”

“Can we try for slitted pupils? Like a cat?” Anon asked, by now they were familiar with Adam’s skills as a wood carver and hoped his talent extended to pumpkins.

“I don’t see why not. Give me that knife so I can hollow this out!”

Together they made short work of the pumpkin. Anon left most of the carving to Adam and was satisfied when he produced a sufficiently scary jack-o-lantern for them. Anon pulled out their phone to take a picture and Adam sidestepped out of the frame.

They frowned at him, “You carved it, you should be in the shot!” they protested.

“Are you going to post it online?” he asked anxiously.

“Not if you don’t want me too, we can keep it private,” they replied.

Adam nodded, “Please do,” he said allowing Anon to lead him back into the shot and positioning him so that he was holding the pumpkin.

Adam smiled awkwardly. He had never grown comfortable with being in photographs, he’d allowed it once, at Quincey Harker’s insistence that all of the companions should have a commemorative photo of the whole group together…so that those who survived could keep a memento should any of their friends be lost.

Photographs were much more difficult to produce back then.

The smartphone flashed a few times until Anon was satisfied with the result. They noticed that Adam’s smile had faded.

“What’s the matter?”

He shook his head, “Forgive me, I was remembering something from a long time ago,” he touched Anon’s phone with a wistful finger, “The world has changed so much in such a short time. I was remembering the last time I sat for a picture for a friend. How much of a project it was.”

“I forget that you’re old,” Anon put their phone away and reached out to give him a hug.

He stiffened then relaxed into their embrace with a small sigh, “That’s the hardest part. I am not old…I watched them grow old, those that still could, while I remained unchanged. The world is kinder now, it is also smaller, sometimes I feel lost in it,” he smiled down at the pumpkin, “But I think also that I have found my place in it and life, even when it brings me anguish, is still very precious to me. Thank you for sharing your traditions and your celebrations. I am fortunate to have found a friend in you.”

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crowtrobotx · 1 year

Note

o fearless girl-dad-Karl-agenda leader, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble could we have Papaberg and Lottie having a tea party?

bisenberg agenda and the girl dad agenda.... i have so much responsibility i don't know if i can handle this!! regardless, nonnie, i was feeling inspired by this adorable scenario and decided to write a little ficlet for you. c: I hope you enjoy!! Long live Heisendad. Tea Party Words: 1201 Characters: Karl Heisenberg, Original character (daughter) Wife also makes a brief appearance just to troll him bc I couldn't resist Warnings: None, unless you aren't cool with swearing Note: This is an escaped/mechanic AU because I felt like it

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Knees up to his chest and forced to wear a moth-eaten bow tie he’d found at the bottom of the closet, Karl Heisenberg had never felt more ridiculous in his life.

It had been a normal Sunday, one he’d planned on spending working on that puzzling noise coming from under the hood of his truck. But when Lottie had marched into the garage and loudly demanded that he attend her prestigious tea party, complete with lip wobble when he’d almost declined, he knew he was doomed. And so here he sat, a person who had once thought of himself as the very definition of rugged manliness, in a cluttered bedroom at the mercy of a six year old girl. Karl was afraid to breathe lest the child-sized chair fighting for its life beneath him finally gave way.

His daughter sat across from him, carefully rearranging a hodgepodge collection of mugs and cups she’d stolen from the kitchen. There was a depressing plate of crackers with no toppings or sides sitting sadly in the middle. They didn’t own a fancy pot or teacups, so the whole production looked less like an esteemed gathering and more like the kind of set a community theater with a $3.00 budget might put together. The other two guests - Lottie’s ever present teddy bear, yet again missing an eye and covered in faded marker doodles, and what was once a doll given to her by Alcina that now lacked a head and whose arms had been replaced by pipe cleaners - stared back at him in silent horror.

Karl tugged at his collar awkwardly. “So, uh, what’re we supposed to be doing? This might blow your little mind, but your old man hasn’t exactly been to one of these before…”

Lottie opened her mouth to speak and then paused abruptly. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “But I think we’re s’posed to talk about stuff. Y’know, gossip.”

“Gossip?” Karl chuckled. “What kinda gossip you got in first grade?”

“Sarah from art class said that Veronica’s mom chased her dad with a golf club because he kissed our gym teacher,” Lottie said without even a hint of concern.

“W-” Karl nearly choked. “W-what? Are you fuckin’- I mean, Lottie, honey. Don’t think we should uh, talk about that.”

She shrugged. “I thought it was funny.”

“It is. It’s real fuckin’ funny.” He was absolutely going to have to snoop out if there was any truth to this information - he always hated Veronica’s dad. White collar prick. He steeled himself, willing his mind to stay in dad-mode and not shift into catty-bitch-Karl. “But we shouldn’t say stuff we’re not sure about, okay? We should wait until we’re certain before trashing folks to hell and back. It’s only fair.”

Lottie gave no indication she’d been listening. He noticed she hadn’t deemed it necessary to put on a nice outfit herself despite insisting he don his “fancy clothes.” She wore her usual old knit sweater beneath her overalls, permanently stained from endless romps through the muddy woods out back or whatever projects she helped him out with. He felt rather overdressed, to tell the truth. She rummaged around on the floor, muttering incoherently to herself, until she produced a pitcher that wobbled precariously in her grasp. It was overfilled and practically as big as she was. Karl made to reach for it, freezing in place when he heard his chair creak ominously. “Tea, Papa?” Lottie said sweetly.

He nodded, not cognizant of what came out of the jug, so focused he was on not unintentionally destroying any more furniture. He still wasn’t forgiven for the incident with the porch swing, he was pretty sure. Karl slowly lifted the “#1 Dad” mug to his lips, and swallowed with a surprised flinch. He coughed awkwardly.

“Is this…. Mountain Dew,” he didn’t even need to ask. There was no other substance on earth with that unnatural neon green color. “I thought this was a tea party?”

Lottie huffed. “The tea is too high for me to reach! You people act like everyone around here is a giant. I can barely see out the window to scare the mailman when he shows up….”

“You could’ve asked for help, Butterfly.”

“No,” she said defiantly, pouring herself a cup and splashing liquid across the plastic table. “I don’t need your cherry.”

Karl blinked. “You mean… charity—“

“WHATEVER!” Lottie threw up her hands in exasperation. “Ugh! This whole idea was a mistake! I don’t even know why I thought this would be fun. This sucks. Even Carlos said so.” The teddy bear gazed forward, dead-eyed. “Hon,” Karl started, leaning forward again only to stop with a FUCK when his shins banged into the table. “Jesus…. Fuck that hurt. Okay, what I was going to ask was why you wanted to do this in the first place? This ain’t exactly your style if you know what I mean.” Lottie sank down in her seat until all that was visible were two little messy buns peeking over the table. “I dunno. I saw it on TV. I think it’s supposed to be something little girls like to do but man, this is stupid.” Karl frowned. “You don’t have to do something just because you ‘supposed’ to. You know that. I do stuff I’m not supposed to all the time and look how I turned out!” Kris’s choked laughter from down the hall - of course she’d been listening - had him ready to shout something snarky back, never one to give up a verbal spar without a fight. But Lottie spoke again before he had the opportunity. “Maybe I just wanted to hang out,” she admitted with a twinge of embarrassment. “You’ve been so busy lately.” Guilt gnawed at Karl’s insides. He had been working longer than normal this week - business was good, but by necessity it meant he was away from home more often. Every time he felt like he’d gotten the hang of this Dad thing, it turned out he’d managed to mess it up again. Not on the level of his own abysmal upbringing, of course, but it was a nagging fear all the same. One that still kept him up some nights. In spite of his messy exterior, he was a proud man - and he was not going to let the title on his mug fall to some other asshole. “I’m… f-flattered you wanna spend time with me,” he said, searching for the right words and finding none. Lord, he was bad at this. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Let’s do something you’ll actually like. You wanna go burn some of those leaves your mom made me take earlier instead? And we can bust into my good candy stash she doesn’t know about–” “Keep telling yourself that, babe,” Kris called again. “...instead of eating bland ass crackers.” Karl made a mental note that he would need to change his hiding place yet again.

“Fuck yes,” Lottie bounded to her feet. “Oh, Papa, can we also torch that awful dress Aunt Alcina sent? Please please please–” “With pleasure, Butterfly.” Karl enjoyed a hearty laugh for a few seconds before the chair finally decided that it had had enough.

#asks #karl heisenberg #resident evil village #heisendad #ficlet #karl heisenberg x oc

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autumn-mythos · 5 months

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WIZARDS (species)

Kingdom: Daemonium (Demons)

I'm not going to bother doing the full taxonomy

Genus: Mediocris

Species: Mediocris magus

Misfortune Wizard made and designed by @wariolandiv, drawn by yours truly

Wizards! Quite the eccentric folk. One of the more fascinating earth dwelling species, I think!

WIZARD BIOLOGY

Prank wizard, made, designed, and drawn by yours truly

Wizards are most notable for their odd, darkness producing bodies and their potent magic producing organ! Their physical structure is difficult to analyze with the naked eye, but it's actually quite similar to their evolutionary cousin, Everymen! Very simple bodies indeed, almost stick figure-like. The origin of their darkness producing skin, however, is of much debate within the scientific community, but the leading theory is that they produce an aura of darkness to hide from predators in the wild! It's also theorized that the glowing facial features are so other wizards can recognize each other within the dark. Of course, this doesn't really hold any bearing nowadays in the era of modern society.

Gun wizard, made, designed, and drawn by @gritzy404

Wizards are born with a genetic mastery over a specific type of magic, called their 'domain'. A wizard's domain can be just about anything! Pranks, Glass, Obsidian. Rubber, Evil, Clowns, truly everything! Some wizard domains can have a truly devastating level of potency, a wizard's power can occasionally match the power of an Angel!

Magic Trix, also known as Clown Wizard, made, designed, and drawn by @cirsine

WIZARD CULTURE

Wizards tend to be far and few between, among the rarer species on earth. It's considered culturally important to wear a floppy, conical hat or large hood in wizard culture. It's common among wizards to form a group called a 'coven' and base their lives around that. Wizards are hard to truly pin down in terms of culture; they take their domains very seriously, and live among the other species within society. A wizard's name is simply their domain followed by "Wizard". It's not uncommon for a wizard to choose their own name, however.

Sweater Wizard, also known as Lace, made, designed, and drawn by myself.

#Autumn mythos species #Autumn mythos wizard #Wizard #Wizardcore #Autumn Mythos #Pathfinder 2e ancestry coming eventually?#Probably?

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bigbellybelle · 6 hours

Text

Getting fat is super fun obviously, but no one tells you how many things just straight up will not fit you lmao. Like I wanna buy a bunch of crunchyroll shop stuff, and there's this super cute Inuyasha sweater I want for the winter, but it's just too small even at the biggest size!!! (They had up to 2x and I am regularly finding out 4x is getting snug) Then I saw the new JoJo part 5 ring set and said oooo I want those. But my fucking hands are too fat for most rings.

Which whatever. Mass produced shit is always smaller and not built with bigger people in mind. So I find this adorable yuji itadori jacket with the hood and stuff and I desperately want it and it's from this amazing small business. And then I find out the biggest size is smaller than crunchyrolls 😭😭😭

So yea don't get fat if you like widely available merch (still super hot though)

#getting bigger #squishy #fat piggy

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pan-fried-autism · 1 year

Text

Lab Accident - Chapter 2

Characters: Swap!Leonid (@bowlerhatwearer), Mothgo (@sallychaosaura), The Swap Harris Family

Summary: Leonid starts properly investigating Ms. Mewtons dissappearance.

TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: smoking, implied child death

14 was the number displayed on the house.

Leonid, in his running Prius, stared out at the house before nodding sagely to himself.

14 [STREET NAME], he thought. This is the place.

He put the car into park and exited through the driver side door. He walked up to the house, taking in the scenery.

The house was a one story, and kind of small. The siding was painted a dark olive green, and the lawn seemed to be freshly mowed. Not completely mowed, though— there were still patches of over grown grass strewn throughout.

In the driveway was a grey VW Beetle. There was a dent by the front bumper, two strange dents on the top of the car above the driver side door, a small crack on the left rear view window, and— a little worryingly— a row of claw marks on the hood.

He walked up the small pathway connecting the front door to the driveway, passing by a large window. He took a look in, seeing counters, a sink, some dirty dishes, and a small view of a stove top— definitely the kitchen. Further into the house, he could see a table with four chairs.

Approaching the front door, Leonid noticed the small window it had. He couldn’t see through, though. Too dusty.

Finally, he knocked.

A voice rang from inside the house. “One moment!”

The voice was… a little odd sounding. He couldn’t put his finger on why.

Somewhat loud footsteps echoed up to the door, where it swung open…

… and a sight to behold stood staring down at him.

A very tall robot, at LEAST 7 feet, was cramped down in the doorway. The head was like a TV, only orange, and there were two things on the sides of her head with heart designs on them. She has antenna, too. Moths eyes were heterochromatic, one being orange and the other blue.

Mang was wearing a purple sweater, a dark purple skirt, and darker purple pants. She also had… wings? on her back? They were strange— they didn’t look metallic at all. They looked real.

One thing Leonid knew was real, though, was the tired expression on the robots face.

Leonid knew he was staring, gawking even, but... what else was he supposed to do? He'd never seen someone such as her before.

He managed to collect himself, though, and stood firmly before speaking.

"Good morning."

The robot stared at him, suspicion breaking through her tired haze.

"Good morning. Who are you?" moth replied.

Nikolai reached into his pocket and brought out his badge. "Leonid Aksakov, private investigator. I'd like to ask you some questions."

The tired expression turned into a sad one.

"... This is about Gremmy, isn't it?"

"Yes, if you're referring to Grementine Mewton."

"I am. I thought the police investigation already ended?"

"Well, an anonymous client claiming to be her friend has hired me."

Mothgo got a thoughtful expression on her face. She shook it off after a second and stepped to the side. "Come in."

And so he did.

The walls of the living room and dining room were a light blue in colour. Facing Leonid was a hallway, and on the left side of its entryway was a bookcase. To the left of that bookcase, against a different wall, was a faded yellow armchair with its own end table and lamp. Looking further to the other wall, he saw what he guessed was the heart of the living room-- a TV on a long stand, a coffee table, and an off white couch. All on a diagonal angle, for whatever reason. There was a small wooden cabinet on the ground, too.

Looking to his right, he saw the dining room table again. It was a bit small, only able to have four chairs.

One chair seemed pretty dusty.

The house, though nice, had a strange feeling about it. Like something was deeply wrong, and it couldn't comprehend what it was.

Mothgo sat down on the couch, and Leonid followed suit. He produced a small notepad and pencil from one of the pockets of his jacket.

"Before we begin, Miss, I understand there's another robot that lives here, too." he spoke.

"Yeah, M0u5e. She's over with the lady who rescued her all those months ago." she replied.

Leonid wrote that down.

"Okay, Ms... Mothgo. I have a few questions for you regarding Ms. Mewtons disappearance. I imagine you may have heard some of them before."

Mothgo shifted a bit in spot.

"... Maybe. But I'll answer your questions."

Leo nodded, and flipped a few pages back. He cleared his throat before he began.

"What was Ms. Mewton like?"

Mothgo looked down at her hands, a pained smile forming on mangs face.

"Gremmy is... She can be cold at first, but she can be really nice once she warms up! She's very kind and sweet! She took me in when I needed help."

Leonid wrote as she spoke. He began again.

"What is your relationship to, or with her?"

"She's my best friend! I care for her very much! I..." her hands shook a little. "I've been trying to fly around to look for her, but I also have to care for M0u5e and the house, and the job I took up when she di-disappeared... It-It's so much to do at once, and I'm just one person..."

"What job did you take up?" he asked, giving her a sympathetic look.

"It's at the- the pet store she worked at. I'm the mascot and security guard."

"Mm hmm."

He wrote this down as well.

"When did you see her last?"

"I last saw Grem on November 16, 2027 at noon. That's when she and M0u5e left."

Scribble scribble scribble.

"Did you know of her weekend plans?"

"Yes! She and M0u5e were going to the northern region to see her friend Nikolai.--" (A sudden cold feeling went through Leonids veins.) "I wanted to come, but couldn't because my wings don't do well with the cold. I... I wish I had just toughed it out. Maybe if I did (sniff)... she would still be here..."

Despite the horrible feeling Leonid had, he still reached over and gently patted Mothgo on the shoulder.

"None of this is your fault, Ms. Mothgo. Nobody would have expected her to go missing."

A tear fell from moths eye... screen eye thing, which she wiped away.

"Thank- thank you." she wavered out.

Leonid returned to writing.

"Now, finally; Do you know anybody who may wish ill on her?"

Mothgos demeanor changed in an instant. The sad expression upon mangs face/screen changed to one of contempt and anger.

"Yeah. A few people. One in particular." she spat out.

"His name is Jackson Harris, he's Grem's ex-boyfriend. He's fucking disgusting. He bothers Grem like every fucking week! She broke up with him in high school!... HIGH SCHOOL!! Talk about stalker behaviour! She made it clear she's not interested, but he still bothers her! If anyone did something with my Gremmy, it's him."

Leonid took many notes, making sure to put simple dashes for every time Mothgo swore. The amount of vitriol she held for Harris was almost... scary.

It gave him a bit of a lead, at least. That's twice somebody mentioned a Jack or Jackson in negative relation to Ms. Mewton.

He closed his notepad and put it back in his jacket as he stood up.

"Thank you for your time, Ms. Mothgo. Would you happen to know where he lives?" he inquired.

"Yeah, at least Grem did. She has it written down in case she ever needed to call the police."

Leonid couldn't help but grimace slightly as Mothgo speedwalked to the kitchen, returning after a second with a small slip of paper.

Looking over it thoroughly, he nodded once more and headed to the front door.

"Thank you again, Ms. Mothgo."

"Of course, Mr. Aksakov."

Leonid stepped through the doorway... before stopping a moment.

"Oh, there's just one more thing."

Leo hurried to his car, went through a few things, and returned to the house after a minute, an envelope in hand.

"Here." he handed it to the hybrid robot.

Mothgo carefully opened the envelope flap...

and found enclosed some money.

"You sound like you're in need of help. I hope this makes this easier, if only a little, and if only for a while."

Mothgo looked up and gave him a soft smile.

"Thanks!" she chirped at him.

Leonid nodded and turned around, but stopped just short of the doorway when he heard something from behind him.

"... Detective?"

He turned around, promptly being met with a pained expression. Mothgo spoke one more time to him.

"Please, find my friend. Please."

Leonid gave her a quick nod before leaving.

He went to his car and hopped in, starting it up before driving away. Thoughts swirled in his head.

That's two people who deeply cared for Grementine... three, perhaps, if I could talk to her assistant. Her friend seemed horribly stressed with her gone.

... I hope she's okay. I hope they'll both be okay.

.............

Detective Aksakov parked his car. He got out, facing the house before him.

It was a two-story row house in a neighbourhood downtown. The white coat of paint on the siding seemed fresh, as did the blue paint on the gable of the roof. In the driveway was an orange Toyota brand minivan. There was a kiddy pool in the small front lawn as well, for whatever reason.

Leonid walked up to the front door, having to tread on the freshly mowed lawn, seeing as there was no pathway.

He approached the door, knocking swiftly. From inside, he could hear the very faint sound of a baby fussing, quickly drowned out by footsteps.

Alright, Mr. Harris, he thought. Let's see what you're li--

A woman answered the door.

She had the facial shape and ears of a hare, but not only did her nose more closely resemble that of some kind of ungulate, she had antlers sticking out of her head. Her fingers ended in small hooves, too. In her arms was a very small boy, looking to have just reached toddler age. He had tiny little horn buds on his head, longish ears, digitigrade legs, hooves, and big eyes. Big eyes that never looked away from Leo.

He could hear the baby fussing, too.

This took Leo off his guard for but a brief moment, though he very quickly tried to collect himself.

"Does Jake- (damnit) does Jack Harris live here?" he asked awkwardly.

The woman cocked her head at him.

"Who are ya?" she inquired back at him in a thick Midwest accident.

Leonid took out his badge once more.

"Leonid Aksakov, private investigator."

"Ah. Yer looking for my cousin."

"Right. Does he live here?"

"Nope. He moved out a few months ago, and my uncle John-- his dad-- let me and my crew move in. Good thing, too, we needed the space. He had a lot of weird..." she trailed off as she looked at the toddler in her arms. "... stuff in his house, for whatever reason."

Leo sighed a bit.

"Ah... do you know where he moved?"

"Nope. Dunno."

Oh.

"Well... can you maybe give me the address of his father?"

"Oh, sure! He and Aunt Tu live up in Hometon, in the Upper Hills section. 3 [STREET NAME] to be exact."

"Alright, thank you, Ms..."

"Paula Lopez."

"Ms. Lopez. One more thing, what do you mean by 'weird stuff?'"

"Lotta weird pictures of some chick. Threw em all out, they creeped the.... the uh, devil out of me. Now if you excuse me, one of my little ankle-biters needs some TLC. Bye, now!"

The little one in her arms waved at him as she closed the door.

Leo walked back to his car, thinking about Ms. Lopez's comments.

He had a lot of weird stuff... lotta weird pictures of some chick.

It gave him a sour feeling in his gut.

Maybe a little trip out of town may help him. A quick google search too-- hes seen the name Harris in clothing stores before. Who knows?

...............

Geez, I can see why the area is called Upper Hills, Leonid thought as he drove up a road surrounded by large, fancy houses.

He was almost amazed at some of the things he saw-- fountains in the front yard, gated blocking the driveway, a small tennis court in front of one particularly grand house. It would be truly amazing if Leonid didn't feel looked down just by driving through.

Eventually, though, he pulled up to the Harris house.

Well... a little too big to be just a house. Thought only two stories, the house AND property were quite large. He could even see a second floor balcony! Didn't feel big enough to be a mansion though... he'd just stick with manor for now.

Water sprinkled lined the expansive front lawn, going off back and forth while Leo walked up the cobblestone path to the front door. A few small yet intricate marble fountains sat in front of the railing of the front porch, with its swinging bench and everything.

As he did, he took out a cigarette.

The driveway was something to write home about too-- there were four whole cars there. A very nice looking minivan, a Honda Civic, a blue Tesla Model Y, and to top it all of, a 2009 Honda S2000 CR. Leo had heard about those cars-- they cost nearly a quarter of a million dollars nowadays,

He didn't like it. He lit the cigarette in his hands as fast as he could.

He walked up the brick steps to the porch, taking note of the silver knocker on the door and the large window it was in the middle of. He couldn't exactly see through it, though-- the windows were stained glass.

Taking a puff from his cigarette, he took the knocker and gave it a good wringing, listening to the strangely clean sounding knock it produced.

He heard the footsteps approaching unusually fast. Perhaps Mr. Harris was nearby when he knocked. Ah, well, at least he didn't have to wait so long for hi--

The door opened. This time, he was not met by an adult.

Rather, a child. A young girl to be exact. She seemed to be a hare of some kind. She wore a long sleeved striped shirt and a denim skirt, and she looked up at Leo with her inquisitive eyes.

Leonid looked at the child with what he guess was a "deer in the headlights" look, not saying anything for a moment. He tried to compose himself once more, exhaling the cigarette smoke away from her direction before clearing his throat.

"Hello... are you John Harris?"

He had not composed himself properly.

The girl blinked at him. "Which John Harris? We have two." she replied.

Leo pinched the bridge of his nose, damning his stupid question before he took a breath and spoke again.

"... Whichever of the two is the father of John Harris." he explained, promptly taking another drag off his smoke.

This would prove to be a mistake when the girl was silent for a moment before turning around and calling out,

"DAD! There's a fancy man at the door and he wants you!"

Leonid nearly choked on the cigarette and went into a coughing fit while the girl scampered away. Luckily, it ended before another person appeared at the door.

He looked to be somewhere in his early 50s, and wore a fleece vest over a long sleeve button up shirt. He wore black slacks and loafers, and had a very expensive looking watch on his wrist. Unusual for a warm day in May.

The man cleared his throat.

"Good afternoon, sir. I'm John Harris Sr, the one you seek." he introduced himself, a haughty tone coating every inch of his voice. "What is your business?"

Leonid, already regretting coming here, took out his badge yet again.

"Leonid Aksakov, Private Investigator. I'm looking for your son... Jack Harris." he announced.

John put his thumb and finger up to his chin, stroking a little.

"A detective, are we?" the hare responded.

"... Well, I might as well let you in, sir. I'll have to ask that you cigarette, though."

"Of course, Mr. Harris."

The detective looked around, but found no ashtray. He looked up at John awkwardly, murmuring a little before coughing into his fist.

"Any place where I can extinguish it?" he muttered sheepishly.

John waved his hand dismissively.

"Just stamp it out on the doorstep. Our groundskeeper can take care of it later." With that, he walked back into the manor.

This guy had too much money, Leonid thought, though out loud he simply said "Alright, sir." He threw the cigarette on the ground and snuffed it out on the ground, before wiping his feet on their welcome mat and walking inside.

The walls were a creamy yellow colour with a dark oak trim, and a fancy hallway table with pictures and ceramic figurines. Throughout the entryway and hallway, paintings and photographs were hung upon the wall. There was an entryway to some sort of red room with the same trim.

Something told him they were rich.

As Leonid hung up his coat on the standing rack, John turned to him with a somewhat smug look on his face.

"Now, as you are a guest in our manor, we need to make you feel welcome. Tell me, do you like biscuits?"

Snob. Of course he offers me biscuits. He'll probably give me a cup of tea, too.

"Of course, that is a very generous and kind offer, Mr. Harris." Leonid replied out loud.

John clapped his hands happily.

"Perfect! I'll get my wife to put on some biscuits and tea for us, you go to the sitting room and I'll gather the family."

John darted down a hallway and into a doorway, giving Leonid some space to sigh and rant quietly to himself.

"Of course he asks his wife, why am I not surprised that Mr. Can't-Even-Tie-His-Shoes-By-Himself Harris orders his wife to do that for him?"

He started toward the sitting room, still ranting.

"... And NOW I get to meet his family. What is this, The Sound Of Music??? Well... at least maybe I get to find out more about Jack through this. Just act polite and friendly, and ask the right questions... then you're out of here. Hopefully that is soon."

Suddenly, Leo heard John talking to someone down the hall. The voice sounded like that of a young woman.

"Julie, get up from your chair! We have an important guest over."

"Dad, I'm working on an essay!"

"It can wait, Juliana. We must be polite."

"Ugh, FINE."

He couldn't help but sigh again.

"This is why I prefer when people come to my office, instead of doing field work... especially when it's guys like him..." he muttered.

His hand unconsciously reached for a cigarette. It stopped once he realized.

He already wanted to leave.

.....

A few minutes later, Leonid was sat in the sitting room.

The wood trim of the walls was now white in color, and the paint was a bright inviting yellow. He was sat on a white couch with a floral print. In front of him was a white coffee table covered in a silken tablecloth, and across from him in a chair was Mr. Harris.

There were other things too, of course-- on the wall to his left was a big white mantle-place holding many photographs and trinkets, along with a childs drawing taped to it. Next to that was a grandfather clock. On the wall to his left was a loveseat similar to the couch, and above that was a large amount of portraits.

He found his interest drawn to these. At the very top was a wedding photo and a large family photo. Below these was a series of photos forming a rectangular shape. The frames were interesting-- they contained two pictures instead of one. On the left side of each frame was a photo of a leveret, and on the right of each was what he guessed was a recent picture of each leveret. One only had a photo of the leveret for some reason. All in all, there were 12 people depicted. Next to the frame in the top right corner was a 13th picture of a leveret, though this one was lop-eared and french gray in fur colour.

Leonid's best guess was that these were his children. Definitely shocking to see, at first, but he figured he must have wanted a large, influential family. Still didn't make it any less surprising.

Other people were in the room, too.

To the left in front of the mantle-place was a miserable young woman slumped in a chair. He guessed she was the one John had been talking down to— he knew the look of someone who had been talked down to by their father. She kept shooting dirty looks at John, who either didn't notice or didn't care.

In an armchair next to John was a young man in a Supreme shirt typing on his phone.

Leaning against the right wall was a teenage boy in what he guessed was a basketball shirt and sports shorts. From the looks of it, he'd been practicing, as evidence by the Gatorade he was nursing.

On the loveseat was the young girl from before, though this time she was joined by a younger boy. He had a Bluey shirt on, and shorts held up by suspenders.

Both children were staring at him. He couldn't help but feel uneased.

He waved to them politely, unsure of what to do about them. Maybe John Sr. was gonna introduce them? Again, he wasn't sure. He didn't even know if he should say anything.

Luckily the problem solved itself when the little girl asked, "Are you a detective? Like on the TV?"

Leo breathed a sigh of relief and formulated a response.

"Well... yes, in a way... but my job is not as exciting as the television makes it appear to be. It involves a lot more paperwork."

The two children gave him a look of surprise and happiness, clearly in awe regardless of what he said.

"That's so cool..." the little boy marveled.

Leonid returned with a polite smile.

John piped up all of a sudden.

"I imagine you're wondering who the young people here are. They're my children, of course!"

"Oh, I see." Leo calmly replied, though he thought to himself 'As if I would have never guessed that. You literally told me i was going to meet them.' "You must be very proud of them."

John pointed at the people around Leonid as he replied, starting with the young woman. "This is Juliana, Johnathan (named for myself), Jacob, Jillian, and little Joey.

"They aren't all of my children, of course. You can see the others though, right above Jill and Joey."

Saying this, he gestured to the many photos Leo had seen earlier.

So I was right.

"Ah, thirteen wonderful children, I see!"

"Oh, just 12. The grey one is my grandson."

Leonid nodded in understanding.

"I see you have quite the large family... and that the branches of your tree have grown wide; but I should not expect anything else. I have, after all, heard about the famous Harris family. How an ancestor of yours founded a shoe factory that continues to this very day... together with the manufacturing and distribution of socks, a branch that was added later."

John sat up might and proud, snootier than anything.

"Yes, my great-grandfather Peter. I'm the current owner of the show factory, and will pass it down to my oldest and his family. I have many children with their own pursuits in success. Most of which have succeeded."

Jill, the little girl, butted in all of a sudden.

"Can I do the name thing, Dad?"

John Sr. smiled at her. "Only if our guest wants to see."

Both looked at him expectantly.

Leonid hadn't the faintest idea what she was talking about, but decided to reply with an "Oh, yes." It probably wouldn't be good to be rude to the young daughter of a man who makes enough money to look down at you simply by giving you food.

Cheerfully, Jill stood up on the love seat and started pointing at the photos, reciting what must have been an oft said phrase.

"Jack, Janet, James, Julie, Jenny Jared and Johnny, Jake and Jorge, Jill-- that's me, Judie-- she was my twin, and Joey!"

Leonid felt himself flinching internally at the was, and couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness. He didn't want the family to see this, though, so he smiled politely and nodded.

"Wonderful! All of them are great names."

He turned to John Sr. "I assume, Mr. Harris, that it was you who has chosen the names of your children... and/or had a say in it?"

"Well, yes, most of them. I did wish for them all to start with J, but of course my wife had a say in the matter."

Leonid nodded again, looking back at the pictures, whispering "What a fascinating family..."

His volume returned to normal as he spoke to John again.

"Mr. Harris," he began, "As you have already guessed, I have come for this visit for a specific reason: It is about your oldest son, who is Jack I presume? I will leave it up to you if you prefer your children remain here. Or if we should talk in private."

"I agree. I think it would be best if—“

John was interrupted by a woman entering the room.

She seemed to be the same age as John Sr, and wore a white turtleneck sweater with a knee-length chocolate brown skirt-- 'perhaps they aren't aware of the concept of heat?' Leo thought briefly-- and was a carrying a tray with biscuits, teacups, and a teapot.

She gave Leonid a friendly smile, greeting him with “Hello, sir.”

Leonid gave a smile back.

“Greetings! You are Mrs. Harris, I presume? I would like to thank you for your hospitality, and your biscuits and tea.”

She nodded, setting the tray down on the coffee table. The biscuits seemed to be half dipped in chocolate, and were in funny little oblong shapes. Jill and Joey immediately went for them.

“Yes, that’s me.” She confirmed. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

She grabbed a chair from the corner and pulled it next to John Sr, sitting down as he spoke to her.

“Not at all, my flame. Detective Aksakov has some questions for us regarding Jackson.” he crooned, putting his arm around her.

Petunia smiled and gave him a kiss, before pouring up some tea. She gave teacups to herself, Julie, John Sr, John Jr, and Leonid.

Leonid gave her a polite nod as he took a sip of the tea. It tasted something like white tea, but with a strange yet nice floral finish.

“The tea tastes wonderful… thank you. Now, Mr. and Mrs. Harris; due to a current investigation, I thought that Jack… Jackson could perhaps help me with some questions.

“I understand that you might be curious as to what this investigation is about, but I am afraid that I am not allowed to talk about it. My apologies; but—“ He looked at John Sr.— “You probably understand how it is with business and NDAs. In my field, it is like this as well. I wanted to talk to your son, but I was unfortunately unable to reach him. Given that you, as his parents, are his closest relatives, I thought you might perhaps know how I could reach him.”

John Sr nodded, replying “I understand perfectly. He’s QUITE far away, sir.”

Leonid raised an eyebrow curiously.

He sat up a bit, clapping his hands and looking around at his children in the room.

“Alright, children— leave. This is a private matter.” He announced firmly.

The Harris children got up saying various things— Leonid swore he heard Julie say “finally”— and soon, the three adults were alone in the room together.

"Is he currently on a business trip?" Leo asked once alone with them.

John chuckled a bit. "Oh, Gary hardly hosts any business trips these days. It's different; Jack moved."

"Moved... I do have to say, this does surprise me a bit... after all, from what I've heard, Jack worked in the... if I may say family business; so again, I do have to say it surprises me to hear this, Mr. Harris."

Leonid didn't EXACTLY hear. Jack was mentioned on the company website and the Wikipedia page. Best to act he knows and suspects nothing.

John curtly nodded. "Yes, it was strange for us, too. He said he 'needed a fresh start'. Perhaps he's looking to start his own branch of the business."

"We're looking to book a flight for next month to visit him. He said he'd have something nice to show us when he got there." Mrs. Harris added, before asking, "Would you care for a chocolate ladyfinger, Detective?"

"Of course. Thank you Mrs. Harris, that is very kind of you." he replied politely. He was having some thoughts regarding her addition, however.

'Hmm... this might have just gotten more interesting than I thought.'

Speaking out loud again, he said, "I see... you both must be very excited to see your son, right?"

"Yes, very excited. He never said what it WAS that he was going to show us, he wants it to remain a surprise." John replied quite matter of factly.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Harris picked up one of the ladyfingers and put it on a napkin before handing it to Leonid.

He looked at her. "Thank you." he said.

He took a bite of the biscuit-- it tasted almost exactly like sponge cake, save for the milk chocolate coating.

"Wonderful... absolutely wonderful, this biscuit... I am certain that Jackson has his reasons to keep this surprise a surprise... and wanting to wait before showing it to you." he remarked, nodding a bit.

Petunia gave him a proud smile, obviously taking pride in her lovely ladyfingers.

"You're welcome, detective! Though I still can't help but wonder what it is..." she queried.

"If he is keeping it this much of a secret, then I assume it is going to be very exciting." he suggested, taking another biscuit.

"Did you have any other questions?" John asked before sipping his tea.

Leonid hummed a bit and gave his answer. "Well, I wanted to talk with your son, but I guess that given how he has moved away, this is not possible. But thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Harris, for answering my questions and introducing me to your family; and thank you, Mrs. Harris, for the tea and biscuits."

John said nothing, before giving Leonid a little smirk.

"If you want, I can tell you where he is."

This made the detective sit up expectantly.

"You would? That... that is very kind of you, Mr. Harris. Thank you very much."

The middle aged man took a page of card stock out of his vest pocket, along with a fountain pen, and wrote something on it. Once done, he passed it to Leonid.

The detective took a look.

New AndaAnderville, British Columbia, Canada

Leonid couldn't help wrinkling his brow in confusion.

Canada... why did he move so far away?

Shaking his head, he simply put it in his pocket, before giving a slight yet genuine smile and talking again.

"Thank you, Mr. Harris, I can assure you that this helps me a lot. I am confident that when I meet your son, he'll be able to answer the question that I have. Thank you very much for your help."

"You're welcome, Detective Aksakov. Feel free to stay as long as you need to."

Leo finished his tea and second biscuit and got up, still smiling.

"Thank you for the kind offer, Mr. Harris, but I think I've taken enough of you and your family's valuable time. I don't want to take any more away from it." He admitted to them.

"You're welcome again, Detective Aksakov." Petunia said warmly.

"... and thank you for coming over!" her husband added.

Leonid got up and bowed. "Thank you for your kindness, Mr. and Mrs. Harris."

As the detective left the house, he was already thinking of his next move, and what it was gonna be.

First, though, he'd have to find the next flight to British Columbia.

#mothgo gets paid 4k for every scene shes in #lab accident #fiction #story #swap au #swap!leonid #leonid akdow #mothgo #the harris family #tw smoking #tw implied death #julie harris

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frogwithhatto · 2 years

Text

IV has a surprise for you

Pairing: IVxreader, reader is gn/no specific pronouns are used!

Summary: after having a busy week IV has a gift for you. (This summary is so bad but I swear it’s exactly that)

Tw: none? I think (please correct me if I’m wrong), a dash of suggestiveness at the end

Notes: had to get this one out because I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Enjoy! :)

The weather outside was gloomy. The piercing wind had seeped through your layers of clothes on your way home and the dark clouds promised rainfall. You take in a deep breath glad to finally be home as you closed the apartment door. The warmth (and lack of wind) instantly relaxing you.

It had been a rather tiring week for you and you were happy to finally relax and try to avoid going outside for most of the weekend. The weather was supposed to stay inclement anyway.

You start to remove your jacket and shoes shivering at the loss of warmth when you notice that your prediction had proven true as droplets of rain started hitting the window.

Making your way towards the bedroom in the rather small but comfortable apartment you and IV shared you hoped he wouldn’t get caught in the cloudburst. Deciding to change into something more comfortable you opt for a pair of sweatpants and one of IV‘s hoodies. It was a bit oversized on you the sleeves going a little past your fingertips. You pull the collar of it towards your face burying your nose and cheeks in the soft fabric. Closing your eyes you inhale, his scent makes you feel warm and mushy.

You two hadn’t had much time for each other this week mostly being too tired from the day and instantly going to bed as soon as you got the chance to. You had often gone to bed without him even being home yet. His rehearsals with the band lasting until way past midnight.

You think about what shows you two were going to catch up to during the weekend as you make yourself a cup of tea. Maybe it would help warm you up more quickly and if not at least you had some good tea.

You wrap yourself in a blanket as you take a seat on the couch near the window. Steamy tea in one hand and the book you had snatched from the coffee table in the other. You let out a content sigh taking a sip from your tea and opening the book. The sounds of the rain and wind from outside and the smell of the herbal tea creating a comfortable atmosphere.

——

It must have been a few hours since you initially sat down your tea was long gone and you may have nodded off a bit. The book still laying on your chest as you had covered yourself in the blanket and put on the hood of your IV‘s sweater for added comfort.

As the key turns in the lock and the apartment door is pushed open you suddenly jolt awake. It takes a few seconds for you to realise that IV had just come home. You rub your eyes in an attempt to get them used to the sudden light and get rid oft the grogginess. You stretch your arms above your head to get the rest of the sleepiness out of your system.

IV had already put away his guitar case and slipped off his shoes and jacket once you get up. He’s busy locking the door again as you wrap your arms around him from behind pushing your face against his back. „Hey love.“ you mumble most of the sentence getting lost in the fabric. He must’ve still heard you because you can hear the small laugh he produces at the nickname.

IV turns wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in for a hug. After a few seconds which definitely feel way too short for you he pulls away. „You look cute.“ he states as he taps your still pulled up hood and you can hear the smile in his voice. You beam up at him and he puts one of his hands on your cheek lightly stroking it with his thumb. You wrap your arms around his neck.

„I’ve missed you.“ you whisper.

„I’ve missed you too…So much.“ IV whispers back.

You can tell by the pained look in his eyes that he means it. That he feels guilty for coming home late more often than not. Coming home to the hallway light being left on by you so he wouldn’t enter a dark apartment and you having put a little note on the kitchen counter which told him that you had made food and leftovers could be found in the fridge. He would smile at the little doodles you put on the note and make sure to close the bedroom door with as little sound as possible to not disrupt your sleep. Not before checking on you though, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, leaving a kiss on your head and mumbling „Thanks love.“

It’s such simple words which you two had just exchanged gazing deeply into each others eyes in that moment but you don’t need more. You could start apologising and going on about why you just hadn’t had the time for the other one. But all that was put in those few words and the knowing look you shared. It was in the past and what counted was the that you were together now.

„Can I kiss you“ you ask gazing up at him lovingly. When he eagerly nods at your words you move his mask up and out of the way. Hand still on your cheek he leans down to brush his lips against yours. Your eyes flutter close and you lean into the kiss deepening it as he pulls you even closer. A fuzzy feeling spreads throughout your body and you can feel the love in his touch. The love only you receive from him and you can’t help but smile into the kiss at the thought. Your smile and the happiness radiating off of you cause him to smile as well. IV pulls away and you stare into the others eyes as you both grin at each other like idiots.

Suddenly his expression changes. „Oh my.. I totally forgot wait I got something for you!“ he states and you can feel his exhilaration. You look at him confused as to what he’s referring to. He frantically pats down all of the pockets of his pants and lets out a triumphant „Aha!“ when he finally finds what he has been looking for. Producing a flat box from one of his pockets he looks at you and smiles.

You’re still confused „I haven’t missed anything, have I? It isn’t some special day right?“ you ask starting to panic at the thought of having forgotten about him.

„No no calm down love. I just wanted to get you something.“ he tries to soothe you.

He takes your hand in his and leads you to the couch both of you sitting down opposite from each other. He tucked one of his legs in while the other one stayed on the floor as you sat crisscross your knees touching lightly. You’re curious now as to what he had gotten you but couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty for not being able to return the favour.

IV put the box in your hands barely able to contain his excitement one of his legs bouncing up and down.

„Open it.“ he urges gesturing with his hands to the box.

As you pull up the lid of the small black box in your hands he can’t help but feel a bit anxious.

What if you didn’t like it? Or worse hated it and thought it was a silly idea. No.

He stops himself he knew you would love it.

As you see what’s inside your eyes widen and you look at him in disbelief mouth slightly agape. It’s one of his most treasured possessions, one of the rings he’s constantly wearing threaded onto a slim silver chain, both had been polished up.

„I-I adore it.“ you finally burst out breaking the silence and taking the necklace out of the box. „I thought that way you always got a little part of me with you.“ he smiled as you admired the carefully crafted chain. You instantly put it on the weight of the ring sitting comfortably around your neck. IV just watches you, smiling feeling indescribably lucky.

„How do I look.“ you ask striking an overdramatic pose as you laugh at him.

„You look stunning love, as always.“ he responds and he just can’t take his eyes off of you.

You wrap your hands around his neck as he pulls you closer by your hips to straddle his waist. Your hands travel up his neck and you gently hold his halfmasked face in your hands. In that moment he feels so cherished and loved by you. IV feels hopeless as he could never put in words or gestures how much and how deeply he felt for you.

„Thank you.“ you whisper pulling him out of his own thoughts. Your faces are merely inches away from each other and he decides to close the remaining distance placing a soft kiss on your lips. It’s sweet and makes him feel fuzzy as you both pour all of your feelings for each other into it.

As you pull away he starts to place little pecks on your face, starting at your cheeks. You giggle as you playfully try to pull away nose scrunched up at his adoration. IV tries to keep you as close as possible one of his hands staying at your hip grip tightening and the other travelling up your back.

You let out a squeak as he suddenly pushes you on your back him now lingering above you. You both giggle as he pushes his face in the crook of your neck continuing to place little kisses there as well. He mumbles little „I love you“s after every kiss and every one of them makes your heart jump.

All of a sudden IV stops near your ear and proceeds to whisper something in a low voice which causes the playful energy to shift to something else…

„I wanna see you wearing nothing but my necklace at some point.“

#sleep token iv #sleep token #frog writes

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blackbutlerfandomnerddomain · 1 year

Text

Headcanons of my Danganronpa OT8-9

Firstly, Shuichi is I believe canonically bi but I could be wrong

He works as a detective after the events of Danganronpa, working along side Makoto and Hajime and Kyoko

He's married to Kokichi Oma to the public eye

Will wear suits but often wear more comfy sweaters or hoodies when he's not in the office or impressing anyone

Not the biggest fan of his edit but whatever

Was raised in the foster system after his parents were deemed unfit to raise him

His D.I.C.E. goons are actually fellow foster kids or once foster siblings who swore to protect the little gremlin without fail, they all lived a life like Robin Hood and Lil John or better yet like Peter Pan and his Lost Boys

This is their songs

Is ftm transgender and often all his clothes were stolen by one of his "henchmen"

Fell for Shuichi and Rantaro at first sight

Is bi but has a male preference that never stopped so he just says gay "with some exceptions"

Shops at Clair's

Works in a found business selling things with Miu

Is gay

Has known she he was REAL young

Actually does have a lot of siblings just knew of the twelve we got in the game

Is the second most in love out off the whole poly pile

Has scars he hides from his adventures and surviving Danganronpa now and before, his newest is the scar where the ball crushed his head in V3

Takes pictures of his partners a lot

Is the stay at home husband who cooks and cares for all of them

Looks damn good with grown out hair he says

Canonically Pan-tastic (lol)

Is nonbinary who uses mostly he/they pronouns

Married to Angie by law and public

The second big spoon when cuddling happens

After talking with everyone after the killing game sought help from his trauma and cut his family out his life officially when he began to date Angie

In real life his sister was alive but was the clear golden child who didn't get punished for what she done to Korekiyo

Works as a real anthropologist as an adult

He wears his wedding ring around his neck to make sure he doesn't lose it or it breaks

Does wear his mask and bandages still out of comforting habit as the killing game made him feel comfort in a weird way cause, as he says it, "Without it I would never met my beloveds" so he does it as a reminder

But also cause he still has anxiety related to the mask

Cut his hair with help from Kokichi a month after the game ended

Refused to touch rope for a while but would use it as an anxiety calmer after a bit

Had Himiko saved as "mummy" as a joke on his phone (based off this fic) and had to change it after a coworker saw it

Like Korekiyo she wears her ring around her neck

When they got married she cut her hair shorter for him

Does have the best relationship with her family but won't cut them out unless they say something about her dears

Owns a art studio where she does online and physicals art classes with paint and clay

Is kind of like Tamaki from OHSHC where she's a bastard affair child from a wealthy Japanese man who only came to Japan after he wouldn't produce an heir with his wife

Her school was down the road from Korekiyo's and they met before the killing game

Very opening and unapologetically pan

Like Angie she is out and proud of her being pan

Will publicly talk about her being poly

Works as a workshop turned co-owner with Kokichi in their business

Loses her shit the fastest when her partners are cute or doing something cute/amazing

She's a kiss attacker, hide your cheeks if she's near cause she will kiss attack

Is as openly dirty talking as in the killing game but was embarrassed half the shit she said and done especially towards Kiibo

"It's your birthday we are doing what you want GET IN THE CAR!"

Wants kids badly

Was raised by just her dad

Demisexual biromantic KING

Has bug related nicknames for all his loves

NO. 1 BIG SPOON!!!!

Is autistic

Actually never met his family, they left him at a young age but was taken in by a nice elderly couple

Is a real life entomologist as a job

is that husband who shoes coworkers his phone of his family while praising then to no end

Does talk like how he talks in the game and got shit on it growing up but now praise, just pure praise

Has a whole rack of weird ties and socks

Innocent roll baby TwT

Bi Queen!

Loves her single mama to bits!

Kind of is like Will from W.I.T.C.H. with Irma elements

Is writing fantasy novels in her free time

Was first to marry out of the married groups

Married to Gonta by law

Tall husband short wife adore!

Is a clingy gremlin when she's tired or needy

Has all the Percy Jackson and Harry Potter books

Randomly quotes Hermine at sudden times

Loves her dears deeply

Sneezes like a kitten

Actually had a cold during the killing game so her being tired was cause of that

Was iffy being around korekiyo after the game but fell for him fast after they talked

AND NOW-

Joined much later

Is bisexual and nonbinary but doesn't care about pronouns

I like to think he's based off a real boy like Astro Boy and Ortho so he has some memories of that time

Talks about his partners a lot the most with Gonta

As years go by both his creator and Miu helped him add thinks he wants like certain functions and feelings

Likes My Life As A Teenage Robot (yall remember that shit???)

Wants to be a parent with his partners

#danganronpa #gonta x himiko x rantaro x korekiyo x angie x shuichi x kokichi x miu #k1 b0 #kiibo #kiibouruma #korekiibo #gona x himiko x rantaro x korekiyo x angie x shuchi x kokichi x miu x kiibo #lgbtpride #danganronpa headcanons #ot8 #ot9 #my art #my edit #my edits #Spotify

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ihopeimsomeonesstellasomeday · 2 years

Text

OFF THE TABLE

Author's note: hiii! this is basically a one shot inspired by an Ariana Grande song: off the table. It doesn't include anything about her other than the producer she worked with, unfortunately. It includes Calum Hood, surprisingly, not majorly just enough to let you know he is in there somewhere. This is a work of fiction and has no truth to it. Any kind of feedback is appreciated, as long as it's kindly said. TPWK.

The rain picked up as she parked the car. The weather was just her favourite: sweater weather. Cosy enough to allow you to wear comfy clothes but not warm enough to make you sweat. So, she wore one of her favourite hoodies with simple black leggings, since she didn’t have any plans for the day anyway. It was her day off between the two cities and she just wanted to work on some stuff that has been wanting to come out for a little while now. After she killed the engine, she picked up her bag and her to-go coffee cup and opened the car door, trying to block the rain from reaching her computer. She jugged to the other side of the road where the studio stood tall. With rapid but rather short steps, she reached the studio.

“Good morning!”

With a smile and a cheerful tone in her voice, she greeted Hank, the receptionist that she became friends with since the first time she discovered the place about 2 years ago. He was a tall, lanky guy in his mid-twenties despite the image his name created. He was also a music major graduate and has been working in the studio since he was still a student. They shared similar tastes in music, and she frequently asked his ideas about the things she had been working on and bombarded him with million questions about subjects she was new in. He always looked happy to be a part of the process though, that’s why she was always looking forward to seeing him and showing him new stuff when she was nearby.

“Morning!”, he raised his head from his phone and replied with a polite tone, his eyes and smile growing bigger as he recognized the source of the sound. “How have you been?” he asked, intrigued by her presence, his phone long forgotten.

“I’ve been alright. Just same ol’, same ol’.” She replied. “How about you?”

“Ehh, the same things.” He said with a light shrug of his shoulders. “Definitely missed you though.” He smiled warmly. “Well, the feeling is very mutual. It feels like it has been ages,” she said with a dramatic tone. “Could live here if I had the chance, to be honest.”

“Okay, no need to threaten my job as soon as you step inside every time, you know?” he replied with a fake boredom and exasperation in his voice. “You’re extremely lucky I am high on demand with the jobs and not actually trying to settle down at the moment.” She said jokingly, while stepping closer to the desk. She called Hank last night to ask if there is any empty spot in the studio today for a session, knowing it is a low possibility at short notice. Luckily, he was able to squeeze her in out of the goodness of his heart.

“Yeah, yeah. One can only hope,”

She slid the bag from her shoulder and to her hand, sipping the coffee that was now cold. She shrugged her shoulders and looked up from the cup to his eyes with a competitive glint in her eyes.

“So true. Where should I head to?”

“Down the hall, room 7,” He replied easily. “Just press the button if you need anything and I’ll be of service.”

“Thank you so much, Hank.” She started walking down the hall, while a peaceful aura settled on her chest. She felt like the day ahead will be a productive and soothing one. But the main goal was to rid her mind off some intrusive thoughts. She was feeling a bit down in the last couple of days, to be exact, since the day she started to think she will never feel anything romantic for someone else ever again. The thought of looking at someone else as more than a friend churned her stomach, made her feel sick with the thought of opening herself like that again. After Calum, she was deadly scared to share any part of her past life, fearing but deep down also knowing that it would be the deal breaker. “No one wants to be a part of that.” As he put it, it made her realise no one really did. It was scary before him to open herself up anyway, because she thought it would give people power over her, and she didn’t want anyone to look at her with pitying eyes. But it felt safe when she did it, Calum made her feel safe. With his constant reassurances and gestures that made her feel like jelly inside. It made it impossible to have any insecurities or second thoughts. But in the end, it was the reason Calum lashed out and blamed it on her. He looked at her with such tiredness that she felt all the blood leave her body and a coldness replaced it instead. He asked her if she really thought he could put up with this for any longer. She was smothering him and making everything about herself. As soon as she heard him say that, her soul basically left her body. She was barely able to hold back tears while her whole demeanour changed. Her shoulders slouched forward while she exhaled, like all the strength ran away with her posture.

It didn’t matter what he said after that, because she didn’t hear them from the ringing in her ears. She just said they should end it then, she would’ve suggested it earlier if she knew how much of a burden she has been, but love is blind after all. It’s a big blur after that, she doesn’t want to relive any of that, so she doesn’t think about them often.

It probably wasn’t fair, but she reasoned by saying it was all her. Yes, Calum was wrong to lash out the way he did and was wrong when he ignored her and refused to talk to her, but it was still because of the cage she put him in. Who would want a whiny, traumatised, high maintenance girl, anyway? If you asked her, he tried to put up with it for quite some time. But after two years, he had enough. Fast forward to today, she finds herself softening while thinking about the amount of love she had for the boy. She knows it is nowhere near close to ending yet, but it still feels like it should’ve progressed more. At least more than the mess she is in right now. It has been bugging her since the time Rook said she should at least try to give other people chances. She felt like she used her only chance though. The fear of bothering people any longer made her sick to her stomach. How can someone want to be with her, even when he grew out of it.

After entering the room and closing the door behind her, she started getting the necessary items out of her bag: her laptop, her notebook, a water bottle and her phone charger. She put the phone on silent and plugged it in. Couple of sentences were written in her notebook that would hopefully be enough to build the song on. She sat on the sofa, extending her legs and getting comfortable, with her notebook and pen in her hand.

“Is love completely off the table?” was written at the top with small letters. Just like how the question made her small, like she didn’t want to say it out loud. It was scary. She was feeling a slow sensual vibe with the feeling, not surrounded by a lot of sounds but something calm. Just simple, in a way that didn’t feel at all. She just wanted the heaviness to show, without anything clouding the rawness of the lyrics.

“Will I ever love the same way again?” she wrote down. Feeling a bit more comfortable now that she started properly, breathing better too.

“Will I ever love somebody like the way I did you?

Never thought you’d be so damn hard to replace.”

She mumbled back the lyrics to herself, trying to find the rhythm that suited it best, in a low tone. She felt herself slip off from reality. She used to think controlling her feelings is her biggest strength, just a piece of cake. She was used to filtering her emotions since she was barely 14, she would spend hours on deciding on her words while talking to people, just so they wouldn’t get suspicious and ask questions. So that they wouldn’t see through her, so that they wouldn’t pity. But she lost that too with time, she couldn’t mask it anymore. The hurt, the fear, the denial, the regret. Maybe it’s because she got everything she wanted and now the absence was heavier than anything else. The greater the build, the greater the fall.

The greatness of the feeling woke something in her mind. She wanted the song to be furnished with strong and sure vocals. The opposite of what she felt.

“I swear I don't mean to be this way

If I can't have you, is love completely off the table?

Do I sit this one out and wait for the next life?”

It felt overwhelming to always be the problem. It turns the person into a stranger even when she is alone. It doesn’t feel safe anymore to do the instinctive things, it estranges you, makes you feel disgusted with both the things you’ve done and think about doing. It makes you realise you drove away every single good thing that happened to you.

“Am I too cold? Am I not nice?

Might not be quite yet healed already

Should I be goin' too steady? (Too steady)

But I just wanna know is love completely off the table?”

***

A week after her alone session in the studio, she met up with her friend Matt who presented her with different new beats he assembled. The lyrics were almost done but she still felt like something was missing. She knew she wanted a guy’s point of view in the song, but it didn’t feel right to just show it to anyone. The song became something much more intimate than what she originally thought, and that scared her. She was scared that someone would see right through her when they read the lyrics.

That’s why she decided to put it on the shelf with other songs she wasn’t brave enough to share. Well, that obviously lasted until she heard Matt’s work. He asked her if she had something that would presumably go with one of these. The paper came out as easy as it was to breathe, Matt was an old friend, so it didn’t phase her much. She was even glad that it was him that she got to work on the song with.

When they started working on the song and it paired perfectly with one of the beats with just a couple of changes, she felt the relief in her veins. Matt helped her create the other verse that would describe the other point of view. When they got most of it done and recorded, it transitioned into the strong melancholic ballad, surrounded with strong and clean vocals all over. It wasn’t usually her style, but it interpreted the emotions just right. The congratulatory pub they treated themselves with some of her friends she hadn't seen in a while was just the break she needed after the draining session.

#ariana grande #5sos #calum hood imagine #calum hood #calum hood one shot #5sos imagine #5sos one shots

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