#proportions are a lil off but shh

[me-n-michael]

has. has anyoene seen my wife. gerard. i miss her 💔

[nerves-nebula]

*POINT* I ALMOST FORGOT HI IM THAT ONE PERSON WHO LIKE RAMBLED ABT ABE THE OTHER THING I LIKE ABT HIM:

Designwise?? purely off just how he looks hes great. if i had no idea bt him id be like "yeah look at this dude!!!" but i do know abt him and its instead "Yeah look at this dude!!! he sucks!!!" and anyways. Just lookin at him.....he is Very Neat. Kinda floppy. I could probably like. Push him over. Not bc hes weak but bc hes just kinda. Gangly in a way. Not a tall skinny way but in his proportions and stuff. His forearms and legs are full of beads and if you picked him up and dropped him he would make that "shh-thwack" kinda noise like a beanie baby. He looks like his fur texture is that of a fur coat you see at a thrift store, think "wow fur coat" and you Touch it and its a lil like not Crunchy but has a Wrong texture like fake fur. stiffer? he looks like that guy in the teenage friend group who would be just Super Okay with whatever anyone did. Like if he had friends his age they'd wrestle with him and he would Barely put up a fight. If he was a stuffed animal hed be the one a small kid drags around by one limb or an ear behind them on their way to the kitchen.

TLDR Abe is full of Beads and if i drop him from high enough he kinda goes "Pwap" and stays all splayed out and limp.

thank youuu i do enjoy his design very much <3 his big paws come from him being mixed with a lynx's on one of his parents sides. i find him charming and a little handsome in a grungy 19 year old fry cook kind of way. i mean, he WAS designed to appeal to me after all, of course i love the way he looks XD

i really appreciate you writing this all out its sooo fun to read descriptions like the one you gave about fur coats at thrift stores its fantastic

[dragimalsdaydreams]

IMAGE ID UNDER THE CUT b/c it’s uhhhh a lil long, sorry.. there’s a lot of detail to cover in this one..

now u may be thinking, “Hey Ashley, didn’t you already start 2020 with fanart that riffed off the 1978 Watership Down prologue sequence, and now you’re doing the same thing again, a year later?” and to that I say sh. shhh. shh. I am allowed to draw another WD riff, as a treat

[IMAGE ID: 

a single piece of art with two panels-- a larger top panel, and a smaller bottom panel. the full piece is drawn in a style of flat shapes filled with solid blocks of color, and patterns which emphasize those shapes/silhouettes.

the first panel features Jonathan Sims, curled up defensively at the center of the panel while a menagerie of Entities reach towards his prone form from the borders-- not quite touching, but close. Jon appears here as a small, slight man with dark brown skin and darker hair. his hair is long, wavy, and streaked with grey, all pulled back into a loose ponytail. he’s got a patchy beard, and the scars he’s accumulated through s4 (worms holes on his face, knife scar on his neck, burned hand). his eyes are closed, and he’s got dark circles underneath. He’s wearing a dark green sweater, dark blue jeans, and simple loafers. the background underneath is a dark, dull purple, with a light purple gradient roughly painted around Jon.

the Entities around Jon are as follows, starting from the top and working clockwise:

a large hand reaches down, wicked-sharp claws curving smoothly from each digit, open and eager to catch. the base color is dark red, with yellow and brown patterns inside the hand-- notably daisy-like patterns centered on certain joints and the tips of the fingers

a patch of pure black drips from the corner of the frame, trailing ever closer to Jon. a few simple dots of white stars are scattered across the puddle, some with a single small ring circling the dot.

two long, dull white bones extend towards the center-- a femur at the frame of the panel, with a rib resting near the ball of the femur to extend the reach, deformed enough to curve out towards Jon. ropes of red/white muscles and tendons wrap haphazardly around these bones, barely holding them together. a few teeth are scattered in among the ropes of meat-- some incisors, some molars.

a long, spindly spider leg reaches towards Jon, ending in two pincer-like claws. the main color is bright purple, which darkens at each of the leg’s three visible joints and the claws. a few hairs dust the outline of the leg. two patches of light-silver webbing tie to the leg at two joints and one of the claws, carefully controlling its position and trajectory.

a white heart-monitor heartbeat line points straight towards Jon, the heartbeats growing smaller until they fully peter out near the center. a thicker, straight red line lays underneath the heartbeat line for emphasis.

roaring flames flicker up towards the center, just barely licking up underneath Jon and throwing out blackened embers. the base color of the flames is a bright yellow, while red and orange form central patterns.

layers of sediment stack upwards in jagged formations-- brown, spotty soil, tan sandstone, and striped grey granite alike.

a large silver knife strikes up towards Jon, contained only by the barbed wire tangled tightly around it. the handle of the knife is dark red, while the tip of the knife is covered in bright red blood, splashing out from the tip as it jabs.

a simple sky paints itself towards the center of the panel in brush-strokes of bright, clear blue, with pure white clouds floating merrily across the scene.

countless worms and maggots climb over each other in a frenzy-- a growing pile of mania and motion. some worms are a smooth and sickly silver-green, while the maggots are a segmented yellow-cream. a few tan/brown mushrooms also grow out from the pile.

a rickety arm reaches from out of frame-- a patchwork of multiple pieces of garishly-patterned cloth (purples, greens, oranges), roughly stitched over an arm frame that clearly doesn’t have the right joints or proportions. the hand at the end, however, is perfectly normal-- covered in a clean white glove and courteously offered out to Jon.

a trail of grey-white fog tumbles gently from the top corner, just barely reaching out with a thin wisp of mist.

a neon-green metal spike jabs down towards Jon, with a handful of smaller spikes extending from the main in haphazard directions, making for a hostile silhouette. the main frame is covered in simple posters and advertisements in various blinding colors (purple, orange, red, blue). a pair of red shoes hangs by the shoelaces from one of the smaller spikes, while white, wired earbuds drape limply over the main frame. (in retrospect this particular Entity isn’t as conceptually clear as I’d like, so if you’re confused, here’s an ask I answered about it)

fractals zig-zag their way towards the center, doubling back and curling around, but steadily reaching forwards. the base patterns are copied and layered over each other in offset positions like a distorted photo, all in different neon colors (yellow, magenta, light green).

the second panel features a close-up of Jon-- shoulders-up-- in the same position as before. now, however, his visible eye is wide open, framed in bright neon green, with an iris of the same color. behind him, the background is now dark green, while a huge eye with exaggerated lashes outlined in the same blinding green frames his head. Jon’s head is centered where this giant eye’s pupil/iris would be.

there is text across the full image-- dark green on top of a semi-transparent white background, overtop the image. the text is as follows:

first panel: All the world will be your enemy, Prince With a Thousand Enemies. And whenever they catch you, they will kill you.

second panel: But first they must Catch You.

the first sections of text frame the tops/bottom of the respective panels, but the last two words of the last sentence frame either side of Jon’s face in the second panel.

END ID]

[little-murmaider]

@cthene @squeeto and @failedintsave have written three distinct flavors of Skwistok Apocalypse Fic and they all live in my head rent free so I felt like doing a lil end-of-the-world scene. (If a modified version of this pops up in the Stay Alive sequel that doesn’t exist shh shh shh shut up ❤️) 

The bunker didn’t offer much in the way of creature comforts. A holdover from the Cold War, it was 1500 square feet of steel buried beneath four stories of cement. There were suggestions it had been built for a group, but there was only one bed—a twin cot that only Pickles could fit on comfortably, though Toki made due if he tucked in his knees. The bar and the armory were fully stocked. A connection to the outside world was available via a 360-degree live feed of the surface, visible from a claustrophobic surveillance room. It wasn’t impenetrable, but it was a lucky find. And until they received marching orders from Offdensen, it was home. The only spray of color amongst the sterility was a faded, amateur mural canvasing the entirety of the southwest wall. A panorama of the snowy, mountainous Montana landscape. The proportions are all out of wack: Distant trees and prominent foreground boulders seem to have the same weight and dimension. Toki sits on the floor opposite it, eyes fixed on the blobby bug-eyed buffalo grazing the sorta serene-ish tableau. He thinks of the person who painted this. How they were probably really proud of it. How making it probably brought them some form of peace. How they were long dead. The despair makes him nauseous.  Skwisgaar is curled in the space between Toki’s legs, head resting on his chest, arms wound lightly around his waist. They all agreed to take turns “keeping watch” in the surveillance room.  But everyone was on-edge, everyone was scared, everyone was a little too focused on their own anxiety to notice how deftly Skwisgaar switched shifts. His impulse to assuage the others often tipped into the unhealthy territory but in the last few weeks it had made a full tilt into self-destruction. He’d been holed up in that room, delirious with sleep deprivation, for almost two days days before Toki caught on. He was only convinced to leave when Toki started crying. (He’s not proud of that tactic, but hey, it’s the end of the world. Lots of people are doing lots of things they’re not proud of.) As he idly plays with the ends of Skwisgaar’s hair, Toki hears the echo of footfalls drawing near. They’re so swift, so light, Toki knows exactly who it is well before the worn sneakers appear in his periphery. “Hey,” Pickles says. “Heys,” Toki answers. A half-empty handle of vodka dangles from Pickles’s fingers. He tips his chin at Skwisgaar’s sleeping form. “Why doncha take th’bed?” “Nathan’s using its.” Pickles nods and takes a long pull from his drink. A beat passes.  “…That buffahlo is pretty fucked up, huh?” “I can’ts stops looking at its.” “I’ve never SEEN a buffahlo in real life but I’m,” he pauses, squinting to calculate, “73 percent sure they don’ look like that.” “Onlys 73 per-cents?”  Pickles shrugs. “I mean, hey, maybe buffahlos look exactly like that, I dunno whut I dunno.” Toki’s silent laughter shakes him. But then a muffled moan vibrates against his collarbone. “Toki?” He murmurs, sluggishly starting to rise. He code-switches on instinct. To answer in English, with an audience, is too raw. “Jeg er her.” He cups the base of Skwisgaar’s skull and guides him back to his chest. “Gå tilbake til sengs.” Skwisgaar’s hold tightens. “Lämna mig inte.” “Aldri, elskede.”  He settles against him and sighs. “Tack, älskling.”  Skwisgaar’s weight sinks into him, and after a few moments his muscles relax as his breathing falls into a slow, even rhythm. Again, it is quiet. “Whut does it mean?” Oh right Pickles is here. “Whats?” “Th’ e word and th’ a word you guys use fer each other.” Toki freezes. “At least I think they start wit’ an e and an a, I can’t be bothered t’ look up th’ spellin’ in that elven language  a’yours.” He smiles crookedly but his eyes glass over. “That and we’re 40 feet underground and th’ internet doesn’t exist anymore.” “You’ve heards us says dat?” “Dood ya do it all’a time. I may naht know what yer sayin’ but I’m pretty good at pickin’ up patterns.”  He taps out an invisible rim shot, hissing the cymbal crash as he winks. Toki briefly considers lying. But he knows it’s a waste—Pickles is primed to hacksaw through all his bullshit. “It don’ts...translates, exactly, into English.” He waits a moment to see if Pickles accepts this as an adequate explanation. He doesn’t. Toki continues shakily: “Wells, it does but nots, um, de emotion…” He scrunches his nose and starts over. “Yous don’ts use it for everybodies, yous supposed to saves it for somebody who’s really…” Sighing, he thumbs Skwisgaar’s shoulderblade like it’s a lucky talisman. “I don’ts know whens we starts doesing it.” “A while ago, dood.” Oh.

“Oh. Um. Wells.” Heat rises to his cheeks. “Elskede in Norweigian means,” he winces, “beloved, and älskling ams kinds of de ex-quibbi-kent in Swedish buts it means, uh.” He tucks his chin to his chest and shields his eyes in embarrassment. “It means darling buts you don’ts use its de way you does ins English, it’s, um...” His thumb and middle and index finger squeeze into his eye sockets so hard stars flash across his vision.  “...It’s somet’ings you use for de poirson what ams most specials to yous, likes de poirson you mights maybe marry one days wowee saysing all dis outs loud makes me feel real stupids cans I please stops?” “Okey okey.” When Toki opens his eyes he sees Pickles waving his hands like he’s trying to break up a bad smell. “Asked an’ answered.” The tips of Toki’s ears burn, a shameful sludge spreading thickly behind his sternum. He tips his head back, skull thunking dully against the wall. “Don’ts tell de guys abouts dis, Skwisgaar will nevers forgive mes.” “Nah, dood, don’ worry, this stays in th’ vault.” The drone of the overhead fluorescent lights and the muted thrum of generators thrums like locusts. Skwisgaar inhales deeply, exhales sharply, and nestles closer. Toki’s gaze darts about the terrible mural, searching for something to latch to, but his focus swings as if by gravitational pull back to Pickles’s face. When he at last resolves to glance up at him, he’s braced for ridicule. But when he does, his tension deflates. Pickles doesn’t look like he’s about to make fun of him. Pickles looks like...Toki doesn’t know what Pickles looks like. “Whats dat face?” Pickles’s smile widens, head cocking to the side. “Stops dat! What’s dat face!” “What face! There’s no face! I don’ even have a face!” He bites his lower lip, muffling a chuckle. “Awright bud, I’m naht gunna lie, me and these other dooshbeegs have had our suspicions about the, errrr aaaah...” He cinches one eye shut. “...Nature of yer relationship. But none’a us suspected you guys were, y’know…” He rolls the wrist holding the vodka, liquid splashing to the floor. Toki stares at him questioningly. “...Fully in it.” Toki blinks. “In whats?” Pickles pinches his lips and squints as if to say, come on dude, but doesn’t press further. “Welp.” He kicks backwards to push himself off the wall and stand upright. “It’s almost sunrise. Or sunset, I dunno, this steel box has really fucked up my internal clahck. But I’m gonna watch th’ sun do somethin’ wit’ Murderface until my shift on watch.” He pivots to face the long corridor leading to the surveillance room. I’ll see ya around.” He pauses. He points a finger in the air, draws a small circle, and glances over his shoulder with a small smile. “Abviously.”  He’s gone as quickly as he arrived. Toki’s attention returns to the mural. The staticky grasslands. The angular mountains. The flat plane of the lake. Toki’s not an art guy but he knows this is bad. Still, it moves him. He doesn’t understand why. Maybe he doesn’t have to. He and Skwisgaar have always talked around it. They’ve always had an understanding, leaving little secrets and codes for the other to crack. They did, mostly. It’s the same, mostly. But it’s the end of the world and Toki needs to say it out loud. He buries his face in that soft golden crown and whispers, “I loves you.” “I loves you, too,” is the sleepy reply.  He was wrong. It’s different. It’s better.  “Is likes Pickle says.” He pushes himself up to press his lips to Toki’s neck. “We’s fully ins it.”

[hearteyes-for-killmonger]

One Night Only 2, Part 7

But what DMs? Who's talking shit about me," you hiss mid-stair. He's halfway down the hall.

"Bring ya ass on," he whisper-yells and you jog over to grab his wrist demanding his focus.

"Tell me."

"I hear you," he says a little forcefully, unzipping the fly to his black Levi's and walking sock-footed into the main bathroom on the way to the toilet.

"Okay so? Why have you never brought any of this up to me? And how many of these messages you been getting?"

"Hella. Bae, get out I gotta piss."

"I need to see these messages."

"You finna see more than that."

"I don't care, I've seen your dick before.. Erik!.."

"Out," he points to the door. 

Closing it behind you, you wait in the hall while he does his business. When he opens the door he double-blinks shocked to see you standing so close, glaring up at him.

"You never mentioned it... Don't you think that's something important to tell me?"

"For what," he deadpans. "What would you do with that information?"

"Tell you I'm not cheating!"

"I know you not cheating." He says it so matter-of-factly that it catches you off guard.

"It's just odd. Someone sends you pictures and you aren't the least bit curious?"

"Should I suspect you?"

"Hell nah! I'm very loyal," you scoff. "But with all these seeds being planted in your mind, you never had any doubts about me?"

"Once or twice," he admits, his forearm now resting on the wall over your head.

"WHEN?" Your eyes are wide.

"You remember when I hit you up and you said you was at the studio, but my producer ain't see you?"

Of course I remember that.

"I couldn't figure out why you'd lie to me about something that small."

"Erik, that was the night I wanted to surprise you by having your favorite cheesecake from Sugar's because I was excited you were coming home!"

"I know that now," he smirks sarcastically. It was also the first night we played with food and sex. The cake was a mess, we had to buy new sheets. "Only reason I was trippin then was cuz three niggas DM'd me the same video saying you was in the clubs with 6lack and that I'm a simp cuz the nigga was kissing all down your neck." He rubs down his own thick neck in distaste for the mental image. "I zoomed," he pinched the air, "She looked like you, her skin and her hair. Side profile. The fucked up part was I knew through the business 6lack was tryna collab and you were on to collab with a rapper. Plus I was away for a lil bit. But I looked at that picture real close and I saw she had green polish. Last I'd seen, you were wearing white."

"I've never even- ...what? Erik! You should've told me!"

"No need. Even if the rumors were true, I wouldn't leave you.. Not immediately."

"Not immediately, but you'd dip on my ass and I wouldn't know why." That actually kind of hurts. "I mean, I do get it. Cheating is definitely my dealbreaker."

"Oh for sure. Disloyalty is mine and I hate liars."

"Wow," I mouth just staring at him. "You really never hit me with the questions.."

"I checked up on you to make sure you were straight," he straightens defensively.

"No, I know. I mean clocking my moves. You never did that."

"I'm not your last nigga," his brow raises indignantly. "You know where home is just like I know what I deserve."

"You're right, you deserve the best. You deserve me," you smile, the smile drooping seconds later. "Erik, those messages.. all these lies about me. They really bother me and I know they shouldn't and that I should get used to it but I don't like having my integrity on trial like this. I don't get why people would say so much about someone they've never met, like I'm not a person with emotions."

He unlocks his phone and taps a few times and when he shows you the screen it's his Twitter account. His DM's are packed full of people, just like yours. It suddenly hits you how you never check each others' phones. You never felt a need to check his. He puts his phone in your hand and you scroll opening a random message.  It's a nude of a blonde white woman sent with no other information. She's showing pale pink nipples and barbie proportions but he hadn't responded. The next message is one from one of his fan accounts sending him a bunch of hearteyes. He takes over the phone exiting out of that and scrolling. The next message he shows, they'd forwarded a post about you fucking 6lack with a sad face emoji.  You open it and have to admit there's a strong resemblance, but you've never, ever cheated on him.

"What the hell? That's not even me, I swear!"

"I know."

"This is raising my blood pressure."

"It goes with the fame. They always talk shit about me being a fuckboy even though I been with you all this time. It just means you're relevant."

"There's gotta be other ways to stay relevant- Shh. Wait... You hear that?"

You listen to the air. It's silent, you just noticed. You decide to peep in on the baby. He's still knocked out. Though it's quiet now, he'd slept through another World War and it makes you wonder how bad Nay and Corey have been cuttin up in that apartment for this kid to be that used to the noise. Nay probably underplayed the severity of the situation.

Erik cracks the door again concealing the baby from your sight to direct you to the stairs with a nod. Leading the way, you head down silently

in search of Anaya. She's not in the living room where you'd left her with Corey and they're not in the kitchen, his favorite place.

"Where did she go," you mouth watching Erik peep through a window and cross the room. You look through the same window, see nothing, and follow Erik as he heads to the hot tub. As you approach, you can hear noises. Splashing, plopping, moaning, and..

"Shit, y'all getting it in ain't you," Erik grins. Anaya's body melts into the water as she grips the edge of the hot tub to hide. Corey hits one more pump and she hits him, not wanting to moan.

"GET OUT," Corey yells sending a splash out of the tub in Erik's direction. It sprinkles you both, but most of the water falls back down as you hop back.

"This my house," Eriks grins.

"And I like to watch,"  you add, humored by the fact that they can't find it within themselves to stop fuckin.

"Y/N get out!" Anaya splashes, water bouncing from her arch as Corey's hips clap against her ass underwater. You laugh holding your knees so not to fall.

"Get it Nay! That's how you get baby number 2!"

"GET OUT," they both yell in unison.

Back in the house, Erik's eyes are crinkled and he's trying to contain himself like you but you're both actually children and can't stop giggling. In any case, the two seem to be alright now.

"Baby. I wanna finish this conversation." You wait beside the sink looking at his eyes. "As you know, Anaya and I made a fake page and found some of the people who be spreading shit about me. Hate pages and they're mostly mad because I'm with you."

"I saw that shit. Sent them to Quentin and he said he traced the IP addresses of the two Twitter accounts we sent him, but something ain't sit right with me." He pours himself a bowl of Cap'n Crunch and leans against the counter to eat it, smacking loudly. "Who been watching us to know my schedule.. They said some bout me leaving the house and us barely being together. My tour schedule is public but other than that don't nobody but you and my team really know where I be."

"You think it's somebody on your team doing this?"

"Nah, everybody on my team love you and glad you're here to make me more manageable. They feel like they can snitch to you to keep me in line."

That one makes you giggle.

"I think it could be someone on your team. Someone you hired." He stares through you as he chews and you wait for him to finish his theory, on edge. It's all got you paranoid especially when he sits the bowl down unfinished. "Gimme your phone." He looks serious and confused, you hand it over.

"I'll be back," he says zipping up the stairs. Within minutes he's back with shoes on fully dressed grabbing his keys. He kisses you on the cheek and you jog after him to the door.

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING?"

"TELL COREY DON'T NUT IN MY TUB," he yells back as you watch him leave.

---

With nothing to do and no one to do it with you decide working on your music is the best use of your time and return to the home studio to work on track six of your album. Last you were there, you couldn't get quite right. Erik could hear it and so could you.

Pursing your lips you slide back up to the computer, put your Drop headphones back on, and play it back. Then you add the rap from earlier and play it back wishing the team was still in the house to give some advise. Hell at this point you'd listen to Courtney, the new and improved nanny. 

Nanny...

NANNY.

Before another thought can cross your mind, you're tossing your headphones back on the table and running down the stairs out to the hot tub where Anaya and Corey are in their underwear slow dancing to Marvin Gaye. Rushing in, you immediately start looking for their phones in their pile of clothes.

"Sis. Whatcha doin," Corey asks still looking at Anaya but he can hear me ruffling through their things.

"Looking for a phone, Erik has mine."

"Under y'all coffee table," he says finally making eye contact to see your face twisted in mock disgust. "What.. don't act like y'all niggas don't fuck everywhere in this house."

"It's our house! That's okay though y'all just roll in where we nutted at, it's fine," you wave dismissively.

"Y'all can soak in where we nutted at! Have fun cuh' I skeeted all in this bih-"

"BYE COREY. Stupid ass," I mumble so he hears. I don't have time to play with him I need to call Erik.

"What bitch," he answers and you almost fire off, feathers ruffled and taken aback until you remember you're calling from Corey's number.

"Babe.."

"Y/N," his tone changes. "Sup baby, you okay?"

"Yeah I thought about what you said and the NANNY.. what if it was her? Not Courtney but the one I caught in my stuff.. Raven. She freaked me out."

"I think you might be right, I got her info from your phone. I'm headed to her now."

"You're going to her apartment?"

"Yeah, trust me okay?"

"Okay but I've got a bone to pick with her, I would've went just so I could beat her ass one time."

He snorts. "You're staying out of it. As far as anyone knows, you aren't the one who deals with this shit. You have an image to protect.. unless you wanna be painted as aggressive and reckless like me." 

"I don't care."

"Yes. You do."

"And anyway you're not as reckless as they paint it and when you are I like it," you shrug resting your hand on your hip. "You've got character.. and so do I."

"Okay well keep your character over there, you got enough drama on your name."

Hanging up with him, you realize you can't call the bitch either because her contact was in your phone, but that can't be the end of it. It's not that you don't trust Erik, you just want your one hit in. Heading to the hot tub again, you catch Anaya and Corey as they're coming back toward the kitchen.

"ANAYA."

"YES? WHAT," she asks wide-eyed like I'm blowing her high.

"You won't believe this. I think that old nanny, the one who neglected my godson to play dressup in my closet, might be the one who leaked my number."

Immediately she freezes in place. "You know you did contact her before it happened," she points at me connecting dots in her head. "She was probably the type. No, definitely. It was her ass," she nods swinging hands like she's ready to fight.

"Godson?... My son?" Corey looks interested now, chin angled down like it better be a lie.

"Anthony, nigga. I hired her to give Anaya a mental break and the trifling hoe did nothing all day but walk around my house and go through my stuff."

"She ain't even feed or change my son," Anaya adds tapping Corey on his chest. He's pissed all over again, his lip curled in disgust.

"Hell nah where she at," he frowns.

"Erik went to find her and took my phone since he figured it out first. I don't have her information."

"Hell, I do." Anaya jogged up the stairs and returned holding the sleeping Anthony and a slip of paper. "I wrote it down after what she did cause I was ready to find her ass myself but didn't wanna do it here and drag you in it, you got enough problems. Sorry for unlocking your phone, but hmm," she hums as Corey takes the slip scanning it.

"I'm glad you did it," you assure glad to have the information now. Corey's already gone and when he returns he's got your car keys in hand, storming out the front door and you jog after him with your hand out. "Uh uh! Bring my keys back!" He looks at you like you've got to be kidding but when he comes back, you snatch the house key to lock up and toss them back to him. "Now we can go!" This time you don't stop him as he jogs off. You, Anthony, and Anaya are right behind him. It's the fastest Anaya has ever put Anthony in that carseat with him waking up only to look around and out the car windows, touch his shoes, and go back to sleep.

-----

Pulling up to the address you see Erik's car and hop out the passenger side of your car as Corey leaves the car running for sake of the A/C. "Stay here with my son," he orders to Anaya, slamming the door.

"Easy. On. My. Car," you fuss rolling your eyes. The both of you jog ahead to the apartment building and there's no elevator in sight. Without a second thought, he jogs up the stairs and you follow, walking up.

By the time you get there, your legs hurt but you make it to the apartment not sure of whose ass you can beat until your legs recover. You try the door and it's unlocked so you walk in, stopping short before you turn the corner. When you peep around...  There standing with his arms folded is Erik in front of Corey who's threatening to kill someone. Never have you ever seen Corey this angry to threaten to kill someone but he's serious. Briefly you wonder why Erik's standing there in front of him like that and not brawling then you peep a little further. There's a gun pointed at them but you can't see who's holding it without exposing that you're there and coming in further. It looks like it's Raven's arm.

"You better pray you don't miss," Corey laughs behind Erik as he moves to block Corey's vital points.

"Say that to my face.. step around," the girl's voice taunts. "Scared?"

Corey is losing control and it finally hits you that Erik's using himself as a shield because the girl won't shoot him.

"COME ON," she challenges. "I don't want you here, I just want HIM," she chuckles.

"Fuck that," Erik retorts. "Never again."

Again?? You almost walk in there but stop yourself. It had to be before you. Yeah, that has to be the case.

"If you strip for me... right... now," she giggles, "I'll let your friend go. Simple.  Whaddya say Erik? I promise. Baby, I promise."

Oh hell nah.

"He ain't doing shit bitch, shoot me. I dare you," Corey jumps causing Erik to shift again.

You can't leave and you don't have a phone to tell Anaya to call 911. Besides, neither of you would respect calling 911 anyway it was already out of the question.

But you also know if the bitch is this crazy and Corey is this mad, she will shoot him dead and Erik can't move because he knows she'll shoot Corey. They're stuck and she's taking advantage. There's only one thing left to do.

"BOO BITCH," you yell running around the corner praying you don't die tonight. You anticipate her firing her gun at you and slide as she shoots.. like a boss until she fires down. You try to dodge and get hit in the shoulder before Erik tackles her to the ground almost breaking her hand to seize the gun, snatching it.

"Corey, take Y/N and go," he orders.

"Hell nah! I ain't get shot to leave I'm in this," you fuss.

"She said she ain't leaving till this bitch dead," Corey points to the woman who's pinned to the ground.

"If it's by your hand, I'll accept it," the woman on the ground laughs like a psycho.

"Harpo who this woman?" You stare at Erik's head and he looks back at you briefly, sighing in irritation.

"You wanna talk about this now??"

"Did you put your dick in that bitch? When?"

"When we separated. It was one time."

You gasp. "You was fuckin groupies while we were apart?!"

"Baby.. yes, okay. Damn."

"So what was the difference between me and them? You were really fucking random bitches!!"

"You're not special," the woman he's sitting on teases and you finally get a good look at her to realize it's not Raven at all...

"Who is this bitch," you squint looking down at her.

"SOME BITCH," he yells.

"Psycho bitch," Corey adds. "Slice her fuckin titties off yo."

"Corey... Who's this bitch," you ask.

"Superfan. Stalker ass.."

"What?" Now you're really confused.

"This was never about you. She was tryna get to me," Erik reveals.

"Cuz you fucked her," you blurt.

"YEAH. I FUCKED HER. ONE TIME."

"What you expect," Corey interjects. "I told your ass to go get him, how long you expect him to hold out. Two years? Cut him some slack. Man was going through it."

"Don't worry, I took care of him then, he'll be okay if you walk out again," the girl under Erik giggles pissing you off for the last time.

"Uh uh, Erik get up," you command and initially he ignores you, but you tap his shoulder and gesture for him to stand up.

Groaning, he gestures to your injured shoulder but steps back and the woman chuckles standing up from the floor.

"I'm a beat your ass myself. Woman to woman," you nod feeling her out to see how she'll move. You haven't been in many fights in your life, but win or lose this is one you feel like you need.

"You can try, " she shrugs and you both move trying to find that in. She raises her hands like she's finding a time to swing and you wait doing the same.

"Hit me bitch," she laughs.

"I will," you chuckle ready to boo her.

She jabs and you dodge but her follow-up hits you in the nose knocking you back and you can see Corey in the background balling his lips like a mother saying you better not lose.

She hits you again and you miss her when you swing giving her the chance to grab your injured shoulder. Yelling out in pain, you grab her and scuffle knocking her backward where gravity does the work. She hits her head on the floor and straddle her to return the hits she gave you to her face with interest until Erik pulls you off by your waist holding you back.

"Put me down, I'm a drown her in her own blood!"

"Chill bae, I called my bodyguards. They'll handle her and her funky ass cousin. We need to leave though. Let's just go home.."

You still, calming yourself and smoothing out your hair before scooting to kick her one time in the ribs, "For Anaya," and once more "for Anthony. Now I'm done."

Spinning on your heels and walking out, you head down the stairs where Corey and Erik come down right behind you.

@ljstraightnochaser