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xxblackballoonxx · 1 year

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The Heart Underneath: Chapter 30

***This fic is being posted simultaneously on FanFiction.net and Ao3. I originally began it in 2016, and then life was life, and now I’m bringing it back because it deserves to be finished! Rating M as of Chapter 10 ***

Thank you for your patience! You know I always love coming back to John and Martha.

Chapter 29 THU Masterlist

The Heart Underneath

Chapter 30: J&M Letters 8 (21 and 22)

June 10, 1917

Dear John,

Our son Eamon Michael Shelby was born at approximately three this afternoon, healthy and screaming his little head off. Will was absolutely terrified and Katie seemed more intrigued than anything else, though I’m not sure how she’ll feel once she realizes she’s not the baby of the family anymore.

It’s late evening now, I insisted that Ada bring me a pen and paper to write to you as soon as I was up to it. Polly’s acting as if I’ve never given birth before, fretting over me to the point of aggravation. I know she means well, but it’s nice to have some space to myself, with the baby.

I’m not sure yet what color his eyes will be, but they seem so blue right now. Shelby blue. The blue that I can’t ever forget, the blue that I see when I think of you, love. I wish you could have been here. To see Eamon born, to sit with Will, to make Katie laugh in the way only you can. They miss you, John, we all miss you.

Stay safe for all of us. I’m holding on to the day you can see Eamon for the first time, the day you can hold him. The day we can be together as a family again.

We love you forever,

Mar, Will, Katie, and Eamon

John wiped his eyes as he read Martha’s letter, a combination of sweat and tears running down his face. He could tell how hurriedly she’d written him, making sure the letter would go out first thing in the morning. His heart felt heavy having missed Eamon’s birth, but there was nothing to be done. The war raged on, and thousands, maybe millions, of fathers sat behind the battle lines, wanting to go home.

“Good news, John?” Tommy asked tentatively, seeing the look on his brother’s face.

“Good news, yeah. Martha had the baby, it’s a boy. We named him Eamon Michael.” John said with a smile.

Tommy pulled his brother into a tight hug, whispering his congratulations, hand to the back of John’s head. Tommy thought back to the conversation with Martha, the night he warned her that John may not make it back. It had killed him to say that to her, but he needed her to know. Still, Arthur and Tommy’s resolve had only grown stronger and they rarely left John’s side. They’d get him home, even if it neither of them made it.

“Oy, John boy, did I just hear I have a new nephew?!” Arthur shouted over the din of the soldiers around them.

“You did, Uncle Arthur. Eamon Michael. Martha said it looks like he’s got the Shelby eyes.”

Arthur laughed as he hugged John, clapping his shoulder. He looked at Tommy, who stood behind John, and the look that passed between them was very clear. John had another reason to make it home alive. Arthur felt like he was on high alert all the time now, watching over John. Watching over Tommy, even though Tommy protested. He was the oldest and it was his duty. He could never live with himself if one of his brothers was lost in this muddy hell.

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June 17, 1917

Dear Mar,

I’m so happy to hear that Eamon came into the world safely and that you are both doing well. I don’t remember Ada being born, but I do remember my mother speaking of how I ignored Ada for a solid month before coming around to the idea of having a younger sibling. I’m sure Will and Katie will adjust soon enough.

How is Will handling sleeping in his new room? He seemed to be adjusting when I left, but I wonder if he’ll be jealous now of the baby and kick up a fuss. If that happens, tell him I said to be a good boy and be kind to his new brother. I’m sure he’ll come around eventually. As much as Ada and I bicker, we’ve always been close, probably to some degree because we are the closest in age.

It’s hotter than hell must be here, it seems like we can never win with the weather. Freezing cold in the winter, blazing hot in the summer. We all seek shade as much as possible, and the mud does help to keep us from burning in the sun. As much as we all hate it.

Tommy and Arthur both pass on their congratulations, they are looking forward to meeting Eamon as well. Give Will and my Kit Kat a hug and a kiss for me. A special hug and kiss to Eamon, please tell me about me. How much I love him already. How I love them all so much.

I look forward to the next time I see you all, and especially you, my love. I’ve been thinking about the last time we were at the fair a lot lately. How you look in those white summer dresses you make. The way your hair seems to be even more gold, the freckles across your face. They make your eyes look even more green. You’re always beautiful, but you’re so beautiful in the summer, I find it hard to breathe sometimes.

I love you always. All of you.

John/Daddy

Martha sat in the late afternoon sunlight, bedroom window open, Eamon sleeping in her arms. The house was quiet, with Will and Katie napping, Finn out with friends. Ada and Polly doing the weekly shopping. Martha took advantage of the quiet to read John’s letter again, wiping tears away as she ran her finger over his handwriting.

She could imagine him, sitting miserably in the heat, face pink from the sun, his eyes squinting. He’d never done well in high temperatures, always joking that he was made for winter, with the suit styles he loved. And it was true, he looked so handsome fully suited up, layers adding to his frame, collar stays peeking out from underneath his overcoat. His peaky cap tilted to the side, looking down at her. It always took her breath away.

“Your daddy wrote us a letter, darling. He loves you very much, I promise. There’s a war going on, and your daddy and your uncles are in France, fighting … for who knows what, really, now, but it’s a very brave thing they are doing.”

Martha looked down as Eamon opened his eyes to the sound of her voice. The Shelby blue cutting through her soul like it always did. She hooked her finger into his little hand and talked about John, his eyes focused on the sound of her voice and her hair that was swept over her shoulder.

All of England swirled with the news that the Americans were on their way. Just that morning the local headlines announced in large print that the first American troops had landed in France, with more on the way. The country collectively held their breath now, waiting to see if the giant from across the Atlantic could put a stop to the destruction of Europe. To the loss of so many young men.

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WWI Historical Context:

On April 6, 1917, the United States officially declared war on Germany, with President Woodrow Wilson stating “the world must be made safe for democracy”. While the US had not officially engaged in the war prior to April 1917, US banks had given massive loans to the Allied Powers (France, United Kingdom, Russia, Italy, Japan, and eventually the US) which in turn were used to buy food, materials, munitions and other goods, largely from the US itself.

Germany had engaged in brutal and cruel unrestricted submarine warfare, sinking passenger and merchant ships in the Atlantic, much to the horror of the rest of the world. This included the sinking of the passenger ocean liner Lusitania in 1915. This was seen as well outside the rules of warfare, and became a driving force of the decision for the US to enter the war, on the basis of moral obligation. Additionally, the fear that Germany would win was well supported, and many politicians felt that if Germany won the war, Europe would fall completely. This in itself was a threat to the US and the North American continent, particularly if South America fell under German control later on.

4.7 million Americans served in World War I, with 116, 516 lost, which pales in comparison to the losses from the other major power countries. However, it is considered fact the Allies would not have lasted as long as they did without American assistance of supplies and food. It is also considered fact that the war would have ended either in a potential negotiated armistice or in Germany victory if the US had not officially entering “the war to end war” and provided military support and governmental power.

No one could’ve predicted at the time how massive of a role the United States would play just 24 years later. Least of all Germany, many historians say.

#john shelby #john shelby fanfic #john shelby imagine #joe cole #martha shelby #john shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #martha shelby fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders #the heart underneath

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brutalia-week · 2 years

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Brutalia Week is only a week away!

As always, here are the prompts:

Day 1: Masquerade | Justice League Finds Out

Day 2: Canon Divergence AU | Second Chances

Day 3: Royalty AU | Getting Back Together

Day 4: Secret Relationship | Talia Needs/Gets A Hug

Day 5: Bodyguard | "I Want My Beloved To Be Happy"

Day 6: Childhood Friends AU | Bruce Needs/Gets A Hug

Day 7: Unexpected Pregnancy | Free Space

Then the related links: About Section, Rules, and FAQ

But this time, I also have another announcement related to the shortening time beforehand!

I run a BruTalia Discord Server, and inside, I'm going to be running a little event, in hopes of not just getting everyone a bit more in the mood for BruTalia Week, but also helping my server increase in activity.

Basically, I'm going to be hosting daily writing sprint (or writing race) sessions from today until the day before BruTalia Week.

There'll be a total of seven 20-minute-long sprints each day, separated into three individual sessions. The first one will go from 10:30 to 11:30 AM EST, including three sprints (or 10:25 - 11:35 with buffer time in consideration). The second one, also three sprints, will be from 4:00 to 5:00 PM EST (or 3:55 - 5:05 with buffer time), leaving the final single-sprint session to start at approximately 8:00 PM EST.

Today's schedule is slightly changed, though. To make up for the morning session being missed, the final session will have a couple more sprints added on to it, making it 8:00 to 9:00 PM EST (or more specifically, 7:55 - 9:05).

This is all in hopes that it will help motivate participants to get more of their fanworks done in time for the week, but obviously, you're welcome to use the sessions for any of your writing projects you wish, BruTalia-related or not. In fact, if you want to temporarily join the server for this but don't ship BruTalia, that's welcome, as well (provided that you're kind, of course).

Here is the link to the discord server if you're interested.

Regardless, good luck with all of your fanworks, and I hope everyone has a good week!

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mubal4 · 1 year

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Race Wrap Up – Black Canyon 100K

We start off, as we typically do, with thanking the team over at Aravaipa Running. They put on so many great events and their staff does a wonderful job. To all the volunteers, a big thank you as well. This race has approximately 900 runners, 9-10 aid stations, plus the start and finish, not to mention all the effort it takes to set-up, break-down, clean-up; the list goes on. There are so many volunteers out there that are integral to putting on these races and we would like to say thank you very much. To those from the @AZTraileggers, specifically @MeganS & @Brian – much gratitude! Always there for encouragement, a hug, and a smile 😊! To my friend & work colleague Jenn, thank you so much again for trekking out with the kiddos, only to see me for about 10 minutes!! The energy you provided and seeing your smile provided much needed oomph! To my brother @Frank – really grateful you took a flight out here to witness first hand this wild and wacky sport. I had a very good idea that it would be an “experience” for you. What that meant I didn’t know but I had a feeling it would be something that you would appreciate. You were critical in being part of the crew and I thank you very much for helping Robin out through the day. I understand the sacrifice and work it takes, especially with a point-to-point race like this so know your efforts mean a lot to me. Robin! My wife. Who for the past 8 years since I started doing these races and the few before with the other nonsense we’ve done – you give me the strength, grit, and perseverance to keep going. Your positive and upbeat energy, no matter the circumstance during a race, whatever situation we are working through that isn’t “ideal” we do it together. No one else I would choose to have along side of me to get these done. I know it is usually never pretty. Some moments are, most are not but whatever the situation, in a race or life, we keep moving forward, left foot, right foot – I am grateful I get to do it arm and arm with you. To our youngest daughter Alaina and her friend Katherine – thanks for being there at the finish line – awesome to see your faces. And to end the gratitude to the other crew members, from afar, our oldest @Bella away at college, #ultradad @Bryan S in our hometown & @Tracy L – missed you all, thanks for the messages, words, and encouragement – love all of you.

So, how’d the race go? Well, typical except for some things that were not “ideal” 😊 This was the 3rd time running the Black Canyon 100k, fist since 2020. We had planned to run it last year but Alaina’s soccer team made it to the 2nd round of the state soccer playoffs and that game was Saturday so I jumped down to the 60k on Sunday. We though it was going to be a repeat this year and Alaina’s team again made it to the 2nd round, but the game was last Wednesday, and they lost. If they did win and made it to the 3rd round, I would have done the 60k. But as luck would have 😊, I got the full money’s worth and ALL 62 miles! We were very happy with the training block leading up to the taper 2 weeks ago. The volume was where we wanted it, factored in a good amount of vert, and nutrition was dialed in through January. At the end of January, a wedding surfaced and I began traveling for three weeks straight, which complicated things, and of course, the Philadelphia Eagles made the Super Bowl. So……….these last few weeks haven’t been as ideal as past leading up to this race 😊. Needless to say there was a lot going on but we were able to stay consistent with the training at least and we trusted it going into Saturday. However, as all these races go, you have no idea what could and will happen over the course of 62 miles.

The race got started off in an interesting manner. My wave was #2, starting at 730am. We had a shuttle that took all the runners from the drop off site, to starting line, which was about 40 minutes away. During the bus ride I typically just get things in line and rest up, knowing that we will have about 15 minutes or so at the starting line before we head out. Unfortunately, things were running late, and the bus got there at 7:26am giving me enough time to shed my sweats, throw them into a bag, and put my pack on as I am starting the race. Fortunately, there was not a moment for nerves to surface because we were thrusted into the swing of things immediately. As we meandered through the town of Spring Valley, AZ going to meet up with the Black Canyon trail, I was grateful for the rushed start because we didn’t have to wait around in 35 degree temps, thinking about things to get going! The first several miles where nice and easy. This race is very deceptive with the first half being mostly downhill and is what can break the race for many. My first time I went out way too fast and it came back to haunt me the last half of the race in 2019. I learned my lesson and dialed it back considerably and enjoyed the beginning miles. The first aid station, around mile 8, is essentially at the high point of the course and gives a beautiful shot of the valley down below where we would be running into over the next 12-15 miles. It is a great show with the sunrise and runners flowing through the trail. We also get the Bradshaw Mountains towards the west of us so makes for epic scenery. Miles 8 through 20 are very flowing, very runnable downhill trails. Some technical spots but at this point I was feeling really good and the miles were ticking off quickly. I was excited to see my wife Robin, and my brother Frank, at the Bumble Bee aid station around mile 20. This was the first time Frank had ever scene me race or even experience something like this. It was really great to have him there. He was smiling the entire time and also shaking his head at the wildness and wackiness of this sport 😊.

After seeing them, we had a nice climb out and then a pretty flat area to the next aid statin around mile 25. At this point, I hit my first dark spot. I was feeling good and there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary happening, but my mind started going a bit south. It was weird since it was relatively early in the race. I found myself thinking about times, how much more of the trail I had left to cross and knowing this race well, for some reason I was letting the future get the better of me. When I hit the aid station I fueled up and got back on the trail. Knowing that I still had another 13 miles or so before seeing Robin and Frank again at Black Canyon City, my mind was still not where it should be. At some point, I think it was around mile 26 though, I was running really well, feeling good, solid! I started to run happy. I know that may sound weird, but I was enjoying the moment, this trail, this race, this time out in a beautiful part of the world with some incredible people. We hit a jeep road and it was smooth sailing and the miles were again, clicking on by. I came into Black Canyon City to see Robin, Frank, and our dear friend Jenn with her kids. I was feeling better than any previous time running those 37 miles. I felt incredibly fresh, smiling, really enjoying all that was happening. We got things rolling with sock changes, foot care, new shirt, electrolytes, and a banana. And before we knew it, I was back on the trail running and smiling. At this point of the race, many runners tend to drop. The back 25 miles are the toughest. It is where the majority of the climbing comes, and they are long climbs and the trail is very technical. Things tend to slow down, and runners get beat up through this patch. Fortunately, outside of the 3 other times I’ve done the race, I’ve run these last 25 miles a handful of times so I felt comfortable leaving know what to expect.

Less than two miles from leaving Black Canyon City aid station, there is a small river crossing and then a long, long climb for a few miles and I could feel like it never ends. It isn’t terribly steep but it does go on. About 30 minutes into the climb, my stomach began turning south; nauseous and I didn’t feel well at all. I then remember that I really didn’t eat at the last aid station. I had an electrolyte drink and a banana but unfortunately, nothing real like I would typically have at that point of the race. There wasn’t any real reason. I was feeling good, talking with everyone, getting ready to go out and just didn’t think of grabbing any food as I headed out. That was a bad mistake considering the next aid was about 9 miles away. The climb wasn’t terribly bad but I think it was because my mind was more focused on my stomach and the way I was feeling. I did my best to navigate those nine miles but it was slow going and just kept moving. I finally got to the aid station around mile 47 and took a seat for about 5 minutes, fueled up on some good stuff, and got my mind back together. I had about 5 miles to go before seeing Robin and Frank for the last time. The sun was going down, it was getting a bit chilly, and the trail was going to be getting more technical.

As I left, hiking, my stomach started to feel better, as was my mind, so I started running again. These miles were not too tough from a climbing perspective but technical, however my legs were feeling good so I just kept going. As the sun ducked behind the mountains, temps began to drop and the trail got harder to see. I popped on my headlamp and picked up the pace a bit because I was beginning to get cold. With only a few miles left, I was moving well, stomach was solid again, and I knew I was going to see the crew very soon. Unfortunately, at this point however, my left knee went wonky! That is the best way I can describe it. Pain all around the kneecap and the tendons on both the back left and right. Not something I’ve experienced before and it seemed to hit all of a sudden! I was about a mile from the aid station, so I started hiking again to see if that helped, and it did. Slowing down however, with the sweat on my and the temps dropping caused me to get cold, so I did my best to navigate the terrain with the knee and get into see Robin and Frank. I made it, before they did actually, so this gave me time to get some warm food in me while I waited for them to arrive. We had about 11 miles left to go and I grazed the aid station table like it was a buffet grabbing as much as I could stuff in my mouth to ensure my stomach held. My energy was also low, and I was tired, so I chugged to water bottles full of Mountain Dew. Yeah – that’s right, I get to eat and drink whatever I want when I am running 62 miles 😊! Robin, Frank, and I connected. I was able to take care of my foot, change out socks and shoes, and put some extra layers on for the last push.

This last stretch has another one of those long, steady climbs, and the trail is very technical again, even more so at night. With the knee banged up a bit, it was challenging to get a comfortable stride or pace going for long periods of time. So, I did what I could – running when it felt okay, and then hiking when the pain increased. The next 7 or so miles to the last aid station was sluggish and not ideal but we were still moving forward and knew that we were well ahead of where we wanted to be so it was just about getting it done. The last aid station came about and I downed some Coke and broth for the final 4 miles. Heading back out we were on a jeep trail for about a mile so I was able to run a good amount of that and it felt okay again. Once we got back onto the trail, it was pretty smooth as well, until we hit a series of small little climbs and then things got a bit technical. It was like this for about a mile outside of the finish line but at this point, I knew the pain would all be gone the moment I crossed so I just kept running. You can hear the music and see the lights of the finish about ½ mile out and I was happy to close another race out, smiling, grateful, and a little beaten up. Robin, Frank, my daughter Alaina, and her friend Katherine where right there at the finish line with a chair and beer waiting for me!

It was a great day with awesome people. We hung out for a bit before jumping on the shuttle back to the car. Another big thank you to Aravaipa Running, all the volunteers, staff, and other runners. To the crew, both near and far, thanks for the continued support, love, and incredible energy. You guys make this wild and wacky sport so fun for me and for that I am grateful. It is never sexy or happens as planned – put that is just like life and I am fortunate to get to walk through it arm and arm with you all!

#blackcanyon100k aravaiparunning keepermoving LFRF RFP PAAZRNR ultratrailrunning

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neon-lights-stardust-nights · 2 years

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"Does someone need a hug?"

A/N: I ended up using this to further flesh out the creepypasta s/i's approximate childhood in Slender's care, with a dash of Tommy (because I felt like it.) Dmitri in "current day" as I write faer for short shit that sloshes out of my brain is 21, but for this Dmitri is only 8. Nothing to actively warn about in this itself, but if you're a regular here: you know shipcest is kinda a common vibe (and is meant to be very lightly implied here.)

Anyway if you're chill with all that, under the readmore you go!

[ask game]

The mansion was big, was empty. So of course fae thought it was an easy place to get lost in. Fae probably knew the halls better than faers best friend, because unlike Slender, Dmitri didn’t have the benefit of teleporting around all the time. Getting away from someone in here should’ve been a breeze.

Dmitri closed the door behind faerself, slow and quiet. There were many unused bedrooms in the mansion, for children Slender didn’t keep (or children who’ve grown and since moved on.) This one seemed especially old. Cobwebs practically filled the place, making the idea of walking deeper enough of a sensory nightmare that Dmitri lingered by the door to inspect the rest of the room. The bed was comfortable enough looking, an old blanket that looked like it was very nice years before Dmitri’s time thrown over it. Perhaps that wording was unkind—it was very neatly made, for a room that probably hadn’t been touched in hundreds of years (according to the assumptions of our 8 year old protagonist.)

Before Dmitri could go wondering about if the fireplace still worked, fae heard something. Holding faers breath, fae pressed an ear to the door. Footsteps… Faers babysitter? Sure enough, a voice called out: “Mitya!”

Fae rubbed at faers eyes, doing a poor man’s job of wiping tears on faers sleeve. Dmitri dared not breathe, for fear a noise above fabric rustle would attract him. The footsteps passed, and fae slowly stepped away from the door. Old, abandoned homes of spiders broke off over faer—but Dmitri pressed on. In other rooms, fae might know the place of every creaky floorboard. Fae had been living here for a few years and prided faerself on being sneakier than ninjas or assassins while inside. Within this unfamiliar room, however…

A loud creak broke otherwise perfect silence. Fae could feel it in the tips of faers ears, as though they’d tried to move like a dogs’ to capture the sound. Determined to have faers fit alone, fae made a breakneck dash to the door again. Despite the attempt, the doorknob slipped from faers hand. Just as Dmitri got there, faers red face and runny nose were exposed to the hallway lights. A little arm came to shield faers face from it all, otherwise frozen in a sea of bad options.

Of course it was faers babysitter. Sometimes fae thought he teleported more than Slender. Other times, it was great. He could order take-out, and be back before fae could even wonder how long he’d been gone. Now though?

“Now, why have you been hiding from me?”

“Leave me alone,” fae screamed back. Deciding upon the futile (yet emotionally satisfying) course of action, Dmitri dove deeper into the room. The doll simply watched faer hurl faerself through dust and cobwebs, all just to land on a bed that smelled its age.

It had been a while since Tommy had a proper tantrum to deal with.

“Now, now, Mitya…” He was still using the nickname. Fae knew he wasn’t serious yet. Tommy came over to the bed, giving off the perfect energy of a stern (yet concerned) parent. “I’m only trying to help. I can’t do that if you don’t tell me what’s wrong!”

He sounded so cheerful. It crawled under faers skin, like a long, worming insect. Perhaps Dmitri would be less bothered if it weren’t for—“it’s none of your business!”

There were two distinct options in Tommy’s head. Dmitri would like neither. The time he spent mulling them over felt like an eternity to faer, but it was barely even a minute. “Does someone need a hug?”

Dmitri flinched. A hug wouldn’t fix what happened. Slender did it with a teacup once—or at least, faers child brain just assumed he was the one who did it. Fae broke a teacup on accident when fae first came here. As much as fae expected a punishment, Slender merely scooped up all the remains. A note was pressed to the fridge door later, saying only the phrase: accidents happen. A week later, Dmitri found the teacup back in the cupboard all the rest of the tea set was in. It was different though. Dmitri could see the individual cracks, as they were all filled in with something silver and shiny. Though it became faers favorite teacup, the incident remained. The teacup fae dropped would never be a normal teacup again, it held scars from being shattered.

Yet… Dmitri practically flung faerself into Tommy’s arms. It would’ve probably jostled lesser men, but he was unmoved by even an inch from where he stood by the bed. “Good,” he said. “I was beginning to consider disciplining you as a necessary option.”

Dmitri’s blood ran cold. Tommy just laughed overhead, easily scooping faer up. “Now, Mitya, why don’t we get a snack? You can tell me exactly what’s wrong while we eat.”

#asks #anon #nothing explicitly romantic happens here but just in case #age gap ship #living doll boy #mist rolls in #thank you!#this was fun to write after waking up!

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universesmind · 2 years

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Brilliant Sarcastic Jokes That Will Crack You Up

Sarcastic quote are desirable to maintain for your arsenal on every occasion you want a clever and sharp comeback! We get annoyed, bored, or in excessive conditions, even angry approximately idiocy or lack of commonplace sense. Having sarcasm and a gaggle of sarcastic prices would be extraordinarily useful all through those times. Sarcasm is defined to be the usage of irony to convey your contempt or dislike of something. Evidently speakme, it’s pronouncing the alternative of what you need to mention to mock something, insult someone, or maybe just be humorous. Sarcastic human beings generally have sharp minds which can tweak even the handiest words into the snidest or mocking comment. So, in case you’re curious about sarcasm or want a list of sarcastic rates to maintain in your pocket, you’ve come to the right place.

1. I hate it when I go to hug someone really sexy and my face smashes right into the mirror.

2. I can totally keep secrets. It’s the people I tell them to who can’t.

3. Did you fall from heaven? Cause your face looks kind of funky.

4. If I promise to miss you, will you go, like, really far away?

5. Don’t you hate people who use big words just to make themselves look perspicacious?

6. Take my advice — it’s not like I’m dumb enough to.

7. Light travels faster than sound, which is why people like you appear bright—until they open their mouths.

8. Did something bad happen to you, or are you just naturally this terrible of a person?

9. If at first you don’t succeed, stop trying already. You’re probably dumb.

10. Not all men are annoying. Some are dead.

11. Would you like to dance? No? You must’ve misheard me. I said you look fat in those pants.

12. I always tell new hires, “Don’t think of me as your boss, think of me as a friend who can fire you.

13. When I see ads on TV featuring smiley housewives using some new cleaning product, the only thing I want to buy are the meds they’re clearly on.

14. Well, this day was a total waste of makeup.

15. I’m pretty sure I married someone else’s soulmate. If only they’d come around and take him off my hands.

#Funniest Sarcasm

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ao3screenshots · 3 years

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tag yourself

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radiosandrecordings · 3 years

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What was with Martin and Tuesdays.

He was never late for work, which managed to surprise Jon as it wouldn’t seem out of character based on the rest of his quality of work ethic. But on Tuesdays, and Tuesdays alone, he was always early.

Not only that, but he was oddly... Chipper, at 8:45 on a Tuesday, stepping into the Archives with a takeaway cup in one hand and a bag of some unspecified pastry in the other. The pastry varied from week to week.

His hair seemed to curl more than usual, like it was damp and just starting to dry, as if he’d showered not more than a few minutes before stepping foot into the Institute. Aside from his unusual sense of alertness, though, there was a contrasting weariness to his step, like his limbs were heavier than expected, or he simply didn’t have the energy to keep his shoulders up, allowing his arms to slump when standing casually.

And it wasn’t any of Jon’s business, but it was strange. And, unfortunately, Jon hadn’t spent four years in research to see something he deemed ‘Strange’ and be able to let sleeping dogs lie.

Of course, he couldn’t just ask him. That seemed like it would be some sort of workplace violation, for a boss inquire as to the activities of their employees outside of the workplace. Maybe if they were friends, yes, it would be acceptable. Tim could clap Martin on the shoulder, sling out a casual “Up to anything interesting this morning?” and Martin would stammer off a tale of whatever it was that he did in the early hours of a Tuesday. But he and Martin weren’t friends.

So he just... Did some casual observation.

Martin always seemed to have a bag with him, on Tuesdays. Just a backpack, grey, nothing strange, but he usually had a messenger bag slung over his shoulder most days. He didn’t have it on Tuesdays, though, so clearly whatever he was putting in the backpack was small enough that he could fit his usual baggage in it too. But aside from whatever the indeterminate contents of the bag were, his damp hair and weary but confident demeanour, Jon couldn’t find anything else glaringly obvious that made Tuesdays different.

Until one Tuesday, of course.

The Institute had never been terribly strict about dress codes, but that was mostly because it didn’t have to. The type of person who worked there usually had a certain demeanour about them that meant they didn’t need to be reminded what was and was not appropriate for the workplace. Some of Tim’s more colourful shirts aside, the Archives had never had much problem with this subject so far.

So of course, eyebrows were raised when on a Tuesday Martin arrived to work five minutes after Jon and approximately twenty five minutes before Tim and Sasha were due to arrive, wearing, aside from his coat, his usual slacks and a t-shirt, the front of which displayed the cover of a book Jon had never heard of.

And apparently Jon was staring, because Martin seemed to notice. “Ah, I’m sorry, I know this isn’t exactly proper of me but I forgot to pack my shirt this morning so when I was getting changed after practise I only had a t-shirt.” He made his way across the room, over to his desk. “Well, either a t-shirt or my training shirt, and I figured that might not smell too great, heh. Uh- Sorry that wasn’t-”

“Training for what?”

The words were out of Jon’s mouth before he could stop himself, damned curiosity getting the better of him, yet again.

“Hm?” Martin paused, halfway through taking his coat off. “Oh! Rowing. I go rowing on Tuesday mornings, have to be at the river by 6am. Tiring, but fun.” And that’s when Martin shrugged his coat off properly.

Ah ha.

Jon was not a person who particularly concerned himself with the appearance of others. He’d only properly, long term dated once in the past, and he’d never really held any strong feelings for anyone since Georgie. Even passing attraction, to an actor, to a model, to someone sat on the other side of the café, wasn’t really something all that common for him. But he was half convinced, if his life was a cartoon, that viewed from the outside in that moment there would be three small stripes of pink, purple and blue over his head. Because Martin Blackwood had arms.

Well, yes, obviously he had arms. But they were... They were nice arms. In a way that Jon was not expecting. Strong, and muscular, and coming from broad shoulders, but not in that straining, abs-and-veins, body builder sort of way. It was a casual muscle, strength built up under layers of fat. It was a practical muscle, meant for lifting and holding and, apparently, rowing.

Jon supressed the entirely inappropriate desire for a hug.

“..Jon?”

When had Martin started saying his name? By his tone that wasn’t the first time, maybe the second or third, he was worried, Jon should answer, Jon should-

“Jon are you okay?”

“What? Oh, uhm, yes, perfectly fine,” his mouth was dry, why was his mouth so dry? “It’s, uhm. I wouldn’t worry about it. Not like anyone ever sees us down here anyway, just don’t make a habit out of it.”

“Gotcha, thanks.”

Coat now slung over the back of his chair, Martin turned back to his desk, settling down and powering his laptop on, conversation with Jon clearly intended to be over. But-

“Martin?”

“Yes?”

“Rowing, uhm... Tim does kayacking, I think? Or has gone, a few times at least, that he’s mentioned before. Just, if you ever wanted someone to talk about... About rowing, to.”

“Oh, does he? Cool, I’ll mention it to him later, thanks Jon.”

“Uhm, yes. Well. Have a nice day, Martin.”

#My Post #My Writing #oh it only took four hours because I had to go do errands but #ARMS. ARMS FIC. FIC ABOUT ARMS. HOT HOT ARMS FOR FLUSTERED ACES.#The Magnus Archives #Jonmartin #Martin Blackwood #Jonathan Sims

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hrina · 4 years

Text

Something Strange

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: R WORD COUNT: 6.3k+ REQUESTED: no

uhhhh hi. so. this is my (first ever) halloween fic, ft. infuriatingly cocky ghostbuster!harry. i really hope you guys enjoy it, and just like every other writer on this godforsaken site, i’d love to hear any feedback that you might have. ok im done now lol go forth and read :)

warnings: cursing, brief nsfw content, a nasty habit of jumping to conclusions, and harry being an asshole with a secret heart of gold.

~*~

October 2nd, 2021

Your attention is first caught by the massive, obnoxiously-coloured truck parked in Mindy and Gerald’s driveway. The entire vehicle is a shade of navy blue, though its sophistication is ruined by the neon green bubble lettering streaked across its doors.

Spooked? Call Styles’ Scares!

Beneath that, there’s a promise painted in bright pink:

Lasting results or your money back!

“What the hell?” you mutter.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and exit your car, momentarily forgetting about the groceries sitting in the trunk. Mindy and Gerald are standing on their porch, absorbed in a light-hearted conversation. When they catch sight of you trekking across the lawn, they smile brightly and offer up a pair of welcoming waves.

“Hi, there!” you call, shoving your hands into the back pockets of your jeans. “What’s all this?”

“Good afternoon, dear!” Mindy replies. She quickly descends the front steps, meeting you halfway and enveloping you in a tight hug. “How are you? It’s been a while since we last spoke.”

“You can drop in whenever you want,” you say, chuckling. “It’s not like I live very far away.”

“How have you been?” Gerald follows his wife, steadily making his way off the porch. “How’s school?”

“It’s alright.” You shrug. “Things are picking up, now, but I’m trying my best to stay on top of them.”

You toss your thumb over your shoulder, gesturing to the bright pickup truck parked in their driveway. (It really is ugly, you think. Probably one of the ugliest vehicles that you’ve ever had the displeasure of perceiving.)

“What’s going on?”

“Oh!” Mindy lifts her hands to her mouth, gazing at you with wide, serious eyes. “Our house is haunted.”

You balk. “Pardon me?”

“I know, I know,” she sighs, shaking her head. “It sounds silly. I didn’t believe it at first either, but—something keeps knocking our picture frames off the wall. And the lights! They start flickering at random intervals throughout the day.”

“Are you sure it’s not just rats?” you joke.

Gerald, who has now joined you on the lawn, holds up his hand solemnly. “We tried using traps, but they haven’t been touched at all.”

“Exactly.” Mindy nods, turning back to you. “We’re already worried about Joseph’s wedding next week, so one of the ladies at the community centre recommended Harry. That same day, Gerald gave him a call, and that was the end of it.”

“Who’s Harry?” you ask, brows knitting together in confusion.

“Er—” A deep voice sounds from behind you. “I am.”

When you turn around, you come face-to-face with one of the prettiest men you’ve ever seen. He’s got mossy green eyes, dark pink lips, and brown hair that curls around his temples and behind his ears. Smooth skin stretches out over high, chiseled cheekbones and a sharp jaw. He’s wearing a pair of light-wash jeans and matching white sneakers. A black hoodie covers his broad chest; upon taking a closer look, you note that the two front strings have been tied into a picturesque little bow.

Mindy wastes no time, introducing the two of you immediately. When Harry holds out his hand for you to shake, you don’t hesitate.

“Did you want my card?” he asks, peering at you curiously.

You study his expression. Beneath his seemingly sincere exterior, arrogance runs wild and unchecked. You know this man. You’ve met him a hundred different times under a hundred different circumstances, and you’ve learned to recognize a lost cause when you’re staring it square in the face.

“Not at all.” You shoot him a fake smile. “I’m just the neighbour.”

“Right.” His lips twitch. He steps back, rolling his shoulders and lifting his chin in the direction of the house. “Well, I should probably get to work. It was nice meeting you, babe.”

Your nose wrinkles as the pet name sinks in.

When you turn back around to resume your conversation with Mindy and Gerald, they’re gone. Your eyes bounce to the right, where you find them guiding Harry up the porch steps. Mindy has one hand on his bicep whilst gesturing animatedly with the other. Gerald opens the front door and holds out his arm, welcoming Harry inside.

You scoff, shaking your head in disdain.

“Ghosts aren’t real,” you mumble as you make your way back across the lawn. The trunk of your car squeaks when you pull it open, and plastic bags rustle as you gather your groceries into your arms.

Ghosts aren’t real. And Harry is obviously a scammer, based on…well, based on everything. The tacky design on his truck. The unprofessional wardrobe. The self-assuredness emanating from every cell in his body. Babe.

But Mindy and Gerald truly believe that their home is haunted. Trying to change their minds without a shred of physical proof is pointless. You blow out a soft sigh, accepting the grim reality of your situation.

Your neighbours are gullible, trusting people. And for the next few days—whether you like it or not—Harry is here to stay.

October 5th, 2021

You’re approximately two seconds away from chucking your textbook against the far wall.

You’ve been trying to finish this chapter for the past hour. And though you pride yourself on being tolerant when it comes to petty annoyances, your patience is wearing thin. A quick glance out of your bedroom window reveals Harry’s hideous pickup truck parked—yet again—in Mindy and Gerald’s driveway.

You roll your eyes. Of course.

The piercing, raucous whirring starts up again; you release a frustrated yell, slamming your book shut and leaping off your bed. You’re muttering obscenities under your breath as you stalk down the hall, stopping briefly to slide on a pair of fuzzy slippers. When you yank your front door open, the chilly autumn air settles into your bones.

The clamour grows louder as you stomp across your shared lawn. When you knock on Mindy and Gerald’s door, the commotion is nearly unbearable. A few seconds go by, during which your presence remains unacknowledged; you rap once again on the wood, hoping that the sound will be conspicuous enough amidst all of the background noise.

Sure enough, everything goes quiet. Your shoulders slump with relief just as the door opens. Mindy greets you with a friendly smile.

“Hi, dear,” she says kindly. “What can I do for you?”

“Hi.” You force yourself to mirror her affable expression, hoping that she can’t see the pained exhaustion brewing in your eyes. “Could I just—could I speak with Harry, please? It won’t take long.”

“Of course.” She nods before peering at you anxiously. “Don’t tell me that you’ve got ghosts, too.”

“No.” You shake your head. Ghosts aren’t real, you want to say, but you hold your tongue. “No, I just—I just need to have a quick word with him, that’s all.”

“Alright. I’ll go fetch him.” She turns around and totters away.

You hear her call his name, followed by the telltale sound of shuffling. After a few long moments, he’s there, leaning against the doorway with a bemused look on his face.

“Evening, babe,” he says coolly. “What’s up?”

“Don’t call me that,” you snap, folding your arms over your chest.

Harry’s eyebrows shoot upward. He hadn’t expected you to greet him with such animosity, you suppose. His outfit is nearly identical to that of the other day, save for the red bandana perched atop his head. He buries his fingers into the pockets of his jeans, shrugging nonchalantly and pinning you with a blasé, unimpressed gaze.

“Noted,” he says. The corners of his lips curl up into a crooked smirk as he repeats, “What’s up?”

“You need to keep it down,” you say flatly. “I don’t know what kind of fake ‘exorcism’ bullshit you’re trying to pull off, but the noise is driving me insane. I need to study.”

“‘Fake’?” Harry parrots. “You don’t believe in spirits?”

“No,” you deadpan. “I don’t.” You narrow your eyes, studying the subtle movements of his face. “And if I had to take a wild guess, neither do you.”

“Really,” he says, chuckling softly. It isn’t a question.

“Really.”

Harry watches you, tickled by your obvious exasperation. “I get the feeling that you don’t like me very much.”

“Look at that,” you say, rolling your eyes. “He does have a brain.”

“You’re so judgmental.” He laughs, shaking his head. “How can you dislike me when you barely even know me?”

“I know enough,” you reply, scowling. “I know that you’re a fraud who takes advantage of people and their fears. And for what? Just so that you can take home a paycheque at the end of the day?”

“Ouch.” Harry feigns injury, placing a large hand over his heart. “That hurts, babe.”

There it is again. Babe.

“You know what?” Your nostrils flare. “Forget this—it’s like trying to explain rocket science to a toddler.”

He grins. “Yeah, I suppose. I’m much cuter, though, don’t you think?”

You scoff, pedalling backward. “In your dreams.”

His delight only seems to grow when your retort sinks in. You whip around, descending the porch steps and storming back toward your house. When you chance a glance over your shoulder, Harry is still standing in the doorway, a shit-eating smile stretched wide across his cheeks.

“Just keep it down, okay?” you call irritably.

He raises two fingers to his temple in a mock-salute, and you march away without another word.

October 8th, 2021

“You’re sure?”

You laugh. “Yes, Mindy, I’m sure. I promise.”

“Alright,” she assents, blowing out a quiet sigh through the phone. “I went grocery shopping today, so our cupboards are fully stocked—help yourself to anything you’d like. Also, when you flush the downstairs toilet, the water may look like it’s rising, but it goes down after a second or two.”

“Noted.” You snicker. “Anything else?”

“That’s it,” she says. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem,” you reply. “Tell Joseph and Amy that I said congratulations, yeah?”

“We will! See you later, dear.”

“See you later.”

October 9th, 2021

When Mindy and Gerald get back tomorrow afternoon, you’re going to wring their necks.

Agreeing to housesit whilst they celebrated their son’s wedding a few cities away? Sure. Fine. You had a long night full of nothing planned—sitting in front of the television, munching on some snacks, relaxing for the evening and trying to forget about all of the schoolwork waiting for you at home. You were in the middle of watching a Golden Girls rerun when, suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

“Coming!” You stood, setting your bowl of popcorn aside. The knocking continued as you made your way to the front entrance, wiping your buttery fingers against the dark leggings covering your thighs.

“I’m coming,” you said exasperatedly. You opened the door, ready to shoo away whoever it was—a salesperson, probably.

Instead, you came face-to-face with Harry.

And now, you’re here—slumped on the couch, angrily shovelling popcorn into your mouth. You keep your gaze trained on the television, trying your hardest to avoid the man who is setting up his “equipment” in the middle of the room.

“Can’t you do this in the kitchen?” you deadpan.

He flicks a switch on his machine—it looks an awful lot like a standard centrifuge. What a fraud.

“Spirit energy’s strongest in here,” he grunts. His knees scuff against the carpeted floor.

A derisive laugh falls from your lips. “Mindy and Gerald aren’t here—you can drop the act.”

Harry glances up at you, his pretty green irises glimmering. “What act?”

You roll your eyes and look away, fixing your attention back on the grainy screen.

Neither of you say anything for the next few minutes; tension builds, saturating the air and making it hard for you to breathe. Eventually, Harry breaks through the awkward silence. You want to scream.

“Er—” he starts, expectant. “Do you mind stepping out for a second? I need the room.”

Your nostrils flare. “Excuse me?”

“I need the—”

“I heard you,” you say, sitting up straight. “You don’t need anything. What the hell are you playing at?”

“I’m not quite sure what you mean, babe.” His tone is genuine, but you can sense the mirth simmering just beneath the surface. His lips twitch, and your frustration boils like water over a stove.

“Stop calling me that,” you snap, folding your arms across your chest. “And stop playing dumb. Other people might put up with your pseudo-spooky bullshit, but I won’t. Ghosts aren’t real!”

The lights go out.

You gasp, straining your eyes in an attempt to regain your bearings. Slowly, blurry shapes and shadows materialise in front of you. You fumble around for your phone, picking it up and tapping the screen. A moment later, the device’s flash lights up the room. You shine it from side to side, eventually settling on Harry, who is looking up at the ceiling in complete and utter bewilderment.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. “Now you’ve done it.”

“Done what?” you squawk, glaring at him. “The power went out. Big deal.”

The lights flicker fleetingly, and then the room is dark again. Your eyes drift over to Harry; he’s smirking.

“This isn’t a ghost,” you say stubbornly, waving your phone around. The bright light bounces across the walls before you steady yourself, positioning the beam back on him. He stands, sinking his hands into the deep pockets of his sweatpants.

“And how would you know?” he teases, cocking one eyebrow challengingly.

“Because,” you scoff. “Ghosts aren’t real.”

Something crashes to the floor. You yelp in surprise, your head snapping to the right. When you shine your light in the direction of the noise, you find a shattered picture frame lying on the ground.

“What the fuck?” Harry murmurs, advancing toward the mess.

“Careful!” you say, holding up your hand. He stops in his tracks, peering over at you in confusion. “There’s glass, idiot,” you explain, climbing to your feet. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

He shoots you a crooked smile. “You do care.”

“I don’t.” Your response is curt. “I just don’t feel like driving you to the hospital so that they can remove fragments from your foot.”

Harry chuckles.

You sigh, squinting at the fallen frame. “We can clean it up when the lights come back on,” you say, mostly to yourself. “I don’t want to risk anything.”

He nods and yawns, stretching his arms out above his head. “Suit yourself, babe.”

“The next time you call me that, I’m going to—”

“What?” he asks, padding over to the sofa. You watch him approach with a deep scowl on your face. He collapses onto the couch, slouching and spreading his legs obnoxiously wide. “You gonna beat me up or something?”

You shake your head in disbelief, stepping away from him. “You’re a piece of shit.”

“So you say,” he replies, unbothered.

“You’re so—”

You break off, producing an angry noise in the back of your throat. Harry winks at you; in response, you whip around and storm away, carving out a path from the living room to the kitchen.

You shine the light from your phone across the cupboards, making a beeline for the fridge. When you pull it open, the cold compartment is dark. Squinting, you reach for one of the many water bottles stacked on the top shelf.

Stupid Harry, with his stupid smile and his stupid eyes and his stupid attitude and his stupid bogus business. You can’t believe that Mindy and Gerald were naïve enough to fall for his bullshit. You need to have a long talk with them when they get back, you think—to ensure that they never swallow a pill this big ever again.

“Thirsty?”

You nearly jump out of your skin, pointing your phone toward the kitchen’s exit. Harry is standing there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his broad chest. You bring one hand up to your sternum, trying to calm your racing heart.

“Jesus Christ,” you hiss, shaking your head. “You scared the shit out of me!”

He snickers lowly. You turn your attention back to the fridge, grabbing a water bottle and uncapping it quickly. Through the darkness, Harry watches you gulp down the cool liquid; you pretend not to notice.

“Can I help you?” you finally ask, wiping your mouth with the heel of your palm.

“No.” He shrugs. “Just…looking, I guess.”

“That’s creepy,” you reply flatly. He laughs.

“May I steal a bottle?” he says, padding across the tiles. “I’m parched.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “I—sure. Whatever.”

And though you try, you can’t seem to tear your gaze away from him. He hums as he opens up the fridge, leaning forward to get a better look inside. You play with the hem of your sweater, standing behind him awkwardly. When he peers over his shoulder, you quickly look away, feigning interest in the marble countertop next to the sink.

“Er—” he starts. He fixes you with an inquisitive look, glancing down at the device in your hand. “Would you mind? I can’t see anything.”

“Don’t you have your own?” you ask.

“Yeah, but you’re already holding yours. Come on.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine.”

You draw nearer, lifting your phone and shining its flash into the fridge. Harry hums, plucking a water bottle off the top shelf with a satisfied smile. When he turns to face you, a puff of air catches in your throat; he’s awfully close, his torso brushing almost imperceptibly against yours.

You stare up at him, stunned. There’s a small mole beneath the left corner of his mouth. Part of you—an insignificant, microscopic part—fights the urge to reach out and run your thumb over the mark.

“I’m sorry for calling you a piece of shit,” you blurt.

He inhales deeply, chest expanding and fitting a bit more firmly against your own.

The contact snaps you out of your trance. You retreat, backing up against the counter to maintain your balance. Harry clears his throat and glances away.

“Thanks,” he says, his voice hoarse.

Unable to find the right words, you simply nod.

The two of you stand there for a long moment, sinking into a pool of uncomfortable silence. Just when you think that you’re going to choke on the invisible tension, a faint buzz resonates through the air. Less than a second later, the power returns, illuminating the kitchen in a wash of warm, brilliant light.

“Thank God,” you mutter. You shut the flash on your phone, sliding the device beneath the waistband of your leggings.

Harry blinks rapidly, disoriented. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.

He waves your question away. “No, it’s—it’s nothing.”

And you don’t really feel like pressing the subject, so you let it go. A tired sigh falls from your mouth as you scan your surroundings.

“Help me find a broom,” you tell him. “We need to sweep up the glass in the other room.”

His lips twitch. “What’s the magic word?”

There he is. The same insufferable man who has been pushing your buttons all week. You scowl, shooting him a displeased glare.

“Forget it.” You drag your fingers down the left side of your face. “I’ll do it myself.”

~*~

“You sure you don’t want my help?” Harry calls, kicking his feet up onto the sofa.

You grunt, crouching next to the shattered glass on the floor. “Positive.”

The broom and dustpan that you’ve acquired from the laundry room are old and frail, but you suppose that they’ll get the job done. You set the dustpan down on the ground, wrapping your fingers around the broom’s handle and trying to maneuver it in an efficient way. It’s no easy feat, but eventually, you manage to create a small, compact pile of shards. Gingerly, you reach for the picture frame, plucking it up from the ground and setting it off to the side. Next, you take your time sweeping all of the fragments into the dustpan, inspecting the floor for any lingering bits.

“Struggling over there?” Harry asks.

You grit your teeth.

“No,” you counter in a matter-of-fact tone. “I think I got it all, actually. No thanks to you.”

You throw the last part over your shoulder, coupling it with an accusatory frown. Harry holds up his hands in surrender, suppressing his amusement.

“Shouldn’t you be exorcising spirits?” you ask. Sarcasm drips from your words.

He chuckles. The couch squeaks as he shuffles around; a moment later, the sound of approaching footsteps reaches your ears. You stiffen when he stops next to your squatted form.

“To be quite honest,” he begins, and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice, “I’m having a much better time watching you.”

“Creepy,” you say. “Again.”

He laughs, lowering himself to his knees. In the periphery of your vision, you watch him pick up the abandoned picture frame, turning it around and studying the photograph inside. His cheeks lift with the slope of a familiar smile, but somehow, this one is different from the others that you’ve witnessed.

It’s real. Sincere.

“Nice, don’t you think?” Harry asks, pulling you from your thoughts.

He extends his arm, revealing the photograph. Mindy and Gerald’s beaming faces stare up at you, a balance of bright grins and crinkled eyes. Subconsciously, your lips curl upward, and you take the frame from Harry’s hands.

“Yeah,” you murmur, running your fingertips over the photo. “They look happy.”

“How long have you known them?” he asks. There’s no malice behind the question.

“Since I moved in,” you say absentmindedly, admiring the ornate frame around the picture. “A few years, now.”

He hums in response. “They talk about you a lot.”

“All good things, I hope.” You cast a wry look in his direction.

He chuckles and nods. “Yeah. They look out for you, it seems.”

“I try to look out for them, too.” You sit back on your haunches, groaning quietly. “Which is why I was surprised that they didn’t come to me when they first thought their house was ‘haunted’.”

Your intonation changes on the last word; you still don’t believe that your neighbours are being plagued by spirits, despite the plethora of peculiarity that you’ve witnessed tonight.

“Maybe they didn’t want to worry you,” Harry suggests.

You roll your eyes. Even now, he refuses to drop the act.

“Sure,” you say. “So, hiring a spirit exterminator—or whatever you pretend to be—was a better move?” You snort softly, climbing to your feet. “How much are they paying you, anyway?”

He purses his lips. “They’re not.”

You freeze.

A beat of silence drags out, during which you swallow your shock. You clear your throat and lift your chin, staring down at Harry banally.

“You’re lying.”

“Nope.”

“You are!” you insist. A short, incredulous laugh tumbles off your tongue. “You are one hundred percent fucking with me.”

“I’m afraid not,” he says.

“Your truck, though...” you say. “‘Lasting results, or your money back’?”

“I’ve got to make it look legitimate, don’t I?” He smirks. “But it’s cute that you remembered.”

Your eyes lock with his, and suddenly, it’s almost impossible to breathe. His gaze is deep, open, and honest. Your lips part, but no sound comes out. Instinctively, your legs carry you a few paces back, veering toward the sofa. You plop down onto the plush cushions, clutching the picture frame tightly between your fingers.

“Then, why—?” you break off, shaking your head. “Why would you—?”

“Peace of mind,” Harry shrugs, still rooted to his spot on the floor. “Ever heard of the placebo effect?”

“You admit it, then,” you say, sitting up straight. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

He nods, blinking languidly. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“So,” you start, trying to make sense of the situation, “you let them believe that you’re actually cleansing the house—for free, too—just to—?” You glance around the room, searching for the right words. “—just to put them at ease?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s…”

Sweet. Thoughtful.

“…ridiculous.”

Harry chuckles. “Thanks.”

“I—” You hesitate, depositing the photograph next to you on the couch. ��This whole time, I thought you were just…”

“A con?”

You bring your fingers up to your mouth, nodding silently and studying him with big, rounded eyes.

He shrugs.

“I mean, I never really got the chance to explain myself. You’d already made up your mind about me, hadn’t you? So, I thought I’d just let you stick with your assumptions—it didn’t bother me much.”

“I’m a horrible person,” you say, mostly to yourself.

Harry laughs, shaking his head. “No, you’re not. You’re just a bit judgmental, that’s all.”

“You’re right.” You nod again, bowing your head in shame. “I am. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, babe, really.”

You stand abruptly, abandoning your spot on the sofa.

“I should finish up,” you state, embarrassed beyond belief. Harry watches you closely as you approach. You crouch down next to him, reaching for the dustpan with shaky hands. A few small shards of glass are littered at the brink of the collector; you nudge them away from the edge, trying to be as careful as possible.

“Ow!” you suddenly hiss, retracting your arm quickly. You twist your wrist, fixing your attention on a thin cut engraved into the pad of your index finger.

“What happened?” Harry asks, leaning forward.

You shake your head, waving away his worries. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Just got nicked, that’s all.”

“Let me see,” he requests, holding out his own hand.

You pause, taking your bottom lip between your teeth and stealing a quick glance at his face. His expression is concerned, but neutral. Your hesitation is silly, you think—he may be a bit of a jackass, but he’s not going to hurt you. You’ve already condemned him once before, and you were wrong.

You don’t want to make that mistake again.

After a brief moment, you give in, sliding your knuckles into his open palm.

“It’s alright, really,” you say, speaking around the lump in your throat. “The piece was tiny—it hardly broke the surface.”

Harry inspects the laceration closely, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes.

It’s not that serious, you want to tell him, but you refrain from letting the words escape. Part of you is enjoying the way your hands fit together so perfectly. You don’t want it to end—not yet.

“You’re bleeding a bit, babe,” he announces faintly, brows cinched in concentration.

“I am?” You try to tug your arm back, but he keeps a firm grip on your wrist. A low, confused noise echoes in the back of your throat; Harry peers up at you, his features unreadable.

“It’s just a spot,” he murmurs. “Let me.”

And before you can say or do anything else, he’s taking your finger past his lips and giving an easy, gentle suck.

You squeak.

The sound snaps Harry out of his trance; he releases your hand and recoils hastily. You exhale, driving out the stale air gathered in your lungs. When you peek up at him from beneath your lashes, he’s already watching you, shoulders taut with anxiety.

“Sorry,” he stammers. His nostrils flare. “That was weird—sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say, shaking your head. “Er…thanks.”

“No worries.” He swallows.

“Alright.”

Awkwardly, you wipe your clammy palms against your thighs. Harry seems to be looking at everything except for you; his gaze flits to the ceiling, then to the couch, then to the floor. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek and push yourself up off the ground. The room is painfully quiet as you slowly slink back toward to the sofa.

“I should probably put this somewhere safe,” you mumble, picking up the forgotten picture frame.

Warm air floats over the nape of your neck. You gasp and spin around, nearly toppling over in your haste. Harry’s hands find your shoulders, steadying you and crowding you closer to his chest. You glance up at him; your shallow breaths mingle together in the narrow space, noses only inches apart.

“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice no higher than a gruff whisper. “Tell me. Please.”

In response, you fumble for one of his hands, grappling at his wrist; he loosens his hold on your arms, confused but willing. He’s motionless as you lift his knuckles up to your mouth. You glance down, tilting your head to the side and studying them carefully. Harry says nothing when you press a soft, feathery kiss to the pad of his index finger.

But then you’re dipping the tip of the digit between your lips, and suddenly, he’s undone.

“Fucking—”

He grabs your face in his palms and seals his mouth to yours.

The two of you stagger backward, tumbling onto the couch. Mindy and Gerald’s picture frame slips from your grasp, landing on a neighbouring cushion with a faint thud. Reflexively, your legs part; Harry takes his rightful place between them, slanting his body accordingly. When he applies the faintest hint of pressure, you moan.

“Fuck.” He draws back, his warm breath wafting over your chin. “Don’t.”

“‘Don’t’ what?” you ask, puzzled.

He shakes his head. “Don’t make those noises. It’s—you’re—I’m—”

He curses quietly and reaches for one of your hands. You allow him to guide your palm lower, inhaling sharply when you feel the slight bulge protruding from his trousers. Instinctively, your fingers close over the subtle ridge of his cock. His shoulders stiffen, and his eyes squeeze shut.

“You’re hard,” you murmur, as though it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Not fully.” He swallows. “But I’m getting there.”

“Because of me?” you ask, peering up at him innocently.

“Yeah.” Harry expels a wobbly, disbelieving laugh. “Yeah, babe—because of you.”

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as the familiar moniker falls from his mouth. He notices your unusual reaction, mouth curling into teasing smirk.

“What?” he says, lifting one eyebrow. “No nagging, this time? I thought you hated that nickname.”

You grip the collar of his sweater and give a gentle tug, guiding him down for another kiss. When the two of you finally break apart, you shrug. “It’s growing on me.”

He smiles.

“Do you—?” you pause, pursing your lips. The question sounds silly—presumptuous, even. Rather than finishing your sentence, you lift your chin, gazing up evenly into Harry’s green eyes and declaring, “I think I want to sleep with you.”

His cheeks dimple with a wide grin. “Is that so?”

You nod.

“Right, then.” He kisses your nose and pulls away. “There’s a condom in my wallet, but…I may or may not have left it in my truck.”

You groan, allowing your head to fall back against the sofa with a heavy thump. Harry chuckles at your theatrics. After a brief moment of contemplation, you compose yourself and sit up quickly.

“That works, actually,” you say, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “Grab your wallet, and then we can go to my place. I don’t think my neighbours would be very happy if we fucked on their couch.”

He laughs, climbing eagerly to his feet and shooting you a smug wink. “You got it, babe.”

October 10th, 2021

It’s nearly half past noon when you step out onto the porch the next day. You yawn, squinting up at the sun shining brightly in the sky. There are no clouds in sight; the slight chill of the autumn air tickles your exposed arms. You tug on the waistband of your sweatpants, keeping the material seated firmly on your hips.

“Good morning, dear!”

You jump, head snapping in the direction of a familiar voice. Mindy and Gerald are sitting on their veranda, nursing twin cups of coffee and looking awfully cozy. Gerald smiles at you, folding up his newspaper and setting it on his lap.

“Good morning!” You wave before re-evaluating your words. “Well, it’s technically past twelve, so good afternoon.”

Mindy laughs.

“How was the wedding?” you ask, approaching the side of your deck. You lean against the thin metal railing, combing your fingers through your messy hair. “I wasn’t expecting you to be back this soon.”

“We woke up early,” Mindy explains. “And the wedding was fabulous. Amy wore the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen.”

“Really?” You grin. “Do you have any pictures?”

“Of course! Just let me run inside and grab my phone—”

“Mornin’,” a gruff voice says from behind you.

You gasp and spin around, bringing a hand to your chest. The sight laid out before you has your heart speeding up, galloping wildly and battering against the confines of your ribs.

Harry’s wearing that same hoodie from last night. Your gaze trails lower—he’s also sporting a pair of grey boxers and white socks. There’s a mug nestled in each of his large hands, his spindly fingers wrapped around the handles comfortably. Your eyes lock with his sleepy ones, and your breathing hitches in your throat.

“Morning,” you whisper, unable to muster up anything louder.

“I—” Harry clears his throat, stepping closer and extending his left arm. “I, er, took the liberty of making us some tea. Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, it’s—” You swallow as you accept one of the mugs, suppressing a giddy smile. “It’s completely fine. Thank you.”

“Of course.” He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “Sleep well?”

“Mhm.” You nod shyly.

He chuckles. “Good.”

His gaze wanders over your shoulder, and it’s then that he notices Mindy and Gerald sat on the neighbouring porch. Without even batting an eye, he lifts his hand in a friendly wave. “Morning, you two. How was the wedding?”

You turn back toward the couple, a sheepish look on your face. Mindy is beaming, and Gerald is trying to hold back a laugh. Heat creeps up your neck; you wish that the ground would just open up and swallow you whole.

“It was wonderful!” Mindy trills. Her enthusiasm has skyrocketed. You pinch the bridge of your nose, utterly mortified.

“Yes.” Gerald finally pipes up, smirking knowingly. “It was great. What about you, though? How was your night?”

“Fine,” you blurt before Harry can respond. “It was fine.”

The duo share a look, and then Mindy giggles girlishly. You bring your mug up to your mouth, taking a long sip and groaning into the cup. Harry’s arm snakes around your waist, making you jump. You steal a glance at him out of the corner of your eye; he’s fighting a smile.

“Well—” Gerald clears his throat, plucking his folded newspaper from his lap and rising to his feet. “I think I’ll be going, now. Need to catch up on those few extra hours of sleep.”

“Me too,” Mindy says, nodding fervently. She directs her next words at you. “If you pop by later, I’ll show you those photos, okay?”

“Okay,” you croak.

She shoots you one last grin before disappearing inside.

“God,” you say immediately, hanging your head. “That was torture.”

Next to you, Harry laughs. You aim a weak swat at his chest. He snickers, catching your palm and ducking down to drop a gentle kiss against your knuckles. You exhale shakily, twisting your body around so that you can face him.

“Your hair’s a mess,” you murmur, running your free hand through his dishevelled curls.

He cocks one eyebrow. “And whose fault is that?”

You scoff. “Shut up.”

He chuckles quietly and steps closer to you, holding out his mug. You smile in assent, mirroring his movements and clinking your cups together.

“So,” Harry starts, sipping his tea casually, “you gonna let me take you out on a proper date, sometime?”

“That depends,” you say, trying to ignore the flurry of butterflies flapping around in your stomach. “I’ll go—but only if we take my car. I refuse to drive around town in your tacky truck.”

“It’s not that bad!” he protests.

“It’s awful,” you tell him, shaking your head. “It looks it was decorated by a preschooler during arts and crafts.”

“Fine.” He rolls his eyes playfully, giving in. “Any other requests?”

You pause, lost in thought.

“One more, actually,” you say, fixing him with a challenging stare. “You need to come clean to Mindy and Gerald.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Alright.”

“Really?” You balk, taken aback by his compliance. “That’s it? But I—I had a whole speech prepared.”

Harry laughs softly, cradling your face with his free hand and kissing you slowly. Your fingers tighten around your mug. When the two of you break apart for air, he shrugs.

“I started considering it after everything that happened last night. Keep your speech, though.” His lips twitch. “You’ll be needing to scold me again in no time, I’m sure.”

Your shoulders shake with a silent giggle. “You’re probably right.”

“Also—” Harry clears his throat, soothing the ache with another sip of tea. “You may want to suggest that they hire an exterminator.”

“An exterminator?” you repeat, blinking in surprise. “But…they don’t have rats. Gerald said that the traps hadn’t been touched.”

“Not rats,” he hums. “Squirrels, I believe. Living in the walls.”

“And how did you reach that conclusion?”

“I’ve been doing this for a while, babe—I’ve seen my fair share of pests. Plus,” he clucks his tongue, “they like to chew on wires.”

“Really?” You sigh distantly, pinching your bottom lip. “God, that sucks.”

“It does.” He nods, wrapping his fingers around your forearm. “But you can tell them later.”

“Later?” you say, brows knitting together. “Why not right now?”

“Because,” Harry grunts. You squeal when he crowds you up against your front door. He cups your jaw and tilts your chin up with his thumb, handsome face splitting into an easy, salacious grin.

“Right now, I’m taking you back to bed.”

~*~

thanks for reading! if you enjoyed this piece, please consider donating to my ko-fi! and as always, don’t forget to share your thoughts. thank you bunches <3

#harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #spookrry #harry writing #ok here it is 🙃 i lowkey feel like its gonna flop but w/e

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elfwoodfae · 3 years

Text

Writing’s On the Wall Harrison Eo Wells x reader.

Chapter 2- Specter.

Author’s note: I am so happy and excited for this new series. I hope sincerely that you all like it and let me know your thoughts, this new series will touch on darker themes up ahead in the future. Also tumblr is being annoying with the paragraphs that’s why they are so far apart.

I made this moodboard. I looked up and searched the photos and edited them. I don’t mind if you use it.

Part 1 (here)

A strange calmness falls over him; he turns around, opening his eyes for the first time in hours. He feels exhausted, having spend the majority of the night observing you. He chastises himself, he shouldn’t have done that, there was no other option, he reminds himself, he is desperate and frustrated. The sudden reminder of your presence this early in the morning angers him, a growl escaping his mouth as he sits up, the white linens of the bed pooling around his hips as he rubs his face with one hand, turning his head and doing a double take at the door, making sure is locked, he knows he locked it last night but the paranoia your presence has brought him makes him second guess himself.

His feet touch the floor first, he stretches his arms over his head, moaning at the relief it offers, his white shirt riding up enough to expose a gleam of milky skin; his hair is a mess of black curls, the expression looking back at him thorough the mirror is annoyed, tired, he splashes water on his face, he needs to wake up. The shadow of a beard is starting to appear on his chin, along his jaw and cheeks, he closes his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck and sighting before gripping the sink in a moment of fury where he wishes he could rip it out of the wall and throw it, shattering it into pieces.

How hard could it be to get rid of you? It wouldn’t be hard at all, it would be done before you could even draw your next breath, it would bring him more pleasure than beating Allen, but the consequences would be devastating, his rational side reminded him, there was not possible way to free himself from the torture of your existence without dooming his. Had Joe not met you things would have been different but he could see as clear as day the picture waiting back for him at the lab. Barry most likely knows about you by now, he knows there will be questions once he gets there, they will be innocent in nature but they will only serve to cement your presence into his mind.

He looks at himself in the mirror, admiring every detail of his clothes before he turns around, spotting his chair exactly where he had left it last night; he walks to it, looking at it so intently as if his gaze alone could burn it, hating the thing he punishes himself with. It’s for a greater good, he remembers. Wheeling into the main area of the house he notices all the lights are still off, he takes solace onto the fact that you are still sleeping, freeing him from your presence even if he knows it will only be for a few hours. He decides to leave, not wanting to take the chance of you deciding to appear and tag along, he doesn’t think of himself capable enough to not pull a Brutus a gut you in the middle of the day. This are also the only quiet moments he will get to think, to work on his suit, he sighs, there is so little time for him to use even when he is always alone.

The room is unfamiliar to your eyes, the bed linens are soft, warm, they smell of fresh cotton and clean clothes, it takes a moment for your memories to return, reminding you where you are. The room is dark, the curtains successfully blocking any sunlight from peaking in, there is no telling the time as you look around trying to get at least a sense of how rested you are. The clock reads sometime after 8, Harrison has more likely left by now and a slight disappointment settles over you, you wanted to see the labs, maybe he will want to take you tomorrow. The bathroom is spacious, glass doors decorating the shower as a black marble vanity rest on the wall, its too big for one person, it feels too luxurious for a guest room. Your mind reminds you of a forgotten fact, Harrison was never a showoff kind of person, he liked his house to feel welcoming and cozy, completely opposite to this place.

Walking out of the room is impossible not to notice the eerie silence that accompanies you, all the lights are off but the sun seems to illuminate the whole place through the skylight. A feeling of anxiety settles in your stomach as your eyes scan the expanse of the room, a corridor shielding doors you haven’t explored yet calls to you, maybe it would be best to wait for him to come back and show you around. You look around once again, scanning the walls and every available surface, your brows furrowing once a detail settles into you that you hadn’t taken into account the previous day; there is not even a single photo of Tess or himself anywhere. Maybe he has them in his room, or perhaps in his office, you think, the anxiety of walking into his space long forgotten, replaced with curiosity.

With fast steps you make it to the first door, its unlocked. The wood doesn’t creak when you open it and you wish it had, any sound would be better than this silence. Peaking your head inside, rows of shelfs of books welcome you, a dark desk sits in the middle, random papers and pieces discarded around it, nothing you would be able to recognize. A leather chair sits behind it and for a moment you wonder what could he need it for? Scanning the surface for any photos, any memories of Tess you could find but is empty, not even a photo of her in any of the walls.

Moving along you walk to the last room, the one on the end of the hall; opening the door, the room is dark, no light peaking into it, the bedsheets are a dark grey, almost black, nothing is out of order, a smell that could only be described as a freshly shaved man and clean clothes hits you, its pleasant, fresh. There is once again no photos to be seen, you should turn around, walk back and continue with your day but curiosity gets the best of you; the walking closet is big, rows of clothes hanging, color coordinated and perfectly ironed. A mirror from floor to ceiling adorning the wall in front of you. Walking closer to his clothes you grab the sleeve of one of his expensive white shirts, wanting to feel the softness of it, you don’t recall ever seeing him wearing one. Out of impulse you bring it to your nose, clothing your eyes as the smell of his cologne hits you, causing a blush to rise up your cheeks; he probable sprays it on himself here, impregnating everything around him.

Abandoning his room you walk into the kitchen, there is so many things about him you wish you knew, things that have probably changed and things that you don’t remember. He seems so distant, so cold, so unavailable to you, it made you wonder why he had allowed you to stay with him, perhaps it was not you, it was your attachment, the last piece of her memory he had, you were like an heirloom, one he refused to throw away, and that realization made you sad.

He didn’t seem happy, he seemed lonely, used to being by himself, making you question if he had any friends, if there was anyone caring for him. The man you remembered was always accompanied, always surrounded by people, always kind, always loving; where had that man disappear? You wondered, remembering how he hadn’t even known who you were once he picked up the phone that night, but what could you expected? You had never reached out, staying like a ghost, gone and hidden from his life.

Sighting you shake your head, forcing these thoughts to abandon you, having had enough of their torment for a day, there are things after all to be do today. Her face attacks your memory, you remember her from the times Tess and Harrison had brought her over, Christina is her name, she was close to Harrison and she had been very close to Tess, urging the obligation of a visit in you the moment you had decided to visit Central City, certain guilt at staying so out of touch to both of them fills you.

Perhaps you should have called her office before hand, you think, she is a busy woman after all, but after a few name drops from her past her assistant informs you that she will see you shortly. The door opens to the conference room she asked you to wait at, her face haven’t changed, a few wrinkles here and there, but the same determine eyes started back at you.

“Y/n” she says your name, surprise lace in her voice, she seems excited to see you. She hugs you, before commenting how much you have changed since she last saw you approximately fifteen years ago.

“I am so glad you could see me, I’m so sorry I never reached out, is just after the death of Tess so many things changed.” You begin, feeling the sting of tears coming to her at the emotion of relieving those memories, at being so close to someone that knew her.

“I’m surprise Harrison didn’t mention that I was visiting, I assumed you both were close friends.” You say nonchalantly, catching in the way her face contract, she seems uncomfortable at the mention of his name.

“Well yes we were.” She says, taking in a breath before continuing.

“You see, after the accident Harrison and I fell out of touch.” She says, seemingly leaving it at that, but curiosity is a powerful feeling, pulling its strings inside of you, forcing you to ask.

“Oh, but don’t you both keep any contact at all?” The question seems innocent, you genuinely want to know. She understands that, concern for you raising in her as she decides to open up more to you.

“I’ll be honest with you y/n, after the accident Harrison changed so much, that loving, caring man disappeared, he became cold, calculating, manipulative. I understand how grieve can change a person, but he, is like he is not even the same person anymore.” She tells you and you get the feeling she is not speaking in a metaphorical way.

You decide to confide her in your worries of him, in your confusion when he didn’t know who you were, when he didn’t even recognize your name. You can see the concern raising in her eyes, at you being alone with a man neither of you know any longer, but you assure her is fine, you will be fine, how bad could he be? He wouldn’t hurt you, this was Harrison you both are talking about, even if neither of you believe it completely.

@twilightlover2007

@austarus

@harrisonwellsisdaddy

@wintersire

@reallystressedhoneybee

@fanfiction-and-fantasies

@saltykidcreation

@dumpeetintofyre

@yetanotherwells

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shtern-and-art · 3 years

Note

I have more questions because it's no longer 4am lmao.

Does Skeppy fear any animals? I just wanna know if there's any sweet moments of Skeppy clinging to Bad whilst he tries to calm him down.

I'm guessing Bad still hates things like littering and woodcutters but would he ever act particularly strongly about it or would he have more control?

I like how Rat seems to tolerate Skeppy because Bad likes him but would she ever get jealous if Skeppy started pettting another dog?

I have a horrifying image of Bad just spider climbing up a tree to fetch Skeppy. I don't know why but I feel like dude wouldn't even need branches lmao.

What other supernatural creatures/people do they come across? Were there any that were especially dangerous and did they befriend any?

Is Bad much physically stronger than Skeppy? I keep thinking of Skeppy being a little shaz and Bad just one-arm picking him up and slinging him over his shoulder XD.

Does Bad ever get nightmares of the day he became the forest spirit?

How far would Skeppy take stealing? Would he steal something he knows the owner has genuine attachment to? Would he do everything in his power to steal something for Bad even if it means getting hurt?

Who's more likely to protect the other?

Skeppy just minding his business looking at one of Bad's textbooks, turns his head and Bad's just having a tea party with a freaking bear. Surprised the man hasn't had a heart attack yet XD.

What's your favourite thing to imagine them doing?

Is Bsd an adrenaline junky? Or is he scared of more dangerous things like bungee jumping and mountain climbing.

What would their reactions be to rollercoasters?

Do they have a favourite date-night activity?

Everytime I think of this au it brightens my mood!! Thank you for making something so heartwarming!! <3

Glad to see you again :D And yaay, questions!

My pen pressure broke again, I can't finish any sketches for this ask rn, but here's a couple of old messy designs.

1) Comforting and nightmares

Skeppy has a normal, I’d even say adequate level of fear towards wild animals, whilst Bad has it in negative numbers. And, yes, this fun juxtaposition leads to a lot of unfortunate moments of Skeppy nearly dying from heart attack when some of Bad’s animal friends show up unexpectedly, or Bad goes all out for his tea-parties with wild bears or smth.

So, yes, sometimes the comforting hugs are necessary! And no, none of them ever play up the dramaticness of the situation just to drag out the nice comforting moment They do n o t. That’d be very silly and unnecessary, and will deserve a lot of teasing. So, it’s all serious. Not only for the first couple minutes. Yes.

But If you’re looking for comfort-after-actual-hurt – Bad does have to hold and comfort Skeppy, when the stress of trying to not fuck up the good stuff around him gets too strong. And after the nightmares where they are hated and chased by people. Those dreams do not come often, but when they do, Bad is there to hold Skeppy, whisper in his hair that he is alright, that they’re both alright, and that they can handle everything that’s going on right now.

And Bad himself, well. After leaving the town, his nightmares about the night of the ritual stopped almost completely. They come rarely, only when the anxiety gets really bad. Before, in the forest, Bad had them pretty often. It’s one of the reasons he mostly slept not as himself, but in the minds of the animals.

2) Littering

Bad will not maim someone for not getting a candy wrapper in a trashcan, especially if there are people around. But if someone leaves a big mess in the nature, or even (*gasp*) does it regularly, Bad can and will try and teach them a lesson. As in: pull a cautionary (and probably slightly terrifying) prank on the misbehaving person.

It doesn’t always work out as Bad intended, and may even scare some people off anything relating to nature for good, but, according to Bad, it’s still “a fun and useful little hobby to have :3”.

3) Rat

Rat takes a looong time to warm up to any other animals that infringe on her territory. And Skeppy might be a little shit (and his own rights for Bad are debatable) but he is Rat’s territory still (by approximation from Bad). So, she can gatekeep Skeppy a little bit. Not as much as she does Bad, but the man gotta know his place – Rat comes before other dogs for him too.

4) Tree climbing and strength

Oh, Bad can an will climb down a tree like a full-on creepy creature he is: head down, using only his claws, with Skeppy tucked under one arm. Maybe not even upside down, if Skeppy is lucky, and wasn’t too annoying about wanting to stay up on the tree for the night :D

5) Meeting other spn creatures

Oh, that’s a big question (: Yes, they do meet other cryptids, befriend some, and get in trouble with some, and deal with a handful of new and old spn troubles :D

I always thought that Bad and Skeppy’s life after the main story can make a series of short stories (or one big episodic one) dealing with exactly that: the guys traveling around, meeting other cryptids, learning more about themselves and the world, trying to build a life between human and supernatural crisis going on. Just like In The Dark it can based on the mix between the real life and the minecraft-verse events.

I wanted to focus more on finishing the main story first, though, so these stories are not as sought through, I didn’t even write down any of them yet :D

But if you have more concrete questions, ideas, or suggestions (about a specific person, or a specific thing happening) – write me, I’ll think about it, and how it can work with the theme and worldbuilding I have in mind.

6) Stealing + Protectiveness

Skeppy can sometimes forget about, ahem, moral principles, or human decency… emphasis oh “human”. He’s nature and different worldview it gives, it seeps through in his life and actions even more with age. Especially after he’s been away from actual people for a long while. So, I guess, he might at times steal something that is very important to someone, or do something that could be considered weird or rude in general.

And if Bad really needs something, or is in danger – all rules are down. If there is no one to reality check Skeppy, he might proceed to walk on heads, and commit risky and reckless crimes just to help or save Bad.

They both are quite bad with that, the protecting each other thing. Bad, tho, can be more fiscally violent in his protectiveness.

7) Adrenaline and rollercoasters

Well, it’s not that Bad likes adrenaline specifically, he’s just very curious, likes to try new things, and is almost unkillable. So he can just- just go for everything that’s interesting for him with reckless abandon, and if it goes wrong – welp. Bones can heal limbs can regrow, and the cool abandoned caves will not explore themselves. He’ll have to learn to ease up with lack of selfcare though. Because Bad can’t always leave Skeppy to fend for himself, while he heals, and Skeppy does NOT like seeing Bad getting hurt so much, and not caring about himself at all.

This probably comes back to Bad dealing with his spn nature and learning to make peace between it and himself. And to his anxiety, and unhealthy coping mechanisms.

And hey, it’s the same for Skeppy and his lack of adequate moral compass at times :D

There will be a lot of tension and growing they’d have to do in regards to all this.

Also Skeppy is the one who’s really into chasing the thrills :D Man spent nearly half a year annoying probably-murderous-forest-spirit just for little not-boring fun, jeez :DD

Rollercoasters are a no go, tho. They go up in the air, real high, and, once again, Skeppy and highs do not mix, they do not mingle, they will not have tea parties (with or without bears). Unless, of course, Skeppy really needs to prove something. Then he’ll go on a ride, and die an honorable death, and will never admit he screamed all the way through it.

8) Dates

(*insert an innuendo from Skeppy here*) But, ahm, actually I’d say they love going on picnics: getting food, and hanging around in the nature for a while.

And I honestly donno what I like to think about the most… I just really enjoy the vibe and the atmosphere of the whole story, and how Bad and Skeppy interact in general.

It all is a real delight to write about :D

---

In The Dark - masterpost

#mcyt #mcyt fanart #badboyhalo #skeppy #skephalo #In The Dark #shtern talks #.....#dang i talk a lot don't i #:DDDD #but really #getting these asks getting to write more about this AU - always makes my day

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