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aggro-my-beloved · 3 days

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Parting Song (QuinnxDarlin')

note: alt title is "tank is not okay" and (fun fact) this is the first piece i completed out of the entire Soulmate September installments. hope you enjoy!

pairing: QuinnxDarlin (post-romance), SamxDarlin' (romantic), DavidxDarlin' (platonic)

summary: *in which the last words your soulmate says to you are written on your skin, so you do not know it is them until they are gone* when you’re standing next to who you think is your soulmate, as you watch the real one whither away in a shitty steel department chair—how do you respond?

warning(s): mentions of violence and gore, past relationship trauma, mental health issues, a dickwad of an ex-bf, mature language

taglist: @ther3alsweetheart @darlin-collins @professionallyyappinabtangst @elles-roses @gremlin-writes-angst

“WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING?” Tank's knuckles are littered with bruises from this torturous rendezvous. They feel the viscous red substance of Quinn's DNA as it dries on their hands, pondering what true evil must taste like as the man behind them continues writhing in his cuffs. Bittersweet like their favorite coffee? A silver bullet flavor, maybe metallic? He has devoured them on so many occasions, stripping all the good from their aura, like licking icing on a cake he wants to have and eat too. Occasionally, they weighed: what withheld them from resorting to a disposition as brutal as his?

Sam. He sits on the other side of the one-way glass, observing every move of theirs and Quinn alongside David. Tank wonders if he noticed them licking their lips, pulling a deformed drop of blood below their nose to meet their tongue. Maybe he won’t see their thumbnail combing the side of their pointer finger for remnants—something for later, a souvenir of the man who made a game of his downfall.

The red droplet is savory but salty from their sweat. A churning begins in their stomach as they start for the exit.

When he commands them, “Sit", their footwork for the door halts. As David reminded them earlier, his core is muted. Tank only wishes they put a strip of duct tape over his mouth for good measure. Despite how many uppercuts they kissed his lower jaw with, his slow-swelling lips were unbeatable. “We’re not done here,” His voice echoes menacingly around the room. Though the vampire may not have sensed it, there was a finality to the way he spoke and the sound of Tank’s hand twisting the chrome knob.

“You don’t get to walk away from me,” He strains again.

They chuckle sadly, and swing the door closed behind them.

“COME HERE!”

Then they choke. Every limb of their body becomes dominos as they crumple to the linoleum flooring in rapid breaths. David and Sam swarmed their hunched frame, instructing them to breathe between rapid questions. Pathetic, raspy pants and clammy palms against the floor clue the two in that something is not right.

“Here, Darlin’ take that jacket off.” Tank refuses Sam’s request. They grip the cloth tighter against them despite a burning sensation in their arm and the melody of Quinn’s parting song coming from behind them. Maybe it is in their head. The lack of sleep this past week left Tank walking a fine line between reality and hallucination.

David growls, growing pressed, “W-what happened? Did that fucker hurt you?”

Oh, so many times of suffering beneath the vamp's thumb and fangs summon memories to flash across their mind. Tank, by default, was the one to writhe and plead in their relationship, while Quinn instigated. The burning on their forearm, where Quinn’s last demand stays etched onto the skin, fades into pins and needles.

“I just don’t…feel well. Can we go home, please?” They look to Sam for assurance, but the sight of concern swimming in his blue eyes only causes a lump to swell in their throat. Their hands feel sweatier. Quinn is walking away with two black eyes, yet Tank’s orbitals already feel swollen from an onslaught of tears they are holding back.

David and Sam exchange a glance, and the alpha nods approvingly. Tank knows it will not be long before Sam puts the pieces together; he viewed the script on their arm after the two formed their mate bond. This urged him to cast a compilation of scenarios in his mind where those would be his last words to them, and he struggled to picture them. Tank wasn't fooled either, but they never lost hope that Quinn would remain nothing more than a rotten egg in a bunch. At most, a lesson in dating.

“So naive.” They whisper to themselves. Despite the thunderous rumble of his pickup truck, Sam’s ears perked up at their tone of disparity.

“What was that, darlin?” They blink away the itchy-sweaty feeling tickling the surface of their eyes and hum.

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Darlin’, with all due respect, telling me not to worry about you, right now or ever, is easier said than done.” His hands were at ten and two on the wheel, as if he aimed to display the constellation of bruises on his hands like trophies. The sight of his mate spiraling on the dirty department floor cued Sam to enter a hot, blinding rage. Escorting Darlin’ to his truck only took five minutes, except three were spent carefully storming into the improv interrogation room and laying even more damage into Quinn Fox’s dissatisfied expression.

To cure the urge to scratch at the center of their forearm, where Quinn’s final declaration to them lies, they gnaw and bite and chew at their bottom lip until they draw blood. It’s warm and briny, mixed with salty ash from their tears moments before. The taste doesn’t enthrall them to the level that they expected. Quinn would lavish in the tang of their cells and skin pierced by his teeth like a prisoner granted his last meal. They peer at Sam in wonder. Would he enjoy the taste of them just as much? Bland gore mellows on their taste buds, imploring them to scowl and opt for their thumbnail instead.

When they turn to view the landscape outside the window, Sam shifts his sight to the finger's edge dangling between Darlin’s teeth. He smells the dried blood caked underneath, and how their incisors desperately scrape up the evidence of Quinn’s clobbering.

The two stay silent for the rest of the ride home.

soulmate september schedule | main masterlist | abt author

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redactedverse #redacted shaw pack #redacted au #redacted fanfic #redacted fanfiction #redacted angst #redacted quinn #redacted tank #redacted darlin #redacted sam #redacted vampires #redacted david #soulmate september 24 #parting song #tank is not okay

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yup-thats-me · 21 days

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—haori • Iguro. O

pairing; husband!Iguro x wife!reader summary; seeing the serpent hashira become jealous over a kid is not something a normal person would even dream of, but here the man was, absolutely smitten by his darling wife. warning; none

Y/n's husband was grumbling yet again, the object being, of course, Kamado Tanjiro.

"That kid's gonna die by my hands!"

"What has he done to face the wrath of the serpent hashira, Iguro?" Y/n asked him smiling as she stitched his torn haori. In a second, all the fury from his dual chrome eyes vanished.

Igura sat beside Y/n, taking her hand to his lips, and kissing gently. “How can I not be angry, my love? He was talking to you as if you were chums!” It was an honor to see the man become so lovesick and tender—an experience only Y/n could have.

She put her hand on his cheek, caressing ever so gently. “I was the one who asked him about his sister. He’s a good kind, Iguro.”

Iguro became somewhat deflated at his lover’s words. He could only smile, accepting his defeat. “But still!” he whined as a last resort.

Seeing him almost made Y/n giggle, but she composed herself and instead kissed his cheek, enjoying the way Iguro’s face became flushed red. “I hope my wonderful husband isn't feeling envious towards a little kid?” Iguro could sense the playfulness in her words, but he was simply too overjoyed to care. He simply shook his head, like a child denying that he stole a candy.

Smiling, she continued with the task at hand, pushing the needle through the tear, slowly filling the gap. The air around them was quiet, and peaceful so.

“Even though, dear, Tanjiro is a promising boy,” she said unconsciously as she glanced over her handiwork.

Iguro perked up at this. “What makes you say that, my love?’’

“Well,” she put the haori over his shoulder. “No one could land a hit on my husband during this training, and he did so in four days no less.”

Even though Iguro felt a surge of pride and happiness spread across his chest as she called him her “husband”, he had to agree with the sentiment.

“It infuriates me…but you’re right.” He sighed, hugging Y/n close. “I do hope he becomes a hashira when this all is over. Then I’d challenge him to a battle!” And there he was, the most intimidating and unfriendly hashira of the demon slayer corps, the lovesick fool of them all.

do not steal, copy or translate my work on any other site. all belongs to yup-thats-me™️ on tumblr

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wub-fur-radio · 4 months

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Taking Sparkling Eno As Strategy (Again) Another Eclectic Tribute to Brian Eno

On the occasion of his 76th birthday, Wub-Fur Internet Radio once again pays tribute to Mr. Brian Eno with another collection of sparkling cover versions of his songs, recorded by an eclectic selection of artists between 1982 and 2021. Featuring the obliquely strategic talents of Queens of the Stone Age, The Feelies, St. Vincent, Jason Falkner, Chrome, Nouvelle Vague, Birdsongs of the Mesozoic, Game Theory, Brand X, and a half dozen more artists who know but don’t let it show.

▶︎🎶 Listen on Mixcloud

Running Time: 1 hour, 5 seconds

Tracklist

Intro: The Interesting Thing (0:15)

Needles in the Camel's Eye (3:20) — Queens of the Stone Age | Palm Desert, CA | 2007

Burning Airlines Give You So Much More (3:41) — Jason Falkner | Los Angeles, CA | 1996

Baby's on Fire (4:01) — Shearwater | Austin, TX | 2006

Third Uncle (3:19) — The Feelies | Haledon, NJ | 1984

No One Is Receiving [ft. Nadéah] (3:17) — Nouvelle Vague | Paris, France | 2016

Cindy Tells Me (3:08) — The Mess | Los Angeles, CA | 1992

St. Elmo's Fire (2:40) — Sam Miell | ??? | 2017

Sombre Reptiles (4:02) — Birdsongs of the Mesozoic | Boston, MA | 1992

Some of Them Are Old (3:00) — St. Vincent | LA/Dallas/NYC | 2012

Sky Saw (4:57) — Brand X | London, UK | 1997

The Big Ship (9:14) — Vapour Theories | Philadelphia, PA | 2021

By This River (4:02) — Alva Noto + Ryuichi Sakamoto | Germany / Japan | 2011

Here Come The Warm Jets (3:00) — Chrome | San Francisco, CA | 1987

Taking Tiger Mountain (5:22) — Pascal Comelade | Montpellier, France | 1982

Needles in the Camel's Eye (2:47) — Game Theory | Sacramento, CA | 2020

Long time listeners (and perspicacious newer ones) have no doubt already noted that this mix is a sequel to our previous Eno covers tribute, originally aired in July of 2016 and then updated and revised for Brian's 69th birthday back in 2017, which can be heard here.

#indie rock #art rock #experimental rock #brian eno #tribute #music mixes

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littjara-mirrorlake · 3 months

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The test subject Jin-Gitaxias was to work on crouched in the center of the laboratory, rippling muscle joined to fur and metal with the measured precision of an anatomical diagram. Coarse dark hair wreathed his face of bare bone, and his flesh continually unraveled and re-knit itself upon a robust skeletal scaffolding. The researchers scurrying about him with their lean chrome frames seemed almost insubstantial in comparison. Scientific trivialities blinked through their minds, caught by Jin's telepathy–update measured reaction time; refine musculoskeletal interfacing; test compatibility of new tibia–as all the while their patchwork beast sat on his haunches and watched them silently, an unsettling keenness in his hollow eye sockets.

A novel predicament, for certain.

Jin shifted his telepathic attention to the workings of the test subject's mind. A single concept, fierce and wordless, struck him like a hammer's blow–

Hunger–

And in one smooth movement the beast swung his skull around to meet Jin's gaze, maw gaping slightly as if to taste the air.

"Another one of you." Though the beast did not look away from Jin, he instead addressed the scientists beside him. His words emerged disjointedly from newly stitched-together vocal cords. "Is this one here to observe me, too?"

"That," head researcher K'rezakx said, emerging from a small huddle of their subordinates, "is junior researcher Jin-Gitaxias, our newest recruit." K'rezakx turned to Jin and indicated their test subject with one needle-tipped appendage. "Jin-Gitaxias, this is the creation which I spoke of in our initial meeting, formed of material from the green mana nexus. We call him Vorinclex."

Vorinclex growled lowly as if in thought, tipping his snout upward and inhaling. "That one is different. Something is in the air."

The least you could do is address me directly, Jin thought, but he strained to hold his tongue. He could not risk falling short in K'rezakx's judgement, not after the researcher had offered him a position on such an uncommon project.

"Astute observation, Vorinclex," K'rezakx responded. "You are sensing a high concentration of mana. Psionic energy, to be specific. Jin-Gitaxias is what we know as a telepath."

"Telepath," Vorinclex repeated. Slowly, methodically, sampling each syllable. "What is that?"

"The neurocirculatory lattice of his ichor possesses an affinity for resonating with the same. In other words, he is capable of reading and speaking directly into our minds."

"Yes," Jin cut in irritably, unable to take being ignored any longer. "Such abilities, requiring extended study in others, have always been trivial for me to channel. They have allowed me to accumulate the prowess that gained me this research position–and I am, I should mention, the most recently compleated initiate to do so."

To his frustration, Vorinclex did not seem to regard this information highly. He looked to Jin and K'resakx and back again. "Welcome, then, initiate," he snorted. "I expect I will see you in the operating theater before long."

And with that Vorinclex turned, loping away from the two with an all-too-casual gait. Jin watched him go, hissing under his breath.

#small snippet of the beginning of my next praetor backstory fic #god knows when the thing will actually be published so have this for now #shame this is the day after pride month #but pride lasts forever #mtg #magic the gathering #new phyrexia #phyrexian #jin-gitaxias #vorinclex #jinclex #mtg fanfic #gay

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streetkid-named-desire · 2 months

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Petrichor

This week's song was Turn Me On by Nina Simone and I got a very sweet idea. They really do get their shit together in the third novel. Enjoy this sweet moment.

The old shack creaked in time with the needle drop. "Where did you find this?" Bea asked. Nina Simone's "Turn Me On" drifted out from the worn phonograph.

"Does it matter?" V shimmied towards her, off beat, his hands outstretched waiting for Bea to take them.

Bea smiled and stepped towards him, swaying her hips. Harsh wind rattled the thin glass and the sweet smell of petrichor filled the room.

Their bodies met like the final piece in a puzzle. His hands gently grasped her hips and she wrapped her arms around his neck. It wasn't a sexy sway. No grinding of hips together. Just simple and sweet.

The metal fan shuddered and creaked and a drop of sweat trickled down Bea's back. Tomorrow they'd be on the road again. But for tonight, they could rest.

"You smell that?" V asked.

Bea nuzzled his neck, "Mmhm. Storm's coming."

The song switched to "It Be's That Way" and V softly pulled her right arm off his neck and linked his hand in hers. He wrapped his other arm around her waist and dipped her. Bea giggled, startled by the dramatic gesture. Looking up at him, all she saw was a radiant love. It helped his head had a halo of light from the ceiling fan light above them.

When he pulled her back up she took the lead and spun him out. He had to duck under her arm briefly and the wisp of hair against her bare arm tickled.

"Whose house even is this?" Bea slid her arms under his, pulling him close into an embrace.

"Don't know. But whosever's it is," he kissed the top of her head and rested his cheek against her hair. It was slightly greasy from the lack of showers they'd come across on the road and a hint of pomegranate still clung to her. "I'd like to thank them personally," he said softly.

"Mm," Bea melted in his arms. She was exhausted from driving for nearly 12 hours straight. They were only in Oklahoma. A dust storm had them finding shelter in a long abandoned farm.

V scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bedroom. He'd laid their sleeping bags out over the dusty bare mattress.

The record player clicked, having spun to the end. Bea slipped her pants off and pulled her bra out from under her shirt. She wrinkled her nose at the damp fabric. The AC in her Gecko was busted and they hadn't found the spare parts to fix it yet. She folded them neatly and placed them on the least dusty corner of the bedside table.

V pulled the needle off the record and prepared for bed.

Bea walked to the window and tried to open it. She wanted to feel the cool night air and fall asleep to rain pattering the plains. It was stuck.

"Baby?" Bea called out.

"Be there in a sec, love," V called back. He locked the door and double checked the handle. He turned the lights off and went to the bedroom.

Bea kept trying but the window just would not budge. V came up behind her and slid his hands playfully under her shirt. He cooled his hands down just enough to soothe her. He brushed her hair aside with his nose and kissed her neck. "What do you need?"

"I need you to open this window, please," Bea escaped his embrace to give him room.

With all the lights and other electric appliances off in the other room it was quiet. The soft sound of the hydraulic pistons in his fingers and arms were a mere whisper as he slid the window open with some force. He dusted his hands off and looked at her.

"Thank you," Bea kissed his cheek and turned towards the bed. V gave her a playful swat on her ass before walking to the other side. He took his pistol out of his backpack and placed it on the bedside table next to him. He flipped off the light and undressed.

The sleeping bags rustled as V curled around her. A cool breeze rolled in and goosebumps danced across their skin in unison. Lightning flashed and made V's chrome hands glitter for a moment. Bea placed her hand over his, linking fingers, and pulled his hand to her chest, making him hold her tighter.

Bea closed her eyes and followed V's breathing. In for four, hold for four, out for six. It helped her fall gently to sleep when the insomnia was bad. Their months on the road had brought her back into nomad life and she was getting anxious sleeping indoors again.

A shy burst of thunder soon followed and the heavens tore open. If this farm were still tended, it would be a good crop year for the farmers.

It would be a good year for Bea and V, too.

#emotional support imagination playground #oc: vincent guerra #oc: batsheva #otp: cat and mouse

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coffeeangelinabox · 5 months

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Day 17 #Hallucination

“Repeat,” the voice says. It’s as toneless and bland as the white-and-chrome room that he’s in. He can’t move, can’t see - restraints, drugs, habitual obedience - tries to comply through numb lips and the needles stabbing through his eyes and nerves.

He can’t talk, words freeze in his throat. Don’t even get as far as his throat, freeze in his brain, unable to form into coherent thoughts, much less verbalisations.

“Repeat,” the voice says again. No irritation, no anger, just simple insistence.

And the images flood his mind: swirling colours, impressions, silhouettes, smells and emotions. He had a family…didn’t he? He’d signed up because he’d believed in the Domain’s peacekeeping ethos, because he agreed that there should be some consensus and harmonisation across Domain space no matter how close to the outer reaches. No one should be deprived of basic comforts of civilisation and government just for not being a central planet.

So why now are memories of a lonely childhood raised in Domain barracks with the rest of the abandoned children flooding his mind?

He forces his eyes open and it seems for a moment that the shadow standing over him is his mother, brushing his fringe off his forehead; his sister, straightening his uniform and beaming with pride; Nicol the last time she kissed him, he can smell her perfume - lilacs and jasmine. Then the needles become too much, the soft unprotected membranes of his eyeballs burningfreezingtearing and he slams them shut.

What had he been looking at?

Nothing. There’s nothing there, no one who would visit him. He hasn’t stayed in touch with any of the boys he grew up with.

“Repeat.”

“Beowulf,” he grinds out, hoping that they’re almost done testing his memory since the training accident. He’s murderously thirsty. “Captain.”

There is a considering silence.

“Which unit are you a part of?”

Hovering at the edge of his senses is the smell of ozone, the whine of laser blasters, the taste of dirt and iron on his lips as he imagines (remembers) a ground assault against subversive elements fighting to bring down the Domain. Then it’s gone. He’s never been in battle, of course not.

“Infiltration and extraction,” he answers, syllables painful in his dry mouth. “Seconded to Intelligence.”

“Good,” the voice sounds satisfied. He is offered, finally, a sip of lukewarm water. Enough to remove the salt metal taste, not enough to ease his thirst.

There’s a rustle and the speaker speaks again. Not to him this time. “Run the programme again, one more cycle to consolidate. Then bring in the next one.”

#my writing #whump #whump prompts #whumpril2024 #coffeeangelinabox's space opera ocs #torture #mind control #mind conditioning #reconditioning #whumprilday17 #hallucination

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thesightstoshowyou · 1 year

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Trip Wire

Jesse Cromeans/Chromeskull x AFAB Reader (NSFW)

Warnings: Noncon, violence, blood, arm trauma, heavy gore, sadism, torture, needle mention, blood as lube, cum in wounds, traumatic amputation. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

Crickets chirp and nightingales call, but you don’t hear them, not over the way your frenzied breaths spill from your mouth and your heart pumps adrenaline through your ears. You sprint through the open field, tall grass whipping against your thighs as you fly past. A tiny sliver of moon barely lights your path, giving you just enough light to navigate through the brush.

You chance a look over your shoulder, racing heart leaping in your throat when the chrome skull mask glints in the moonlight and casts a threatening sheen on the serrated blades clutched in his gloved hands.

Up ahead, a grouping of trees. Maybe you can hide, catch your breath—

You hit the ground so hard you bounce, roll, tumble head over heels until you skid to a stop in a twisted, dusty heap. Pain follows, blinding agony in your left arm, throbbing in your hip, sharp pinpoints scattered across your skin.

Wild eyes rake over your body and take stock of your hurt limb, bent at an unnatural angle, bloody bone tip protruding from the flesh of your forearm. Broken.

Fuck, fuck….

What had tripped you up?

Squinting, you see it: A stretch of barbed wire is twisted around your legs, your hips, your arm, your shoulder. Blood, black in the moonlight, drips and spills onto the flattened grass as the barbs dig into your flesh. It must have caught your shoe as you’d sprinted past and wrapped itself around your body as you rolled.

What are the fucking odds…?

You do your best to quiet your agonized cry when your arm throbs, pulses in anguish. Instead, the sound leaves your mouth as a pathetic whine you must silence immediately as—

Crunch, crunch, crunch….

Unhurried footsteps stalk toward your immobilized form, shining skull mask coming into view over the top of the grass. The hulking man pauses near your feet, squats, tips his head to the side. You watch with teary eyes as his shoulders bob in silent laughter.

He shakes his masked head, lays his blades in the grass, and produces a cell phone from his pocket. Pushing a button on the camera mounted on his shoulder, a little red light blinks to life as the man types out a message on the phone in his hands.

‘I couldn’t have done better if I’d tried, piggy.’

You wince when the phone shrieks at you, screaming women’s voices taunting you with their message. Quickly, you shake your head, try to crawl away only for the barbs to catch in your skin and tug. Rancid pain tears a shriek from your throat, a sound that tapers into a whimper. You’re mocked with more silent laughter.

“S-Stop this, stop…” you plead, tears spilling over your lashes. The man’s gloved hand darts out, grips you face, angles your head so you’re looking right into the camera. He squishes your cheeks until your lips purse, tauntingly wiggling your head back and forth.

With his free hand, he retrieves one of the knives at his feet. A squeak and a cry sneak from your squashed mouth, more tears carving wet trails down your face and dripping onto his glove.

Slow and measured, like he wants you to see his every move, he shifts, lifts a heavy boot, presses the toe down on the wrist of your broken arm to pin it to the grass. Night birds take flight, startled from their trees by your piercing screams. Agony—sharp, feverish, nauseating—wracks your injured limb.

Steel glints as the knife is raised, lowered, the point set against the mangled skin near protruding bone. The man pushes, knife tip sinking into the wound. Your howling reaches a fever pitch, legs thrashing, heedless of your injury. You must get away, get him away, stop this torment at any cost—

Your face is released so the man can dig his fingers into the wound, peel back oozing sinew, expose more bone. Crimson splatters the front of his mask and your eyes roll back into your head, unconsciousness giving you a brief respite.

Pat, pat, pat.

Your eyelids flutter, a hoarse groan burning your sore throat. Your teeth clench when pain explodes along your arm again, like someone turning the volume from 0 to 100 all at once. You flinch as the man repeatedly smacks your cheek until you crack your eyes open.

Glowing light momentarily blinds you when his cell phone is shoved in your face. Squinting, you read, ‘Ask nice and I’ll make it feel all better, piglet.”

Choking on a sob, you don’t hesitate. “P-Please, PLEASE make it stop, please—

More silent chuckling as the man reaches into his suit jacket and produces a needle and syringe filled halfway with clear liquid. Jesus, what could that be?

Anything is better than what he’s currently doing to you.

Probably….

You wheeze, hiss when he lifts his boot off your wrist. You barely feel the needle as it’s inserted into a vein in your hand. Numbness spreads through your limb, medication following the path of your blood stream until all you feel is a dull pulsing.

You can hardly believe it. “Thank…thank you,” you stammer, wondering why the hell you’re expressing appreciation to the man who did this to you in the first place. He gives you another condescending pat, pat to you cheek, tosses his blade back into the grass, and grips your waist with two large hands.

The rest of your injured body protests and you shriek as he lifts you, flips you onto your front, hoists your hips in the air. Your torn pants are ripped down to your knees and a new wave of terror surges through you.

“N-NO, nonono please, no—

The man in the mask shoves your face into the dirt, effortlessly holding you in place. There’s no fighting him, no strength in any part of you that could match even the force of his arm. This is happening, it’s coming, there’s nothing you can do….

Rustling of clothing behind you heralds the noisy slap of a hot, hard cock against your ass. Trembling, uselessly begging, you tense when the thick head prods your entrance. He pushes, feels resistance, pulls back.

There’s a muffled, irritable huff and two gloved digits dip into your still-seeping arm wound, wetting themselves in scarlet. Slick clicking reaches your ears—he’s stroking himself, oh god, he’s using your blood—and the slippery cock head returns to your hole.

This time when he pushes, he sinks into tight muscles. Your jaw falls open, a pained grunt sounding in your throat as your speared open and stuffed full. The man releases a haggard exhale behind his mask before snapping his hips forward.

You cry out, the sound tight and constricted as your lungs fight for air, but you think you’ve forgotten how to breathe. The cock deep in your guts prevents you from taking a full breath. Worse, every harsh thrust grinds your cheek into the grass and pulls taut the wire wrapped around your frame. Rusty barbs stab into sensitive flesh over and over until you’re shredding your throat with screams once again.

The pace of his hips doesn’t falter as he reaches for his cell. The tap, tap, tap of the keys sounds behind you and you hear the shouted message, ‘Every time you scream your pussy gets tighter.’ Sobbing, you claw fruitlessly at the grass with your good arm.

Tap, tap, tap,

‘You’re right, crying is better.’

He leans down over you then, cold chrome coming to rest against your tear stained cheek, the warmth of his body enveloping your back. He’s listening to your blubbering, you realize. You can hear his own labored breathing this close, feel him so, so deep in your cunt when he bucks his hips and ruts into you.

You hate how weirdly intimate it is, how this man who has tortured you can so easily force himself on you so tenderly. You hate it even more when your body responds, a sweet little mewl falling from your quivering lips.

With a grunt, your assailant pulls away, rips his cock from your slit, furiously pumps his length, his glove still slick with your blood. Hastily, he moves to your left, hovers over your broken limb. You can only watch in horror as he cums with a wheeze, thick ropes of white painting your mangled wound. He…he just….

Sighing contentedly, shoulders shrugging, he stands and tucks himself away. He straightens his jacket, fixes a ruffled sleeve, and peers down at you. You can only stare up at him, eyes glazed, heart fluttering against your ribs like a panicking bird. Around you, the wind rustles the tall grasses, tree branches creaking in the chilly breeze.

You feel it when he brings his heavy boot down on your fracture. Every creature around for miles must hear your anguish. He stomps, stomps again, bones crunching under his heel. Two gloved hands take hold of your wrist. He leans back, jerks, pulls, twists. Sickening ripping, tearing of flesh, snapping of tendons, squelching of blood and the man stands, your forearm clutched in his palms.

He slings your severed limb over a shoulder, like one would a shovel after a long day of digging in the dirt. At his feet, you wail, voice gone hoarse from all your racket. No medication could dull this agony.

Retrieving his phone once more, he types up another message. You can barely see it through tears, drooping eyelids, growing darkness at the edges of your vision.

‘Get up, little piggy. I’ve got a coffin waiting with your name on it.

‘.…need a hand? lol’

#jesse cromeans #chromeskull #jesse cromeans x reader #chromeskull x reader #laid to rest #chromeskull: laid to rest 2 #thesightstoshowyou #slashers #slasher x reader

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alexis-royce · 11 months

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WIP game, (aka proof that I certainly don't finish everything that I start!)

I was tagged by: @the-dye-stained-socialite

RULES: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Please don't get too attached to any of these. Each one is equally likely to languish in draft purgatory or get made into a fully-fledged-whatever-it-is.

Grounds for Termination (Chrome and Prism)

Mostly text below the cut:

No Spoilers (Fallen London)

The third member of the book club had been uncharacteristically quiet. His pencil had been scribbling away for weeks now. Occasionally, Pages would demand to see what the man had been writing, wary of some kind of treacherous spy notation. But each time, his notebook was spun around, revealing a veritable sportsman’s notation of the conversation, complete with tally marks, denoting points. The Jovial Contrarian would flash an expression charitably known as “punchable,” before returning to his note-taking. Great rhetorical zugzwang did not come without effort and study, and if a man wanted to keep his edge, it was frightfully important to find and study such excellent examples. Cards, at a glance, found themself exceptionally leery of the notation system employed by the contrarian, but before they were ever quite able to question it, some little spark of conversational fluff would waft by, reigniting their squabble with Pages, and more pressing matters would take prescience.

Mastery and the Marvellous (Fallen London)

“Stop that. Why are you rubbing your eye?” “I’m. Rubbing my eye?” She stammered. “I suppose-“ “Hypothetical. I know why you are doing this. Your hand. It vexes you.” “If my hand hurt, why would I rub-“ “Your hand of CARDS, Human.” “That hand’s fine, too-“ The movement was sudden, but there was no harshness in its tone. It stole the cards from The Disgraced Academic’s grip, and spread them out on the table. “Oi!” The Academic reached for them, but Pages shooed her away. “Do you want an afternoon’s amustraction, or do you want victory?”

Hiding an injury / betrayal / lying (Fallen London)

There was a long-running argument as to the exact shade violant most resembled. As a light, it was redder than blood. As a pigment, it was nearly indigo. But everyone who saw it agreed that the effect was much the same as spotting a running rivulet of blood from the stomach of a loved one. It commanded attention, to the distraction of all other things. The Ex-Disgraced Academic’s fingers trembled as they scraped violant eyeshadow from their compact, dragging it across their upper eyelid, and into the creek behind the bridge of their nose. They fanned it out, under their brow, nearly to their temple. It was a daring use of rouge, and frankly scandalous. But it was exactly the sort of hue that would distract from the blossoming crimson stain oozing from their abdomen.

Dissociation (Deadly Premonition, HUGE spoilers)

First off, Zach could come to the front whenever he wanted, so it wasn’t a problem or anything. The white room was only a room in their dreams. When they were awake, it was more of the feeling of white, then anything else. A pull at the back of his skull, as though gravity shifted at the edge of his brain. But he didn’t have to stay back there or anything. When nobody was talking to them, he liked to strum on their base, or stitch new patches onto their jacket. He liked to get fancy with the stitches, and York was pretty encouraging about it. But the other guys made one crack about embroidery, and it took Zach four months to even pick up a needle again. Sure, he sometimes bumped into things while walking. But Zach was fine. He wasn’t trapped at all.

Experimentation / Muzzle / transformation (Jekyll & Hyde)

Pain hurts worse the more damage it does to you. For Henry John Albert Jekyll, transformation was excruciating. There simply wasn’t a way to reframe it as beneficial. Alchemy followed a process, and one of the first steps was the stripping of vice. This position wasn’t meant to be anything beyond a simple Nigredo stage. The sloughing and burning of vice. It would have hurt, but it would have been a pain of catharsis. The bitter medicine fed to him in bed by a nurse. A scalding bath. The screaming voice of his father, correcting a shameful behavior. The mortification of flesh. But what was good and noble was being ripped from him. His patience, above all other things. Everything was louder as Hyde, everything was loud and impossible to abide, beer was richer and gin sweeter, the thighs of a woman were soft and the moans of men buttery.

The Outside, Chapter 4 (The Stanley Parable)

He went instead to the encyclopedias, pulled one down from the shelf, and then three more. Volumes 23-26. He opened two of them to random pages and left them open on the ground, then opened the other two, quickly turning pages one at a time. Lots of text, lots of images… THERE. Two of the volumes were displaying identical page layouts. Two sets of articles on mangroves, not a single difference between the words and images. Volumes 24 and 26 had repeated content. But when he flipped the books closed, both covers listed “Volume 25.” No…he’d been certain that he’d pulled four differently numbered books off the shelf. He checked the row again, and there, plain as day, was the untouched copy of Volume 26. If Stanley had attempted to relay this fact to another person, they’d likely tell him that he’d made a mistake. The library simply happened to have two copies of Volume 25. It was odd, sure, and bad luck that he’d managed to grab the one book that would trip him up. But those coincidences were more likely than…what? He was dreaming? His senses were handling input incorrectly ? The world around him was a poorly designed fabrication, scrambling to patch itself with limited content and memory allocation? Stanley’s fingers twitched.

Ash and Herbert Comic (Evil Dead, Re-Animator)

Panel 1 Ash, taking his pants off Ash: Hey short stuff I gotta thank you for doin’ me this solid Panel 2 Slumps down in a chair, boxers and hairy legs, kicks his feet up: Ash: I ran outta pharmacies after the S-Mart in Kalamazoo refused me service. Panel 3 Foreground, a syringe flicks bubbles, Ash prattles on in bg, full of a staggeringly self-assured confidence They say it was “because a horde of giggling demons ate the receptionist,” but I know transphobia when I see it.”

Charles Augustus Milverton Adaptation (Sherlock Holmes)

Watson later apologizes. “The very minute which my own blood cooled, I realized that I had committed upon you the same crime of which I had accused you. I was the cold one, not you. And I fear that it was not the young lady’s feelings which I’d been attempting to protect.”

Otto's Mind Design Docs (Psychonauts 2 Spoilers)

Lead Into Gold Roughs (Serialized Killer Spoilers)

Harold “Weird…is this some kind of accountability that isn’t based off fear?” — Maggie: Arrrrrgh Harry’s buzzing around in here telling me what to do.{w} Shut up I don’t take orders from ANYONE! Maggie: GRRAAAAAAHHHH! with vpunch Maggie: huff huff pause Maggie: Hawley, tell me what to do. — Harry "Well, DeLus was ACTUALLY locked in her basement by her father. There wasn't a lock on MY basement door. Show hawley sarcastic Hawley "Yeah, that's completely different." #Harry does not pick up on the sarcasm Harry "I've led a very fortunate and privileged life."

Hojojutsu (Lupin III)

Page 1 Zenigata is walking past a line of recruits, who are saluting. Narration: Inspector Zenigata Koichi is diligent, Zenigata continues to walk by, the word balloons follow him Narration: and hardworking, Zenigata continues to walk past the line of recruits Narration: And Tireless, One of the recruits, under his salute, grins. It’s Lupin. Narration: And A FOOL. Jigen Curse Comic Page Le Salle is a room that dwarfs the Mona Lisa, and how small it is in real life frequently disappoints people. Similarly, the man removing it is dwarfed by the space he fails to magnificently occupy. Rolling up the painting is Jigen Daisuke. Zenigata keeps his gun leveled. Balloon: Jeez, Pops, put that away before you hurt someone! The room is big, and there are only two men in it. Zenigata: Lupin? Come on out, and I’ll swap the gun for cuffs! Jigen, Mona Lisa in hand, brushes back his jacket, reaching for his gun. Jigen: You want me to take care of this? Page Zenigata’s confusion is making him upset. Balloon: Are you nuts? I’m already very mad you capped one guy, don’t push your luck! Under the brim of his hat, Jigen grins. He abandons his draw. Jigen: Whatever you say, Boss. Zenigata finally loses it. Balloon: Hmph, you only call me “Boss” when you’re upset- Zenigata: What the HELL’S goin’ on, here?! His grip is tight on the gun. Zenigata: Where the hell is Lupin? He bellows, in quite the action shot. Zenigata: Because that voice… ...ain’t him! Page Jigen stops for a moment, putting the Mona Lisa into a canvas tube. He slings it over his shoulder. Jigen: Well, that’s rude. Jigen begins to walk away. This conversation is built of linked speech bubbles. It’ll be a little confusing to read, but that’s okay. Zenigata is also confused. Jigen: You’d think he’d be happy to see his reason for living! I know, it’s been what, six months? Six months without a good chase! Must’ve been goin’ stir-crazy. Page The brim of Jigen’s hat tilts up, and a ray of moonlight passes over his face. He’s not doing well. The smile on his face is very Lupin-esque, wide eyed and energetic. But it sits poorly on this gunman. It doesn’t suit him, and with good reason. Jigen: That’s okay! I was itching for a heist, too!

High Protocol (NonPlatonic Forms)

“I can’t believe I shaved for this.” “Shut up, Liam.” Lee found it exceptionally rude that, almost as soon as he’d been able to speak again, he wasn’t allowed to use his voice anymore. “Yes, yes,” Niles worried at the cuffs of his jacket, and straightened his lapels, “an utter shame that the world won’t be graced with your croaky voice. However, the point is for you to be perceived as little as possible. If you draw attention to yourself, it will soundly defeat the point. Lee didn’t think that he was dressed to blend in. The suitjacket was immaculately tailored, and cut from a black-on-black brocade. He’d managed to slick his hair back into place, and he could see his face in his shoes. There was something satisfying about being dressed so elegantly. If you could pull off a look, it made you into a walking piece of art. Neat! But the collar was tight, the layers had already made him begin to sweat, and the shoes pinched at his toes and heels. Lee looked great, but it was a trade-off he wasn’t sure he’d be able to make for long. Niles began to fuss with Lee’s tie, now. Initially, he held tie after tie up to his neck, debating between endless shades of black, wrapping them around his collar in half and full Windsors. As his fingers brushed against Lee’s neck and chest, the sensation was more than enough to distract Lee from the pain in his heels. But the analogue method was too cumbersome for Niles, who quickly reverted to cheating. A snap of his fingers, and a new tie sprang about Lee’s collar. Another snap, another tie. Snap, snap, snap.

Gray Jacket Chapter 20 (Lupin III, and I do actually plan on finishing this one)

It wasn’t unheard of for them to bump into the same opponent once or twice, but over the past couple years, a young swordsman had kept popping up. A genuine, 20th-century samurai, hakama and katana in tow. Lupin had squarely beat him on all fronts, of course. Nobody was ever really any match for his own dazzling brilliance. But the Samurai had survived both encounters, and after a particularly lengthy little job plundering a pair of scrolls the samurai had been ordered to guard, the samurai had tried a new tactic. He’d shown up, barging straight into Lupin’s hideout, shoulders piled high with all his worldly possessions, determined to study, with Lupin as his new master. After all, Lupin had bested the samurai and his master, multiple times over. If he wanted to learn from ‘The Best,’ then it would be Lupin, and nobody else. At that moment, however, ‘The Best’ was plowing straight [OH NO THIS PART IS EXPLICIT], and the samurai’s declaration of intent to dedicate himself to Lupin’s tutelage was drowned out by an overcome moan of [YEAH YOU CAN'T SAY THAT IN CHURCH] and Lupin wasn’t in the habit of making artisan, single-sourced love if he had a looky-loo breathing down his neck. Across the room, Jigen turned the page of his newspaper. “The boss is busy. Come back later.”

Off the Cuff 2 (It's in the title)

"Ahhhhhh, {i}Christ.{/i}" "It’s my ex." "You ever been in one of those relationships that just consumes you from the inside?{w} You really, really know it’s a terrible idea, but that hardly helps.{w} You draw a line super early: clear, definite boundaries." "And then you realize that you’re both insanely fucked up, and neither of you has the same definition for what you’ve defined." "Why do I always find myself in these sorts of scenarios?{w} All I can do is sigh." "Nobody tells you that a 5\’2\" spitfire is going to be utterly irresistible to so many people. Hey, I try to warn them." "Too many folks out there touch-starved, I guess.{w} You pat them on the head once, and they think you’ve got an immortal, irreplaceable bond,{w} and then they drag you away to their laboratory where they just can't stop raising the dead, and you’ve got a whole 'nother issue to deal with." "Oh, well.{w} It do be like that sometimes."

Mecha Pilot Lee AU (NonPlatonic Forms)

The screen illuminated Lee's face. “Huh. That’s weird.” “What’s weird?” If she hadn't been a 15-meter mech, she could’ve been arching an eyebrow, for all her timbre implied. “Diagnostics were checking to see if you’d suffered data loss in the attack, but it’s the opposite. There’s new data in here.” Lee preemptively logged the finding analog-style, pulling out a notebook and copying down the file name. “Oh, uh. Don’t open that.” She coughed. “That’s private.” Lee smirked. “Julia is not supposed to be saving personal files to your hardware, Channery. It’s a security issue.” “Where else is she supposed to save them? Come on, Lee! The enemy built me with barely any memory as it was! I know that I’m not supposed to be developing a history or memories, but you know better than I that I can’t accurately cross-reference them against any moral codes besides treasuring Julia!” “Oh. So it’s. Uh. Personal?” “Extremely.” Channery glowered. She couldn’t really fire her pulse charges at an ally, but her tone didn’t exactly encourage Lee to test it. “Channery, you know that I’m going to have to double-check this, right? I have to extract this and run it on a limited server. If it’s malicious…” “It’s not malicious! But it is, you know…” she hissed through her not-teeth, “…off-book pilot/apparatus bonding techniques.” “Any events that take place inside a cockpit are subject to government surveillance,” but Lee groaned as he said it. Julia and Channery weren’t the first pair to commit ‘off-book activities,’ and they wouldn’t be the last. It wasn’t even an illegal activity, so long as you were the only pilot assigned to the mech in question. But some pilots looked at the memory reserves in the mech’s hard drive, and figured that, so long as the AI was going to be adding the occasional movie, song or mission footage to its memory banks, there was space in there for their own precious memories of hanky-panky. Fucking the mech wasn’t illegal. But saving your own unapproved files to the hard drive was.

And last but not least, from the 51k nanowrimo version of Lead Into Gold:

20th of Mid-Autumn, 1905 My one and only, You are quite right. I meant to write you a love letter, but instead, wound myself up in fears and concerns for myself. This next letter must scoop you up into my arms, and submerge us both into the warm comfort of my adoration. I miss you dreadfully; during the days there is my research to keep me company, but it is a cruel friend that runs me ragged and leaves me empty. I’ve grown accustomed to welcoming you to dinner every night, and have been considering hiring a cook, if research continues to go well. It is not fashionable to have servants, as the aristos in other cities do, but the hiring of a weekly maid is quite normal, and has worked well for me. I have kept her from touching the guest room- which is quickly taking place in my mind as ‘Hawley’s Room’- but I cannot say the same for myself. I have slept in there twice already, and worn your sweater while I slept and while I but these hints of you are not the same as your presence and words. You know, as much as I may consider the opinions of others, their presence is extraordinarily draining. I have had three dinners since you left, all of them supposedly university functions, but all also including a number of businessmen. I knew that this was a common occurrence in the chemical and engineering departments; the end goal for most research is to patent and sell to the highest bidder. But as you mentioned, I am quite well off enough that to sell would be quite unethical of me. So it is obnoxious to continually wish for a dinner discussing university business, and to get this other sort of business, instead. Were you here, I wonder what you might have said. And yes, I am sure that that must be an odd thing to hear from me, who is constantly tutting and pooh-poohing you for your lack of manners. But what seems irksome in abundance can be precious in absentia. And your forthrightness is a blast of cool air in these stuffy meetings. The lot of us stuffed-shorts spend hours and hours carefully twisting our words around, into pretty shapes, hoping to avoid offense. But all that that really seems to accomplish is to raise the standard. And thus, words that are not pretty enough become an offense. A missed complement becomes a slight. It is enough to make me long for you to insult me. I am no masochist, but the sense of security one gets by being insulted in good faith? It is endless. To know that one’s faults are perceived, and still accepted, is more flattering than a hundred compliments. That is part of the charm of you, one that is not easily seen by those deluded enough to expect empty flattery. You do not insult out of some desire to exercise power, or to harm the person with whom you speak. You do so out of the simple, innocent desire to speak what is true, or to assist another in correcting a flaw. And thus, when you speak praise, it holds a value to me which is deeply precious. And all the moreso because your opinions and insight are excellent! When we differ in perspective, it is not long before you are able to sway me to your side of the matter, and I feel all the richer for it. I miss them deeply, and remain, Ever Yours, Harry P.S. I am enclosing some additional notes on the new detection device, and I hope that they are of value.

25th of Mid-Autumn, 1905 My Failing Wordsmith, It confuses me to no end, how a man who spins the most poetic words of love in person, cannot manage to do the same on paper. I do not feel submerged in affection yet, you must open the tap further. I apologize, I am in a lackluster mood. I’ve seen neither hair nor hide of the demon, though the readings are exceptionally strong. I end each day in mounting frustration. One of Rakove’s damndable wasps escaped from its carrier the other day, and when I swung at it, the horrible things was impertinent enough to sting me. That was, in effect, the end to my entire day. Unlike you, I do not handle pain well, and the swelling in my arms was enough to command my thoughts, and I took to bed. I tried writing to you, but it was as though the blinding light at sea, searing my eyes, were all concentrated on that one spot on my arm. All I accomplished was to ruin two sheets of paper with curses, and they are illegibly mediocre ones. Professor Rakove did his best to assist, but his research in the matter is still lacking, and the salve which he applied to the sting only made the situation worse. He asked me questions, attempting to ascertain my status, but, delirious with pain, I cannot tell if I was any help. He stayed by my side for the rest of the day and night, and I appreciate his diligence, giving up valuable research time to care for me. I am still weak, and he supposes that I might have been allergic to the sting. I have told him that while I may grumble about it, he is forgiven in my heart, so long as he fixes the latch on his bee carrier. I shall continue to convalesce, but I won’t improve without affection. Yours. I demand it, so that I may remain, Ever Yours, Hawley

#That being said if you'd like to encourage me to make more of any of these #Then go ahead and comment or send an ask #I am committed to NPF and Lead Into Gold and Gentlemens Club at the moment #But enthusiasm and support can steer my brain in the Actually Making Stuff direction #WIPs #Fics #The Stanley Parable #Psychonauts 2 #Deadly Premonition #Exit #NonPlatonic Forms #Scribbles #I know that there's more rattling around but I'm not going looking for them

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deathmetalunicorn1 · 1 year

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How does the RoR characters react if teen!reader decided to get part-time job for some extra cash for school or if there is something specific she is saving up for?

-You had a goal in mind, but you needed extra cash, your allowance wasn’t going to provide the needed dough for your goal, so you approached your family, asking if you could get a part time job.

-While confused at first about why you wanted a part time job, you explained that there was something you were saving up for, and needed more money and wanted to earn it.

-A few were hesitant about letting you get a job, giving you the stipulation that they needed to know where you were going to work at and that it wasn’t going to be anything sketchy.

-The only other rule was that if your grades started slipping, you would have to quit, which you agreed to and you received their blessings.

-You got a job as a dishwasher at a nearby restaurant that was always busy, the work was hard, but you quickly showed your older co-workers that even though you were a teenager, you were a hard worker!

-You got a good wage, above minimum wage in your area, and you got paid every other week and you got a small portion of the tips each day from the waitresses who shared with the kitchen crew, you included.

-Since you were a teenager, you could only work part time, due to labor laws, and you weren’t able to work long hours either and had to be done with your shift by 9pm, something that made you grumpy, as you were working hard to put more and more funds into your piggy bank.

-You worked there most of your senior year of high school, saving every penny you could.

-When your family would ask you what you were saving up for, you told them that you couldn’t tell them, or they wouldn’t let you get it.

-A few panicked, thinking it was something like a tattoo, but you were the biggest baby with needles, you wouldn’t be able to get a tattoo.

-With each prospect of what you were saving up for, they seemed to find reasons to refute it, and were no closer to finding what you wanted to get.

-Finally, a week before graduation, you had enough money for your purchase, including the extra things that needed to go along with it.

-You told your family that you would bring home what you’ve been working on for the past year after school, as you were going to go and get it.

-You arrived home on a moped, black with chrome details, a matching helmet, license plate and insurance in place as well.

-You got off your new toy, beaming with pride as some jaws were dropped while others looked happy for you.

-You had gotten your license for a car, but you were always borrowing one of theirs, so you started to save up, you didn’t want a car, as the area you lived in was doable with a moped, and you had cars at your disposal if you needed to borrow one.

-You had spent months preparing, getting your moped license, finding out how much to get plates and insurance would be, and finally getting your moped in the color you wanted ordered.

-They were proud of you, seeing that you were so responsible for working so hard for yourself, praising you for your accomplishments, which made you beam brightly at them, as you were proud of yourself too.

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader

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polycraftory · 3 months

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Another belt bag for Nott completed! This one is going to be used to hide a phone while my wife is cosplaying as Nott, and I'm really satisfied with the way it matches the little button pouch I made. She is going to have so so many things on her belts lmao

This was definitely my most complex leatherworking project yet! You can check out our pinned post for a link to my Critical Role leatherworking masterpost if you are interested in the other projects I'm doing for Imogen, Laudna, and Nott. I'm also considering making some "how to" leatherworking for cosplay guides so please let me know if there is anything that you'd find useful!

Some additional process notes:

This bag is made with a 2-3 oz vintage bomber chrome tanned leather and an 8-9 oz vegtan bridle leather. Ideally, I would have used a 5-6 oz leather for the structural part but I needed the heavier leather for belts and couldn't afford to get yet another hide. This totally worked though!

I really like how the internal seams turned out on the thinner leather section but man was it tricky to actually figure out how to hold and do properly.

I added a secondary pocket to the original design by cutting out a second front section and I am so glad that worked out and is functional. It'll be the perfect little pocket for artist alley stickers!

If I wasn't doing this project for cosplay, I might have dyed the edges before burnishing them but I think the lighter edges lend it a more worn in feel and my wife liked it better this way and whatever she wants she can have.

I cannot even begin to explain how much I recommend getting a little disc of grippy material if you are going to sew thick leather together. They are apparently called "Needle Pullers" and they make my little fingers not want to die and make getting the needle through thicker leather SO much easier. I buy the dritz ones, I think they are made of silicon or something???

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rainee-da · 4 months

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🍀rainee's fandom list — this is the list of fandom i'm a part of & list of characters i'm willing to work with! (bolded means favorite!)

anime/manga series — character is listed in alphabetical order!

Mashle: Magic and Muscle ❥ Abbyss Razor / Abel Walker / Agito Tyrone / Carpaccio Luo-Yang / Cell War / Charles Contini / Delisaster / Domina Blowelive / Doom / Dott Barret / Epidem / Famin / Finn Ames / Galuf Gargaron / Kaldo Gehenna / Kenny Clark / Lance Crown / Lemon Irvine / Lévis Rosequartz / Love Cute / Lovie Rosequartz / Malcolm Curtis / Margarette Macaron / Mash Burnedead / Max Land / Milo Genius / Orter Madl / Rayne Ames / Renatus Revol / Shuen Getsuku / Sophina Biblia / Tsurara Halestone / Wirth Madl One-Punch Man ❥ Amai Mask / Atomic Samurai / Blue Fire / Captain Mizuki / Darkness Blade / Drive Knight / Eyelashes / Feather / Flashy Flash / Fubuki / Garou / Gearsper / Genos / Glasses / Golden Ball / Iaian / King / Lightning Max / Metal Bat / Mumen Rider / Mountain Ape / Needle Star / Okamaitachi / One Shotter / Poison / Saitama / Sekingar / Sneck / Speed-O'-Sound Sonic / Spring Mustachio / Tanktop Master / Tatsumaki / Twin Tail / Zombieman Dr. STONE ❥ Chelsea Childe / Chrome / Francois / Gen Asagiri / Ginro / Homura Momiji / Hyoga / Joel Gar / Kinro / Kohaku / Luna Wright / Minami Hokutozai / Moz / Nikki Hanada / Ryusui Nanami / Sai Nanami / Senku Ishigami / Stanley Snyder / Taiju Oki / Tsukasa Shishio / Ukyo Saionji / Xeno H. Wingfield / Yo Uei / Yuzuhira Ogawa My Hero Academia ❥ Aizawa Shouta / Himiko Toga / Hizashi Yamada / Jin Bubaigawara / Keigo Takami / Mirai Saaki / Mirio Togata / Nejire Hado / Neito Monoma / Rumi Usagiyama / Sako Atsuhiro / Shigaraki Tomura / Shinya Kamihara / Shuichi Iguchi / Tamaki Amajiki / Toshinori Yagi / Touya Todoroki / Tsunagu Hakamada Mob Psycho 100 ❥ Arataka Reigen / Hiroshi Shibata / Ichi Mezato / Katsuya Serizawa / Keiji Mogami / Matsuo / Megumu Koyama / Nozomu Hatori / Ritsu Kageyama / Ryo Shimazaki / Shigeo Kageyama / Sho Suzuki / Tenga Onigawara / Terada / Teruki Hanazawa / Toichiro Suzuki / Tome Kurata / Toshiki Minegishi / Tsubomi Takane / Yusuke Sakurai Osomatsu-san ❥ Choromatsu Matsuno / Ichimatsu Matsuno / Jyushimatsu Matsuno / Karamatsu Matsuno / Nyaa Hashimoto / Osomatsu Matsuno / Todomatsu Matsuno / Totoko Yowai Kakegurui ❥ Ibara Obami / Kaeda Manyuda / Kirari Momobami / Mary Saotome / Midari Ikishima / Miri Yobami / Miyo Inbami / Ririka Momobami / Rin Obami / Ryota Suzui / Sayaka Igarashi / Sumika Warakubami / Terano Totobami / Yumeko Jabami / Yumemi Yumemite / Yuriko Nishinotouin

manhwa series — character is listed in alphabetical order!

Eleceed ❥ Amyeong / Arthur Bryan / Cain Luterain / Chul Young / Dr. Delein / Duke Grane / Elay Pigarun / Gangseok Choi / Giwook Jang / Glant Gesimov / Guestella / Ian Patrick / Inhyuk Goo / Iseul Ju / Jiwoo Seo / Jisuk Yoo / Jiyoung Yoo / Jurion Patrick / Kartein / Kayden Break / Lia Eresby / Miyoung Ko / Muse / Pluton / Roist / Schneider / Seongha Park / Subin Lee / Sucheon Kang / Suman Kang / Vator / Wooin UnOrdinary ❥ Arlo / Blyke / Darren / Isen / John / Kuyo / Leilah / Remi / Rei / Seraphina

video games series — character is listed in alphabetical order!

Stardew Valley (+ Expanded) ❥ Abigail / Alex / Claire / Elliot / Emily / Haley / Harvey / Lance / Leah / Magnus / Maru / Penny / Sam / Sebastian / Shane / Sophia / Victor Baldur's Gate 3 ❥ Astarion / Gale / Halsin / Karlach / Lae'zel / Minthara / Shadowheart / Wyll Kingdom Hearts ❥ Axel / Demyx / Larxene / Lexaeus / Luxord / Marluxia / Naminé / Roxas / Saix / Vexen / Xaldin / Xemnas / Xigbar / Xion / Zexion Hogwarts Legacy ❥ Aesop Sharp / Amit Thakkar / Garreth Weasley / Leander Prewett / Mirabel Garlick / Natsai Onai / Ominis Gaunt / Parry Pippin / Poppy Sweeting / Sebastian Sallow / Victor Rookwood Detroit: Become Human ❥ Connor (RK800) / Daniel / Elijah Kamski / Gavin Reed / Kara / Luther / Markus / Nines (RK900) / North / Ralph / Sixty (RK-800-60) / Simon Watch Dogs Series ❥ Aiden Pearce / Dušan Nemec / Horatio Carlin / Josh Sauchak / Marcus Holloway / Raymond Kenney / Reginald Blenchman (Wrench) / Sitara Dhawan Danganronpa Series ❥ Akane Owari / Byakuya Togami / Celestia Ludenberg / Chiaki Nanami / Chihiro Fujisaki / Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu / Ghundam Tanaka / Gonta Gokuhara / Hajime Hinata / Hiyoko Saionji / Himiko Yumeno / Ibuki Mioda / Kaede Akamatsu / Kaito Momota / Kazuichi Souda / Kirumi Tojo / Kokichi Ouma / Korekiyo Shinguji / Makoto Naegi / Maki Harukawa / Mikan Tsukimi / Miu Iruma / Mondo Owada / Nagito Komaeda / Nekomaru Nidai / Peko Pekoyama / Rantaro Amami / Ryoma Hoshi/ Sakura Ogami / Sayaka Maizono / Shuichi Saihara / Sonia Nevermind / Teruteru Hanamura / Touko Fukawa / Tsumugi Shirogane / Yasuhiro Hagakure Persona Series ❥ Aegis / Akihiro Sanada / Ann Takamaki / Futaba Sakura / Goro Akechi / Hidetoshi Odagiri / Junpei Iori / Ken Amada / Makoto Niijima / Ren Amamiya / Ryoji Mochizuki / Ryuji Sakamoto / Shinjiro Agaraki / Theodore / Yusuke Kitagawa

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aranciafiamma · 1 year

Text

Boy in the Ice pt. 3

1:26 p.m.

"Hail, fair maidens!"

Ochako stops mid-stride, sharing a look with her friends. They turn in sync to take in the stranger approaching them. He has light brown hair and blue eyes, wearing a black blazer paired with jeans. Overall, he looks average save for the touch of foreign in his features. Except the definition of foreign gets more and more abstract these days, with all kinds of folk immigrating to Japan, and all the ways a quirk can mutate someone's looks. So maybe this guy is Japanese. Ochako can't say for sure. But he definitely feels out of place.

"Is he talking to us?" Ochako murmurs to Jiro. She gets a clueless shrug for an answer. Biting her lip, Ochako feels her stomach squeeze, as if she was attempting to levitate a heavy load.

School let out early today and with the long weekend starting tomorrow, they now have a chance to go shopping. Everyone is missing some kind of necessity - shampoo, soy sauce, socks, etc. And with all the craziness lately, they agreed that something normal and boring would be nice.

The plan was to head downtown, snag a few snacks, check out any new stores, maybe even play a couple rounds of dress up. Even if they never bought a single shirt, they always had a good laugh trying on new outfits. Ochako had been looking forward to that. But one look at this stranger and she knew that things are about to go sideways.

They're halfway across campus when this guy calls out to them. So he got past the gates somehow, and sure, he could have been invited in by someone. Except it's after school on the eve of a long weekend. There aren't even any makeup classes or club meetings because of the holiday coming up. The campus is deserted except for the handful of staff to supervise the dorm students (and their new guests). If Ochako was a gambling kinda girl, she would bet good money that their guests have something to do with this random dude walking around their campus.

"How goes the day?" The stranger asks, and wow. He sure sounds like an extra from those ancient samurai movies. Seriously, no one talks like that.

"Excuse me, but who are you?" Good ol' Yaomomo, always on top of things - they would be a wreck and likely dead without her.

"Pardon me, I have been far too forward. I am Basil, at your service."

"Basil who?" Mina pipes up, hands on her hips.

"I am a friend of Lord Sawada. He is currently enjoying your hospitality."

"Sawada?" Ochako echoes, frowning. "So you're friends with Tsuna-san?"

"Aye."

There it is. She totally called it.

"Pray, may I know if you reside on these grounds?"

"Why you asking?" Jiro lifts her chin and pins Basil with a needle-point glare. "And why are you here? Did Tsuna-san call you? Do the teachers know that you're here?"

"Peace. Peace. I mean not to offend." Basil smiles ruefully, holding up his hands. "I am a stranger in your lands, and I call upon your aid to find my way."

"Okay… That didn't really answer Jiro-chan's questions," Tsu-chan points out. "And do you have to talk like that? It's a little hard to take you seriously."

Basil chuckles, eyes pinching in the corners. "Doubt me not, good lady. I only seek to escort Lord Sawada back to his home."

"Boss isn't here."

Ochako flinches. She whips around and finds Chrome standing a few steps away. Her hands clench into fists as she forcefully calms her startled heart. Someone needs to put a bell on Chrome-san before she induces cardiac arrest. Honestly, Ochako is reluctantly impressed. As a hero-in-training, with considerable experience in combat, her senses are keener compared to most of the general public. But somehow, Chrome-san always manages to spook her. This time, Ochako didn't even hear her coming or see her coming - as if Chrome-san appeared out of thin air. Toru-chan could learn a lot from her.

"Lady Chrome! Good fortune blesses me with your presence."

Chrome-san blinks, slow and almost sleepy. She's hard to read as always, as if her mind is out to sea, as if her body is a wisp of smoke. And okay, Ochaka has an invisible girl for a classmate so the absence of facial cues is not new to her. But it's not about what she sees and more about what she believes. The truth is that Chrome-san stands right in front of her and Ochako can't believe that she's there. Something in her brain is telling her that Chrome-san does not exist even with visual and auditory proof. It's tripping her up.

"Boss left."

"Wait, you guys can do that?" Mina cuts in, scratching her head. "Weren't you guys stuck on campus or something?"

Chrome-san shrugs.

"Would you know where he went?" Basil asks, and he sounds earnest. He must have been looking forward to seeing Tsuna-san.

Huh. Well, it has been six months - that's half a year - since Tsuna-san crash landed in their school. If Ochako had disappeared for that long then miraculously returned, her parents would have been a wreck. Nothing would have kept them away from her.

And now that she's thinking about it… Where are Tsuna-san's parents?

A sigh from Basil drags Ochako out of her head. She must have missed Chrome-san's answer or maybe Chrome-san just didn't answer. Either way, Basil looks none too happy, with his head hanging low and his shoulders slumping. An air of absolute exhaustion seems to envelope him. And oof, maybe Ochako's been getting paranoid from all the stuff that happened recently. She had no good reason to be so weird about Basil. Yeah, sure the guy talks funny but apart from the possible trespassing (which okay, that's a pretty big deal actually), Basil seems pretty polite and soft-spoken. He hasn't made threats or demands or anything to show that he's some kind of danger to her or her friends. Ochako should have been more welcoming, especially since he seems to have missed Tsuna-san terribly.

"We can help you find him, if you'd like." Ochako offers a friendly smile. "You don't know the way around, right? And we were just about to go downtown anyway. Maybe you'll find Tsuna-san there."

Basil shakes his head. "I have depended on your patience for long enough. Please excuse me."

"Are you sure?" Tsu-chan chimes in. "Because we really wouldn't mind, kero."

Basil looks them over, pursing his lips. Then his eyes drift up, locking onto Chrome-san behind them. There's a split second of something, Ochako isn't sure what. It's over before she could really think about it, and then Basil is smiling nice and wide with a lot of teeth.

"You have my sincere gratitude, gentle ladies. I am in your care."

"Sheesh," Jiro snorts. "You talk worse than Fumikage. Let's hope you two never meet."

"Chrome-san, would you like to -" Yaomomo's gasp cuts off her question.

Ochako turns and flinches hard. Chrome-san is glaring at them. For once, emotion colors her face, transforming her delicate features into something sharper, more vicious.

"Chrome-san?" Tsu-chan murmurs softly. "Is something wrong?"

Chrome-san squeezes her eyes shut, breathing in deeply. All at once, her expression flattens out, returning to its usual neutral state. She shakes her head once.

"I am not feeling well. I will be heading back to my room." Chrome-san tells them, speaking more words than Ochako has ever heard from her. "Have a good time… Stay safe."

Then she walks away, never looking back. What just happened? Something happened. Ochako considers chasing after Chrome-san, just to make sure that she's really okay. But a hand drops on her shoulder before she could make a move.

"Let's give her some space," Yaomomo whispers, barely loud enough for Ochako to hear. "We can check on her later."

Ochako bites her lip, pinching her brow. Yaomomo is right - of course, she's right. Chrome-san didn't seem to want any company, the exact opposite actually. Ochako should leave her alone. But… The hero-in-training couldn't shake the dread curdling in her gut.

"Shall we hasten to the market?" Basil asks them. "Daylight is fading and I would not like to burden you for too long."

Ochako sucks in a deep, steadying breath. Then she nods at Yaomomo. Together, they face Basil with polite grins.

"You aren't a burden, Basil-san."

"Yep, yep. C'mon now, let's head on out!"

The group makes their way off campus, strolling down the side streets, making idle chatter. They learn that Basil taught himself Japanese, studying the language through classic Samurai films. He tells them that his boss helped somewhat, but only encouraged his archaic way of phrasing. At this point, Basil is fully aware that he sounds funny but in truth, he prefers old-fashioned speech. He feels more distinguished and sophisticated - completely unlike how he speaks in his native tongue.

Of course, this confession prompts all the girls to ask for a demonstration. A blushing Basil obliges them with several phrases in Italian. To their clueless ears, Basil sounds polite and soft-spoken, nothing unusual. But he assures them that if he had said this to a fellow Italian, they would be throwing punches before the last word left his lips.

Their chatter is cut short when they reach downtown. A thick layer of tension blankets the main street as agitated shoppers skirt around a massive crater embedded in the road. Police tape already surrounds the affected area with a few officers nearby, taking statements and offering assurances. Making note of all that, the girls tug Basil towards their favorite café where their familiar faces encourage the waitress to share all the shocking details.

A fireball fell from the sky. Everyone ran. But before a hero could arrive at the scene, the fire died out, revealing a boy without any clothes. Wisps of smoke rose from his bare skin as he kneeled in the crater. No one dared approach except for a loud, angry blond. Mean sparks danced between his fingers as he yelled at everyone to stay back and mind their own business. He had jumped down and crouched next to the boy, exchanging a few words, before he hauled him over his shoulder like a sack of rice. The two didn't wait for a hero or even police to help, simply walked away and out of sight. A few tried to stop them with well-intentioned queries, but the blond had a glare that could cut through metal. As for everyone else, well… they didn't want to buy trouble, not even in a shopping district. The boys were long gone by the time police showed up.

Ochako squeezes her eyes shut. At her side, Tsu-chan lets out a long, belabored sigh. Yaomomo requests for a table.

Once they were all seated, the girls share a look the way only intimate friends could. Jiro lets out a chuckle. Tsu-chan slips out a giggle. Mina barks out a laugh. When Yaomomo and Ochako join in, they're in full blown hysterics.

Of course! Why wouldn't Bakugou be involved? It just had to be someone from their class. Honestly, 1-B does not find half the bullshit that they seem to crash into on a weekly basis. They're all such problem children, ergo problems keep finding them. If Aizawa-sensei survives this year without losing his sanity, he would accomplish a miraculous feat.

"Um, I beg your pardon." Basil raises his hand, like a student asking a question. "I aim not to shorten your mirth. I simply wish to know about this Bakugou fellow."

"He's a crazy tough guy!" Mina tells him.

"His default volume is loud, and he only gets louder," Jiro adds.

"Bakugou Katsuki is one of our classmates," Yaomomo explains. "He is another hero-in-training and one of the best in our class. He does get angry often but he isn't the dangerous sort. Let's just say that he can be difficult at times."

"Well, he has enough goodwill to aid that other boy," Basil replies. "That is to his credit."

Ochako blinks. "Yeah… What's up with that? I mean, I'm not saying that he wouldn't help some random kid. But I'm also not not saying that he wouldn't help some random kid."

"So then… Bakugou musta known the guy." Jiro drums her fingers on the table. "Right? That's why he went through all that trouble."

"Does Bakugou-chan know anyone with a fireball quirk? I mean, not counting Todoroki-chan, of course," Tsu-chan asks with a tilt of her head.

"Who knows…" Ochako sighs.

"Where would this Bakugou fellow take his friend - if we are to presume that the unknown boy is a friend. It seems hasty of him to leave before peace officers could intervene."

"Yeah… But Bakugou does his own thing, yanno?" Mina replies. "Especially when he thinks that he's right. Which is most of the time, bee-tee-dubs. So… huh. Where would he take the guy?"

"If I was gonna guess," Ochako chimes in. "I'd say that Bakugou would take him back to school. But we didn't see him on the way here, unless he took a different route. Except that wouldn't make much sense, since any other route would just be longer and more inconvenient."

"That is strange…" Basil hums, pursing his lips. "And… I may have the explanation."

"Oh, please share your thoughts." Yaomomo nods at him.

"Kindly note that I only have theories and nothing that can be confirmed without additional evidence. With that said, I believe that your peer came to aid Lord Sawada."

"Tsuna-san?" Ochako frowns, folding her brow. "So, wait… You think that… The guy who fell from the sky - the guy on fire - that was Tsuna-san?"

"That dude's makin' a habit out of falling from the sky." Jiro shakes her head. "This would be what? The second time he's done this?"

"It would be imperative to know Sir Bakugou's location, so that we may confirm if Lord Sawada is in his care."

Ochako studies Basil's heavy frown, the hard-set fold of his brow. She pulls out her phone and starts texting Bakugou.

"Are you messaging him?" Mina asks. "Tell him the teachers are gonna freak when they hear about this."

"Like he'd care," Jiro scoffs.

Ochako doesn't get an immediate reply but that doesn't mean anything. Bakugou isn't very responsive usually, unless he's pissed off then he sends a text every second. If he's not in the mood, he could leave someone on "read" for days. Right now, Ochako can't even tell if Bakugou looked at her message yet. Maybe he's just not on his phone. She'll have to wait a little longer to find out for sure if he's with Tsuna-san.

She tells as much to everyone around her. Mina groans. Jiro rolls her eyes. Tsu-chan shakes her head. Yaomomo orders them a round of drinks.

Basil hums a flat note. "Mayhaps, he has simply gone home."

Ochako perks up. "Oh, you're right! He doesn't live too far from here, just a few train stations away. Back when we weren't living on campus, he and Deku-kun never had so much trouble getting to school."

"He lives up north, right?" Jiro asks, crossing her arms. "He and Midoriya live close to each other. That's how they met, I heard."

"Well, I don't know how close. But they both grew up in the Orudera district and went to the same schools. That's what Deku-kun told me, at least."

"Yanno, rumors say that Bakugou's pretty rich. He's got some fancy, modern-looking house. His dad's a designer or something, right?" Mina adds.

"How do you know that?" Jiro furrows her brow.

"Oh, just gossip. Honestly, you guys should keep your ears more open. We have the biggest busybodies in our class." Mina waves her hand.

"Tooru-chan isn't a busybody!" Tsu-chan protests.

"I was talking about Aoyama," Mina cackles.

"Nevermind that now," Yaomomo speaks up. "We should focus on helping Basil-san."

"But that gives me an idea…" Ochako quickly taps her phone, sending a second message. "Maybe Deku-kun can help."

Mina peers over her shoulder. "Hey, why did you star Midoriya's message thread? Hmm?"

Ochako immediately pulls away from Mina, heat flushing her face. "No, I didn't! Shut up!"

Jiro cackles. "You're so red! You look like a tomato, Ochako-cha~an!"

Ochako balls up her napkin and throws it at Jiro. Her so-called friend dodges, continuing to laugh.

"Do you really like-like Deku-kun?" Tsu-chan asks, tilting her head.

"We will stop if you wish," Yaomomo nods. "Admittedly, teasing you is quite enjoyable. You react so cutely. But we will stop at your request."

Ochako pouts. "No, it's fine. I'm not really bothered. As long as Deku-kun doesn't hear about this, then it's fine. And honestly, I'm not that sure about… you know… feelings. We're good friends, and all that."

"Well, I ship it," Mina says. "You would make a great couple. So when you get your stuff figured out, shoot your shot girl! We're in high school! We're at the height of our hormones! We gotta maximize that teenage experience!"

There's a round of giggling agreement as Yaomomo, Jiro, and Tsu-chan express their support. Basil politely keeps quiet, studying his drink as if cola held the universe's secrets.

Ochako groans, dropping her head on the table. "You guuuuys! Somehow, I'm both incredibly embarrassed and super happy? I can't tell if you're the best or the worst!"

"Why not both?" Ochako can't see Jiro's face but a smug smirk was somehow implied in her words.

"Then what about you, Mina-chan? Do you have any crushes, kero?" Tsu-chan, officially Ochako's best friend, turns everyone's attention on someone else.

Mina clicks her tongue. "I wish! Everyone's my bro. No one has swept me off my feet. But I guess that's too much to ask from a high school boy."

"What about a high school girl?" Jiro asks.

"Same difference."

Ochako lifts her head, just in time to see a devious smile curl Jiro's lips.

"Is that a challenge?"

Inherently incapable of backing down, Mina sits up straight and slams her hands on the table. "What? Are you gonna romance me, bro?"

Jiro leans forward. "What if I did, bro?"

"Just name the time and the place, bro!"

"Tomorrow, 4pm, at that new cafe, bro!"

"Oh it's on, bro!"

"Yeah, bro!"

"Good heavens," Yaomomo murmurs. "Once those two get started, there's no stopping them."

Ochako breathes out a laugh when she hears her phone buzz. She taps the screen and finds Deku-kun's response with Bakugou's address. At her side, she notices Basil shift closer. She turns to look at him but his gaze is firmly on his drink. Again, something twists in her gut.

"-ko-chan!"

Wincing, Ochako whips around to face Tsu-chan. "Whoops, sorry! Did you say my name?"

Tsu-chan nods. "Did you hear back from Deku-kun?"

"Oh, um, yeah! I got the address right here…" The knot in her guts tighten. "But, you know, maybe Bakugou will reply soon. We haven't ordered any food yet. So why don't we eat first and then make our way to his house? I mean, dropping by without letting them know - that's a little rude, right?"

The words rush out of her with all the urgency of a flood. She can't explain the goosebumps dotting her skin, or the way sparks seem to dance down her spine, like she's in combat or taking a practical exam. But she's not. She's sitting at a cafe, surrounded by her friends. They're all her friends, right? Her eyes shift to the left, where Basil sits next to her.

"That… seems like a fine idea," Yaomomo agrees. "It would be unseemly to…"

"Exactly!" Ochako barely restrains herself from yelling. Honestly, Yaomomo is an angel.

"Mmhmm, and that way, we can walk Basil-kun to Bakugou-kun's place," Tsu-chan adds. Bless her. "He's new in town, so he might get lost if we only give him the address."

"I offer gratitude for your generosity." Basil nods with a serene smile, getting to his feet. "Indeed, I wish not to impede our feasting. Please excuse me as I must visit the lavatory. Kindly request delicious fare on my behalf. This will take but a brief moment."

He slides by Ochako and in that second, she notices a hard shape behind his jacket. Nowadays, with quirks so common, hardly anyone carries weaponry of any sort. But as Basil leaves, she could swear on her great-grandmama's grave that he was hiding a gun in his jacket.

But surely not, right? That's ridiculous! Guns are highly regulated in Japan, even if most people don't use firearms anymore. There's no way a visiting foreigner could come into the country with a gun on hand… No legal way at least…

"Ochako?" Mina grabs her shoulder and shakes her gently. "Hey, you look like you've seen a ghost."

"No… No… I'm just - I was seeing - My eyes were playing tricks on me."

"Wait," Jiro holds up a hand. "Did you actually see a ghost?"

"What? No!" Ochako shakes her head, pasting on a smile. "I'm fine! It's fine! Let's just get our orders going, yeah?"

The girls exchange concerned looks. Ochako ignores them, focusing on the menu. It must have been something else - some other L-shaped thing. She's jumping to drastic conclusions. It could have been a square ruler or some kind of hardware tool or hell, it could have been a boomerang! She doesn't know! She's going crazy!

The waitress stops by. She orders on autopilot - fries or whatever. The girls continue to talk, hushed now, clearly concerned about her. She offers single syllable responses, nodding once in awhile. But everyone can tell that she's not really paying attention, and she should. They're her friends! She wants to have a good time with them! But her eyes spot a wall clock on the cafe wall. And she can't stop watching the minutes tick on by and tick on by.

The food comes. Basil doesn't. They begin to eat. Ochako can see everyone is now equally on edge. They take small bites. They chew slowly with great care. Basil's seat remains empty. Ochako feels the familiar sensation of nausea, as if she tried to lift something far too heavy, far too big, far too much. She stands up.

"I'm gonna ask someone to check on Basil-san. I'll be right back."

She doesn't wait for a response. She runs to the counter, nearly tripping over her feet. She finds someone on the staff and asks if they can check the men's restroom.

"You see - um - that is, I have a friend - he's… you know… new in the country. And I'm worried that he… doesn't know the way… toilets work?" Wow. That sounds beyond stupid but she can't think of anything else to say.

The poor, confused cashier wrinkles her forehead, tilting her head to the side. "Ma'am, our restroom has been out of order since yesterday."

In a single, brutal second, Ochako knows - maybe not fully, maybe not truly - but she knows the same way she knows that gravity pulls everything down and down and down. Something terrible has begun.

#khr #katekyo hitman reborn #bnha #mha #my hero academia

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