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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 7 months

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Home Pt. 7 || cbf! Simon "Ghost" Riley

Rating: M Words: 1.9K Pairing: cbf!Simonxafab!reader / teen!Simonxteen!Reader Summary: Teen Simon and his best friend often spend their nights away from their respective houses because they found a home in each other… CW: vomitting. thoughts of hurting someone. Tags: you/your pronouns, time skip, heartbreak. a/n: not proofread. also, I lied. It's a triple-chapter sort of day.

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Maybe it’s the heartbreak over you.

Or the lack of distractions in the shape of your countless 3, 4, 5-page letters, like you used to send during Basic and ITT.

But the fact of the matter is that Lance Corporal Riley dived headfirst into the job, taking out enemies with an efficiency and bravery many of his COs have never seen before.

Something about Simon Riley makes him too good at his job.

The type of good that his COs can’t part with, and therefore made them circumvent rules to keep him in the field, instead of sending him on leave.

The type of good that means he’s progressing up the ranks scarily fast, getting commendations left and right.

The type of good that attracts attention from all sorts of people in all sorts of high places.

Six months turned to twelve, turned to eighteen, turned to twenty-four…

In a blink-and-you-miss-it moment, by the time Corporal Simon Riley notices, he’s twenty-five, and passing selection for the 22nd Regiment of the SAS.

He throws punches in the training room, the other newcomer he’s fighting with narrowly dodging them. His aggression is coming out more than usual, almost like he’s having trouble keeping a lid on the boiling pot that are his inner thoughts.

He needs to let out frustration. He needs to hurt someone.

That’s all he’s been able to think of since he woke up this morning and saw the date on his calendar.

The calendar is a funny thing. The days keep going past, coming and going, another page, another month… Time moves and he feels he’s standing still.

Sure, he got bumped up the ranks, he got accepted into the SAS, he went back to Manc for the holidays, celebrated his birthday, his wins…

But that didn’t stop his heart from aching as the calendar showed the anniversary of your first kiss, the anniversary of your first time, your birthday and his…

Today is October 5th. The 13-year anniversary of the day you two met.

And you are all he can think of.

He was nineteen, you were eighteen.

He had just gotten himself out of base and took a bus to the train station. Eight months. Eight months he had spent in Afghanistan.

He had gotten nothing from you, not once hearing “Lance Corporal Riley, phone!” as he got brought into the tent to pick up a phone call from you… And much less a letter of yours dropped at the foot of his bunk in the few times he had enough downtime to sleep.

He had time to think. Nothing else but time, he felt like. Time to realize that, maybe, he was wrong in the way he left. Maybe he shouldn’t have said the things he did. Even if he still thought you needed to hear them.

He missed you. Point blank.

He got himself to the station early, over an hour left for his train to Manc to leave.

He found himself meandering in the streets nearby, killing time. A bergen pack on his shoulders, hands in his pockets, muscular arms on display in a t-shirt that clung a bit too tight to his body. A few fresh scars on his arms and hands from the recent service.

His brown eyes were drawn to a shop window, a jeweler’s. He told himself it was just because the items on display are shiny.

He went inside. He told himself it was just because he had time to kill.

The jeweler, a kind old man, spotted the fatigues he was wearing, and showed him the engagement rings without even being asked. He looked at them all, going back and forth between all the designs. He told himself it was just to amuse the elderly man.

But as he disembarked the train in Manchester hours later and walked toward the cabbies across the street from the station, his hand tapped at the little ring box in the top right pocket of his cargo pants.

When he got home, his dad’s car was gone. Good. It meant you were still driving around with it. He forced himself to go inside, to greet Tommy and mum, dad not being home when he got there, thank God.

Once they were both asleep, he took mum’s car out. It was a shitty little Vauxhall Vectra. He made a mental note to buy her a new one once he had enough money as he drove out to the viewpoint he knew you spent your nights in.

But you weren’t there.

He drove back down to Wythenshawe and took the car in a slow drive-by past your house. The car wasn’t there either.

So, he drove to your local, the spot you both spent so many nights with your mutual friends at. It wasn’t there either. In fact, no one’s car was there. Not even your old mates… Even though it was a Friday night.

As a last resort, he drove to Olly’s house. The lights were on. His dad’s car wasn’t there, but Olly’s was. So, he parked the car and went up the steps, knocking on the door.

A very weary-eyed Olly opened the door, wearing a dirty undershirt, as he seemed to have just gotten home from work. “Riley?! Oi, bruv!” He greeted Simon with a half-hug and pat on the back, which Simon returned. “How you been?”

“Can’t complain.” Simon replied. “Just shipped back from deployment.” He added, stepping inside the house. “How’ve you been?” He returned the question, even if he didn’t care.

He felt stiff inside Olly’s house, even if he was the one mate of his that Simon was closest to, other than you. He felt like he didn’t belong there.

“Been alright. Workin’ construction now. You know how it is.” He remarked as he offered Simon a beer from the fridge. But he didn’t take it. The brand was the same cheap shite your father used to drink. He didn’t need it.

“I need to see your cousin. Just been by her house but she wasn’t there.” He added as he watched Olly drop himself onto an armchair in the sitting room. Simon remained standing, arms crossed over his chest.

Oliver’s face immediately turned to look at Simon, eyebrows raising in surprise. “Oh, bloody hell, you didn’t know, did you?” He asked.

“Didn’t know what?” He asked and cocked a brow, moving his arms a bit as his blouson jacket scrunched under the strain of his crossed bulky arms.

“Y/N vanished. Packed up and left a few months ago. Didn’t tell anyone where she was going. Drove her mum and mine up the bloody wall panicking that she was gone.” Olly explained, his voice a bit more solemn.

Simon’s blood ran cold as he heard what Olly said. “Wha-” He choked on his own breath and coughed a bit as Olly kept going, saying something or other about how you didn’t even pick up your last paycheck from the little job you were working. How you had only scheduled a letter be sent from the post office to your mum to promise her that you were alive and safe, and were going to find someplace better for yourself.

The blond lad didn’t even dignify your cousin with another word. He simply turned and marched out of the house, slamming the door behind him as he returned to his mum’s car.

It felt like the engagement ring he had bought you suddenly weighed a ton, and like it was burning a hole through his pocket and onto his stomach, searing hot, mocking him.

He leaned his hands against the top of the car and leaned his hand down, feeling like he was going to throw up.

What did he expect? That you’d still be around, waiting for him with open arms? That you’d stay after the way he treated you? That was pathetic of him. Hell, you might have been immature and naive, but you weren’t a bloody pushover, that much he knew.

“Riley!” A voice calls out to him, but it’s just far enough that he can tune it out and keep fighting.

The other cadet is winded, stumbling back when Simon throws a harsh elbow to his nose and then sweeps his legs out from under him, landing the other man on the mat.

“RILEY!” The voice is louder and Simon suddenly stops in his tracks, shoulders rising and falling.

He looks back at the source of the voice, Lieutenant Jonathan Price, his C.O.. “My office.” He demands. Simon grunts under his breath and his shoulders drop. He looks back down at the recruit he’s sent sprawling onto the floor. He’s bleeding, cupping his nose with his hand.

He huffs and reaches a hand down, helping the other one to his feet and mumbling a few half-hearted apologies. “Didn’t think you’d be that weak.” He says in banter, trying not to seem so angry, the other guy laughing it off despite the unmistakeable soreness in his back and blood all over his uniform.

Then, Simon rushes off, taking off his black grappling gloves and slipping his body under the ropes of the ring, following after Lieutenant Price.

He enters the office after a brief knock and goes inside, noticing Lieutenant Price on the other side, sitting at his desk, arms crossed. “You wanna explain to me why you’re throwing the other recruits around like ragdolls?” He nods his head out the door.

Corporal Simon Riley, now an SAS Cadet, takes a breath and closes the door behind himself and slowly sits in front of Price.

He has a lot of respect for his Lieutenant, having been handpicked by him specifically to join his Bravo Six squadron. He’d even say he gets along with the man.

“Nuthin’ boss.” Simon replies as he looks away from the harsh blue eyes of the man in front of him.

“Right. Nuthin’.” Price says sarcastically. “Well, whatever that nuthin’ is, you better fix it.” He adds.

If only it was that easy, Simon wants to tell him. But he doesn’t. Instead nods his head sharply. Not much he could do either way. He agrees with Price. He knows he was in the wrong minutes ago. He’s normally so good at keeping a lid on it…

“It’s just a bad day.” Simon replies. “‘ll be back to normal tomorrow.”

“I don’t care if it’s a bad day, a bad week or a bad life.” He adds bluntly, display his authority. “I can’t have a tickin’ time bomb in my ranks, understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Simon replies and nods again and looks down at his legs, spread open in the armchair across from Price’s desk, his eyes locked on the black training trousers with the SAS logo stamped on the left leg.

“We gotta rely on each other, Riley,” Price starts to tell him, which causes Simon’s brown eyes to flit upward abruptly, locking onto Price’s blue ones.

“Stop bloody relyin’ on me.”

“If you’re so fuckin’ unhappy and ungrateful of what I’m doin’ for us both…”

“Then grow up and leave. Get yourself out.”

“...so, redirect that aggression.” Price finishes his explanation. “Let it out in the firing range or the field. Not against your own team.” He advises.

“Yes, sir.” Simon adds and gulps a bit, pushing himself up off his chair. He makes for the door in quick, silent steps, without having to be dismissed.

He closes the door behind him and rushes down the hall and out a side door.

Once he’s around the back of the building, he keels over and vomits over his boots.

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taglist: @iite-cool , @spicyspicyliving

#ikea writes 💚#home cbf!simon fic #cod fanfic #ghost cod #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #childhood best friends to lovers #cbf #cbf!simon #teenage love #masterlist #angst #heartbreak #time skip

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starstruckkittensweets · 11 months

Text

chapter one

Fandom: My Hero Academia Pairing: Dabi x Reader Words: 6.2k

A/N: The first chapter of my lil Dabi passion project. Partially inspired by "Haunting Adeline" (awesome book but PLEASE heed the warnings in it). The full list of warnings is included in the main masterlist, but individual ones will be posted at the beginning of each chapter. Also this is my first time writing from both Reader and Dabi's perspective, so I hope it's not too bad. I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: 18+ only (minors DNI), explicit language, mentions of arson, mentions of violence, stalking, breaking and entering, working in retail (I'm sorry), Reader lives in a cute lil house in the middle of the woods, Reader also has 3 plushies (that all have names, because I'm a dork)

"Kerosene and Butterflies" Masterlist

It’s raining again, for the fourth day in a row. Barely any light to work with at the little workspace you’ve made for yourself at the kitchen table. So instead you rest your hands on your arms, watching the rain patter against the window panes. Pen and paper pushed away and left forgotten on the surface.

Rain always makes you feel nice. Not happy or sad, just nice. Gives you something to look at, the sound mindless enough to put you at ease. Soft and warm, more often than not lulling you to sleep with its voice. It’s hard to explain, but it seems to make sense in your mind.

Your phone lights up on the table with a text. It’s your mother again, sending her weekly check-in text. Even though you’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself and living on your own. But it’s more for her than you; you think it helps her cope with one of her kids living abroad, so far out of her reach.

Well, that’s what enticed you about this house in the first place, but you’ll never tell her that.

With a yawn you grab your phone and send a quick reply. Yes you’re okay, you’re getting enough sleep, you miss her home cooked meals. Call her tomorrow, put her mind at ease. Buy another few days of freedom before the cycle inevitably repeats itself.

When you finish and place your phone back down, you give the paper and pen one last look. Maybe you could try one more time, see if anything comes to mind?

Your chest deflates at the thought. No, the spark is long gone. Try again a different day, get some sleep for now. You need it.

You can almost hear it laughing at you, the uncapped pen lying dangerously close to its blank skin. You’ve been hearing it for the last hour or so, wracking your brain to come up with something, anything. Words, ideas, or even bullet points you can just jot down in your chicken scratch handwriting. Just a sliver of something to get those creative juices flowing.

But your eyelids are already drooping, the rainy weather not helping you one bit. Your brain feels like it’s all dried up, giving you a never-ending headache. Telling you that you’ve already reached your peak; that nothing else you make will ever come close to how you want it to come out.

Oh well. Tomorrow’s another day, right?

But you know damn well you’ll be back to square one tomorrow night, when you get home from work. Staring at that blank page with your head in your hands, praying for the words to come. For the inspiration to strike—to make you feel anything other than this.

At least the paper’s still good, maybe you can use it for a shopping list later in the week. That way it’ll get some good use out of it.

Your job isn’t exactly the flashiest; definitely not what you envisioned yourself doing at twenty-four years old. Working at a dead-end department store in the shady part of town, along with four or five other people—and none of them are close to you in age. But it keeps the bills paid and food in your fridge, so you guess it’s not as bad as it could be. You could do without the annoying entitled customers, though.

At least your shift stretches into the latter half of the day, meaning you only have to deal with them for about four hours, five tops if you end up taking your lunch break late. Then the store closes, the customers are ushered out, and you spend the rest of your time stocking the shelves and getting ready for the next busy day.

Most nights the store’s already empty, with only a handful of customers roaming the aisles. That gives you some extra time to start stocking; you prefer putting stuff back on the shelves rather than ringing on register anyways. Register gets boring and repetitive fast, but working on the floor always gives you something new to do.

“Excuse me, where can I find the laundry detergent?”

“Down the next aisle and to your left, all the way down at number twenty-four.”

“Where’s the soup and all the instant meals?”

“Right over here actually, on the middle shelf.”

“You have any beer?”

“Last aisle down, all the way to the end. You’ll see the freezer straight ahead.”

Every interaction gives you a rush of excitement, as sad as it sounds. In all honesty, your job isn’t the complete worst. Most customers are fine and even pleasant to deal with, and it always makes you feel good when you’re able to help them find something on their lists. Besides, it tests your knowledge of the store, almost like a matching game; after three years of working in the same place, you pretty much know it like the back of your hand.

Tonight seems like one of those lazy nights, with only a couple customers roaming through the aisles, the lone cashier at the registers looking like he’s about to fall asleep. You’re sorting through the grocery bin at the front (either what customers decided they didn’t want, or items found randomly throughout the store). There’s quite a bit today, must’ve been pretty busy earlier in the day.

It doesn’t take long to put the shelf-ready stuff into a cart and trek down to the grocery section. Most of it is candy anyways, which is in the first couple aisles. One item after another, until you start to see the bottom of the cart.

You step back from the shelf, a handful of candy bars clenched between your fingers, when your back suddenly collides into something—or someone, judging by the grunt they let out.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean that, I should really watch where I’m going, I’m really sorry about that—”

The words die right there on your tongue as you glance up at the person. You can barely see his face behind the dark mask over his mouth and his hood pulled over his hair. But something catches your eye—something dark and heavy beneath his eyes.

He’s got some serious bags under his eyes, poor guy must be working himself to death. Must be a college student, you know how it feels.

Wait a minute…bags?

Your head begins to buzz. You don’t think you’ve ever seen bags bad enough to leave the skin so…wrinkled. Almost like they’re—

But he’s already walking away, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. Head hanging low and shoulders tense as he disappears down the next aisle.

It’s not until another customer asks you where the hand soap is, that you remember to blink—and breathe. It takes a bit of effort, but you manage to give them the right aisle across the store. But then you’re staring off into space once more, thinking about the strange person in the black hoodie and mask.

Dark patches under his eyes… Could it really be…?

No way, stop thinking like that. You know where your mind is going, don’t you dare entertain the thought.

You shake your head. You’re being ridiculous. It’s getting late, anyway. You didn’t get that much sleep last night to begin with, it’s early to bed when you get home later tonight.

You file the last of the candy in its proper home on the shelf before heading down the main path towards the registers. Pet food, paper goods, detergent, body wash… A couple aisles here and there for every department. You should check and see if there’s any chemicals up front that need to go back on the shelf. Probably the easiest department for you to handle, other than food and appliances—

Your jaw drops when you turn the corner and come face-to-face with the dark stranger from earlier. Staring down at you with those dark eyes—no, the patches are dark, his eyes are actually quite bright, and oh my fucking God they’re blue—

There’s something sticking out of his pocket—the red and white label of a box of Band-Aids. And that’s not the only thing in there, judging by the awkward bulges and pointy corners. Maybe some extra medicine or painkillers.

You glance back up at him. Neither of you make any move to leave.

“…I won’t tell if you won’t.”

The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. All you can think about is how this little corner of the store lacks any functioning security cameras, and how it’s probably only a few dollars, it won’t necessarily put the store out of business if he gets away with it. Just this one time. No one has to know, except the two of you.

He’s glaring now, probably curling his lip at you from behind the mask. You swallow the growing lump in your throat, your heart throbbing furiously against your ribcage.

“Can…I get you anything else?”

“Fuck off.”

He shoves his way past you, shoulder nearly knocking you on your ass. Your throat runs dry as his words echo in your ears, his voice sending chills down your spine.

You know him, but from where? You know his voice, his looks—but why can’t you remember him?

You glance over your shoulder but he’s already gone, most likely heading towards the exit. Not like you’re gonna stop him.

Still, you can’t get your little encounter out of your mind, even as you try to busy yourself with your work. Not even ten minutes pass by before you grab another box of bandages and a bottle of rubbing alcohol, mumbling to your coworker, “Store use, I’ll claim it out when I get back,” all the while feigning injury as you cradle your wrist against your chest (where a small pack of cotton balls is pressed between your fingers).

The back of the store leads out to the dumpsters in the back alley. A prime spot for smoke breaks, despite smelling like absolute crap. Chalk marks and spray paint decorating the walls, trash bags spilling out of the dumpsters in the corner. You clutch the supplies to your chest, head swinging wildly in search of the stranger.

But there’s no one out there. He’s gone for good this time—and for some reason, you can’t explain the sudden ache in your chest.

You don’t know what makes you leave the bandages and alcohol in the corner of the alley, hidden by the shadow of the dumpsters. Or why there’s a pang in the pit of your stomach, as you remember how bright his blue eyes looked.

Here’s a tip for any aspiring writers out there: get comfortable with constantly going on the internet. Whether it’s looking for an obscure random fact about Victorian houses in the 1800s or learning just how long it takes to recover from a bullet wound in the shoulder, search engines like Google will become your best friend. It won’t always provide the most accurate information, but it’s a start to get the ball rolling.

But this particular search doesn’t stem from a story in your drafts; all you can see are those mysterious blue eyes from the store, and the dark wrinkled patches beneath them.

It doesn’t take long at all to find your answer: a thread of articles and blurry photos of the infamous League of Villains—the same ones that have been terrorizing the country for the past year or so. Casualties, crimes, and even past victims. Every word brings another wave of goosebumps, but you can’t tear your eyes away.

Of course. That’s where you knew him from. Makes sense now.

There’s a handful of people in the photos, each one more terrifying than the last. A young girl with a feral smile, associated with a string of murders involving severe blood loss. A man capable of decaying anything with just a brush of his fingers. And the same stranger you saw in the store, known for over thirty murders and thousands in property damage, all thanks to those dangerous blue flames.

You slam the laptop shut and suppress a shiver. What were you thinking? Acting so casual with a villain—you knew you recognized those eyes somewhere—and oh my God, were you really going to try to meet him outside at the back?

And for what? Some bandages that he’d clearly already stolen? Hell, you’d let him walk away even when you knew he was planning on stealing them!

Hopefully your boss never finds out about that.

You glance out the window of your living room, pulling the lapels of your jacket closer to your chest. The door’s locked, the windows are latched, and the curtains are closed. Nothing out there but the trees and the moon and the gentle rainfall.

Calm down. Why would he come after you? You didn’t do anything to piss him off, did you? So what makes you think he’d try to figure out where you lived? What would he have to gain from that?

Still, you triple check the lock on the door, before moving backwards towards your bedroom. Also clicking the lock into place once you’re safe inside.

A villain. You can’t believe you came across an actual villain.

Villains were a common presence even back home, and you knew before moving abroad there was a possibility you could encounter some of them. But they always kept to the shadows, staying out of the spotlight for as long as they could. Only showing up in cities far away from your own. You’ve never come face to face with one of them, never been so fucking close to one of them before—

You crawl into bed and throw the covers over your head. Trying to focus on the pitter patter of the rain against the windows.

But you can’t get those images out of your mind. No matter how hard you squeeze your eyes shut, or bury your face into the pillow, you can still see his face. Those horrid wrinkled patches beneath his eyes. The same shade of blue as the flames from his palms. The way he looked at you as though you were nothing but a smear of dirt on the bottom of his boot.

He could’ve burned you right then and there.

You don’t fall asleep easily that night.

Despite your paranoia, the next few days go by without any issue. Work, errands, go back home. Your life continues just as it did before you met that crazy villain—and knowing that, you can breathe a little easier when you rest your head on your pillow for the night.

The little pile of medicine and supplies you’d left in the back alley had disappeared the next morning. Someone else had probably picked them up, who could say no to free medical supplies? There’s a slim chance that villain came back and took them for himself.

You know it’s a long shot. And yet there’s still some part of you that clings to it, wondering if he’s still sticking around this part of town.

Come on, what’s wrong with you? Are you really that eager to put your life in danger like that?

The rational part of your brain says no. But there’s another part, a much more vocal part of your brain, that can’t stop thinking about your little encounter. And what you would’ve done if he’d been in that alley that night.

Probably cry your eyes out. Then get killed like the dumbass you are.

Still, no matter what you do or what you try to focus on instead, he keeps coming back to your mind. And you find yourself visiting those damn websites, those stupid forums night after night when you get home from work, speculating just who he might be beneath those painful scars and bright blue flames.

What kind of life did he lead before joining the League? Does he have any regrets about becoming a villain? Does he actually enjoy being on the run like this?

It’s only when you’re lying wide awake in bed at close to two in the morning, still worn out from a long day at work that the more innocent questions start to plague your mind:

What’s his favorite color? Is it blue, or does he actually hate it? When is his birthday? Does he have any friends, either before he became a villain, or anyone in the League? You wonder, what’s his real name?

“Why am I even thinking about this? Not like I’m ever gonna see him again…” And you should be grateful for that.

But there’s still an ache in your chest, an awkward swirl in your stomach, every time you remind yourself of that simple little fact. And you don’t really know what to make of it.

Another hour passes before you push yourself out of bed and right to your desk in the corner. Grabbing one of the little notebooks you’d bought for story notes and ideas, but haven’t really touched in the last few months. Sliding into the seat with a sigh and clicking open one of the many black pens from the drawer at your side. Flicking on the small desk lamp and squinting against the sudden brightness.

It’s not uncommon for the inspiration to hit at ungodly hours of the morning. Honestly, you do your best writing between midnight and six a.m.; the only drawback is being unable to stay awake at work the next day. But at least you have some damn good writing to show for it.

But that hasn’t happened for months now. Not since you moved and started working nights. Now you have to hit the hay almost as soon as you come home, if you want any chance of a normal sleep schedule.

The pen moves on its own. Every breath brings another word on the page. Ink starts to smudge the side of your hand.

They appear in front of you: all the questions circling around in your mind, begging to be answered. The honest, the childish, even questions you think of on the spot. Anything and everything you would ask him if you were ever given the chance.

What are you doing? You should be in bed trying to sleep. Not doing…whatever this is.

You swallow hard as a single word appears before you: Dabi.

And immediately you start to shiver, your cheeks growing warm beneath the scathing looks of the ink and pages.

You’ve always had a strange complex when it comes to writing out people’s names. They’re much easier to speak out in your mind, or even say verbally. But once you write them out, it becomes almost final. It’s different to actually see those letters right in front of you, rather than just imagining them in your mind. Guess it makes everything seem so much more real that way.

It’s stupid, so fucking stupid.

But you don’t stop, even when your hand begins to cramp. Because this is the first time in almost half a year that you’re actually letting your pen guide you. The first time you truly feel at ease, not even caring about what you’ve written, or even stopping yourself to edit it.

What’s it called, word vomit? It’s therapeutic, but incredibly hard to do sometimes.

It’s not until the sun rises a couple hours later, and you’re half-asleep at your desk. Your arms curled beneath your head, the muscles in your hand throbbing like crazy. But then you see all those words you’ve written, all that ink staining those pristine white pages…

And you can’t help but smile as you drift off to sleep.

The air is stale with the scent of smoke and ash. The city always smells like shit, but it’s usually better on the outskirts. But the burning pile of flesh at the end of the alley begs to differ, and his hands still ache as blue flames lick at his palms.

Another shitty night coming to an end, thank fuck.

Dabi’s been in this damn city for the better part of two weeks now, boss’s orders unfortunately. Scouting for any possible members, new blood they could add to their ranks. But every group is the same; they’re either loud-mouthed fucks with more muscle in their arms than their own damn heads, or they’re practically children, fresh out of school and all set on playing hero. Still thinking this is a fucking game, and that they can stand to take the League out from the inside.

He’s already had one guy try it a couple months back, but he knew better than to go through with it. Can’t say the same for the rest of the dumbasses burning in the alley, though.

Oh, well. No doubt the heroes will find them tomorrow, if they even bother showing up. Not many of them like to venture all the way out here, especially if it means real danger.

He slides a pack of cigs out from his pocket, choosing one and lighting it with the tip of his finger. He’s walked these roads too many times in the last few nights, practically knows them inside and out. And it’s not long before that silly little department store comes into view—the same one that oh-so-generously let him borrow some of their stock last week.

Didn’t even need to use his quirk to make it happen, either.

The double doors slide open, the blaring lights a stark contrast to the shadows of the streets. He barely has time to step back before someone steps out, waving their hand behind them with a smile on their face.

Oh, the same one from that night. He can’t help but smirk at the memory.

It’s a girl—and if her face and height are anything to go by, he’s starting to wonder if she’s even old enough to work at a place like this. Apparently her brain must be impressively small too, with the way she’s walking down the darkened street without a care in the world. One hand fastened on the strap of her purse and the other dangling down at her side, a dark lanyard wrapped around her wrist. She must have a shit-ton of keyrings on them, judging by how hard she swings it back and forth. As if that’s going to protect her if someone tries to jump her.

Fucking dipshit.

He rolls his eyes and takes another long drag of his cigarette. Watching the stupid kid out of the corner of his eye—and nearly dropping the cig altogether when he watches her veer off the sidewalk and head straight for the forest.

What the fuck is she doing? Does she want to get herself killed?

Maybe it’s sheer curiosity—or maybe it’s hoping something out there will pick her off so she’ll learn her lesson—whatever it is, it has his feet moving on their own. Picking up the pace to keep her within his sights, the cigarette barely hanging from his mouth.

Didn’t anyone teach her not to go walking around this late at night? For fuck’s sake it’s nearly one in the morning, does her shift really last that long? What compelled her to take a walk in the goddamn forest of all places? No way she lives all the way out here, she’s probably got a place somewhere in the city. Probably just looking for a cheap thrill so late at night.

Stop it. She’s not your problem to worry about, so quit it already. Just sit back and watch the show.

He follows her down the old trodden path, waiting for her to hit a stray root or trip over a rock and fall flat on her face. But nothing happens, other than a few scuffs of dirt on her ratty old sneakers. Almost like she knows these woods—like the back of her hand.

It’s a struggle to keep his footsteps soft. His boots do nothing to quell the sound of leaves crunching, dirt spraying across the path. Luckily she doesn’t hear, either that or she just doesn’t care.

Where the hell is she heading at this hour?

His answer appears in the form of a house. A pretty shitty-looking one, if he’s being completely honest. Shabby roof, flimsy door, moss creeping over each and every corner. Almost like no one’s bothered to visit the place in the last decade or so—at least.

The girl steps right up to the door, swinging that stupid lanyard at her side. Shuffling around until she finds the right key, before disappearing into the house altogether. A light flickers on in the window, her shadow visible behind the aging curtains.

Fuck him, she does live here.

In the middle of nowhere, secluded from the rest of the world. She’s stupid, isolating herself from all those people in town. Help’s not gonna come if you’re stuck in some random forest, she’s probably better off in the heart of the city. Then again, it must be nice for her. Being able to wake up in the morning without the blaring of sirens in your ears. Tucked away where no one can find you, safe and sound in the comfort of your own quiet home.

He almost envies her. Almost.

The longer he stares at the little mossy house, watching her shadow flit back and forth behind the curtain, the more he starts to wonder what she has inside. Must be stocked on food and medicine; that shit’s hard to come by these days. Might be worth a peek once she’s gone. She’ll probably leave tomorrow night for her shift, right? He’ll slip in then, see if she’s got anything worth his time. Better this random cottage than an apartment in the city, right? From what he can tell there’s not a soul in sight, save for the looming trees and starry sky.

He’s smirking now, slipping back into the shadows of the forest, right beside the old trodden path. She never even sees him.

The house is dark and empty by sundown. The path is easier to walk in the daylight, but he still waits until nightfall before scoping out the house. Just in case she getany bright ideas and decides to return home sooner than she should.

It’s a two-story house, and while the front door’s latched shut, the windows sure aren’t. It slides open with a squeak, like it hasn’t been touched in years. Looks like the kitchen—or a sorry excuse for one, if he’s being honest. A small table with only two chairs, neither of them looking like they’re from the same set. Papers and books and pens litter the surface, with the napkin holder knocked down on its side.

Not that they have a better one back at the base. Hell, they’re lucky enough if they’re able to sit down for most of their meals, if they can get their hands on any.

Which reminds him of his mission, and he’s scanning the room for any possible food. And there, to his left: a crowded counter stacked with boxes of cookies and candy, below a pair of cupboards with even more food stored inside.

Jackpot.

The League’s not picky when it comes to food, anything will do when your stomach’s keeping you up at night. Well, Dabi can’t say the same for himself—he fucking hates fish. He’d much rather deal with an empty stomach rather than scarf down a few meager bites of sushi. Just the thought of it makes him want to puke.

He can’t take too much the first night, that’ll only make her wonder. It’s best to have as little people in this secluded house as possible. So for now he stuffs his pockets with small snacks for the guys back at base…and maybe even a few candy bars for Toga. Last thing that little psycho needs is more sugar in her system, but he’d rather not hear her whine that he didn’t get anything for her when he gets back.

Plus, this girl doesn’t seem to have any pomegranates around (or any fruit or vegetables, for that matter), so candy will have to do.

When both pockets are jammed with food, he takes a step back to survey the rest of the house. At least the inside looks marginally better than the outside, save for the abhorrent dining room. Simple and sweet, even if it’s a little bland in color.

A gray couch with a couple of pillows in bright colorful pillowcases. A side table with one too many remotes on it, along with a paperback that’s definitely seen better days. A kitchen isle with a sink cluttered with dirty dishes, and a single stool resting beneath the opposite end. Not a single house plant in sight, but plenty of photos throughout, some on the wall but most taped on the fridge. Must be friends and family—but so far, he can only see one person living in this house.

How sad, she must be so lonely without anyone else here…

He rolls his eyes and trods up the creaky set of stairs. Might as well take a peek at the rest of the house, right?

The hallways split up into three major bedrooms. One is filled with storage totes and moving boxes, still waiting to be unpacked (though, by the layer of dust on each of them, he’s not thinking any time soon). The other bedroom is filled, and he means filled, with books. Every square inch is either vacated with an old aging shelf or a stack of hardcovers on the floor. It’s messy and cluttered and he slams the door shut as soon as he opens it.

Lives like a fucking slob, doesn’t she?

The final bedroom turns out to be the biggest one of all, and it’s the only one in the house that actually lives up to its name. A dresser, a desk, and surprise, surprise, another fucking bookcase. There’s also a bed with a thousand plushies on the covers, each one more ridiculous than the last. A giraffe, a raccoon, and whatever the fuck that is. Some weird fuzzy brown creature with a large snout and a bitchy expression on its face. Toga probably knows the name of it, but Dabi couldn’t care less.

There’s also a set of double doors that leads out to a little terrace. It looks better than the rest of the house—must be a newer addition—overlooking the forest beyond. Overall it’s a cute little spot to live in.

And still no sign of anyone else living here with her.

He’s smirking now, thinking of all the things he can sneak out of here in the next few nights—when something else catches his eye. A strange outline under the blanket of the bed, in the center of all the damn toys staring back at him.

He has half a mind to burn the little giraffe to a crisp as he reaches in for the mysterious object. And it’s…a book. Fucking shocker.

No, wait—it’s a journal. Only a few pages filled in so far, the ink messy against the bright white pages. It’s the size of his palm, with a black leather cover and a matching black string attached to the spine, probably to act as a bookmark. And sure enough it’s stuck in a certain spot in the book, the entry dated to just a few nights ago.

I want to see him again. I know that sounds wrong, but it’s the truth. I can’t really explain it, no matter how hard I try. Everything that comes out just sounds wrong…but in my head it makes perfect sense.

I know I’m probably screwed in the head for thinking this. For thinking about him like this. Like I could be the one to change him, to be the only one he wouldn’t kill on sight.

No, wait a minute. I was, wasn’t I? We saw each other that night at the store, and he didn’t even try to hurt me.

He can feel his brow inching further up with every word he reads. What the fuck is she talking about? He flips to another random page—

And the answer’s staring him right in the face, in stark black ink.

Dabi

I want to see him again. Ask him so many questions, the same ones that keep rattling away in my head. Why did you become a villain? Where did you come from? What is your favorite color?

Please, just one more time. We don’t even have to talk to each other. I just wanna see him with my own two eyes. Now that I know he’s real, that he’s the villain everyone’s afraid of. And I know I should be too, and I am…but I think I’m more curious of him. Maybe that just makes me stupid.

Yeah, I’m just stupid.

The words are swimming on the pages, blurring together, screaming in his head so loud he wonders if he’s read them out loud. But no, it’s dead silent in this room, in this house. Just him and this little black book, written in the hand of that little weirdo. The same one that chooses to live in a creepy old house in the middle of the forest, the one that works at a sketchy department store well into the night. The same one that didn’t scream once she saw him—but instead offered to let him go, even when she knew he was stealing.

And for some reason, he can’t hold back the smirk that stretches across his face.

Of all the people in this city, in this whole damn country, he thinks he’s found the one that intrigues him the most.

Poor girl, doesn’t even know what she’s caused. Just mindlessly writing her thoughts down in her diary, hoping no one will ever read what she’s written.

As carefully as he can, he tucks the book back in its place under the covers. As tempting as it is to take it with him, he knows that’ll only cause more suspicion. Still, he wants to leave her a love letter of his own—something that lets her know she’s not alone in her fascination.

So he does.

And a few minutes later he’s climbing out the kitchen window and making the trek through the forest, pockets full with snacks and a shit-eating grin on his face.

You hate Saturday nights. Arguably the busiest night of the week, and yet you’re still so short-staffed the cashiers end up taking the full brunt of the work. Ringing register, sorting supplies, stocking shelves—oh wait, we need you back up front to do register. Wait why aren’t you working on that cart I told you to finish? Excuse me, can you unlock this item for me? Can you help me check out, and only me, these lines are too long for my liking. Why can’t you be in two places at once?

Not that you ever find it fun to come to work…but Saturday nights just make it a little less fun. And once it calms down and the store closes up, you have to make the journey back home half-asleep. It’s a miracle you haven’t woken up in the middle of the forest yet.

Tonight is one of those nights, where you stumble your way back home like you’ve just had one hell of a night at the bar. But no amount of rubbing your eyes or chugging the bottle of soda in your hands will keep you upright. Eventually you see your little house in the distance, and your chest starts to feel a little lighter at the promise of sleep.

You fumble with the keys twice before managing to unlock the door. Latching it shut behind you, you don’t even turn on any lights before heading straight to your room. The dishes and laundry can wait till tomorrow. Right now, all you need is some fucking sleep.

The trio of stuffed animals on your bed greet you when you step into the room. Before coming to live here, your mother insisted you bring along some childhood stuffies with you, just so you wouldn’t get too lonely. And you hate to say it, but she was absolutely right. More often than not do you find yourself cuddling up to them, wondering about your family back home.

You kick off your shoes and drape your jacket over the back of the desk chair. Then you flop face first onto the bed, not even bothering to change into pajamas. You know you’ll be out cold within five minutes, so what’s the point?

“Goodnight, Rascal,” you mumble to the little raccoon, “goodnight, A.J.,” you pet the little giraffe, “and goodnight, Maxwell.” The little capybara toy is your favorite, but you’ll never admit it out loud. (Not when the other two can hear you.)

You roll over onto the bed, but something sharp juts into your side. You groan and force your hand beneath the covers to yank it out—oh, that’s right… you forgot you’d left your little notebook in bed with you. Must’ve fallen asleep while writing in it last night.

But there’s something sticking out of it, something that prevents it from closing all the way. You open it up and a scrap of paper falls out; not a loose page from the book, but a folded-up index card. One that’s got a note of its own written messily on the side.

One that makes the exhaustion all but vanish from your body.

You should keep this book in a safer hiding spot. You never know who might be reading all your little love notes, doll.

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki x you #kerosene and butterflies #tw: stalking #restricted fics

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8bitsupervillain · 8 days

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Higurashi When They Cry Hou Ch. 7 Minagoroshi pt. Final

“Read the entire series over again.” I wonder how many people actually did that between chapters as they were coming out?

So, since there was that one spoiler I saw from the manga version of events, and this is otherworldly voice is in fact Frederica Bernkastel I guess that does a serious number on the theory that Rika and Bernkastel are the same character. Or so it would seem to me, there’s still all of Matsuribayashi to go through to confirm or kill that particular theory. I admit that I may be operating from a faulty premise. After all, the manga came out how long after the visual novels?

This is kind of an unrelated thought, but I don’t know if I ever shared aloud the way I thought you were meant to read Umineko. Before I started that series I had the thought in my head that you were meant to read the first chapter, then jump to the first chapter of the Answer Arcs. And then proceed that way through the rest of the series, 2 then 6, and so on. Now I know this is a very silly way to think the series was meant to be done, and I admit that this particular line of reasoning didn’t live past its formation for very long. But at the time I thought that’s how it was meant to be read. I am curious though to wonder how long he had originally wanted the mystery to hang until this one came out. Ha, could you imagine if he did that? Release the first game in a series and then not release the second part for four years, despite it apparently being done a while ago?

Where's literally any information on Silent Hill F Konami?

It’s the journey not the destination. He said sarcastically. Also this reminds me of something I had read somewhere along the way that Ryukishi07 was saddened by the less than positive reception that Tsumihoroboshi received. I kind of wonder how different angry Japanese gamers are in comparison to American ones, same shit, different language?

Yeah, you didn’t exactly paint them in the most flattering light there Ryukishi. I don’t know where I read it, but I do recall reading somewhere along the line that at one point he had considered releasing this as just one singular story. Which makes me wonder what that would’ve been like. Would people have been willing to sit through the entire hundred plus hour long storyline for the entire length of it? Or was splitting it up the smarter option? For whatever my opinion’s worth on the matter of this visual novel series that was written twenty years ago, I think splitting it up was the better option. Although a part of me does wonder what the story would’ve been like as one continuous narrative. Just going from one chapter to the next, how would that have played out?

I’ve mentioned it elsewhere but there was an entirely new Higurashi storyline released about four months after Matsuribayashi. Higurashi Hou Rei. I’m given to understand that one’s not exactly the best around. Then again from what little I’ve heard, apparently chapter eight didn’t exactly delight the fan base either.

Just for funsies, around the time I was writing this part I looked at some of the later events of Minagoroshi in the manga version.

I didn’t read the whole thing, but here are some pages of Hanyuu that I thought were interesting. Primarily because I thought it was a nice change of pace seeing her with facial expressions that aren’t just sad creature.

I thought it was interesting how the manga just spells it out plainly that Ooishi had found out that Takano was alive. Whereas the visual novel kept Rika in the dark about what Ooishi had found out in Gifu. It hinted at her fate, but it never just said point blank “yeah she’s alive” like it does here in the manga.

I don’t wish to drag this out for much longer (I have over fifty screencaps from the manga saved in a folder on my desktop), but there are a couple of ones I think are worth sharing.

Kumagai still gets taken out by the Mountain Dogs sniper, but I thought this was an interesting variation, however slight, of Ooishi’s death scene.

I didn’t know this little mini-comic existed, but I’m delighted it does.

It’s canon.

Also canon.

I hope I don’t seem too hyperbolic in my praise of Minagoroshi. But this is genuinely the best written, and so far the absolute best chapter of this entire series so far. Even though I mentioned that I found the section regarding Satoko’s life with her uncle to be an absolute slog to go through. With a mention that the segments regarding this pretty firmly slammed on the brakes grinding the story to a halt I’m willing to tolerate that because the sheer strength of writing for the rest of the chapter more than makes up for it. Much as I disliked that entire section I don’t know what I would cut from it to make it a more palatable read, because despite my complaining it is rather vital to the overall narrative.

I enjoyed this chapter a lot more than I did any of the others because this chapter more than the rest started giving me what I want from the narrative. It started explaining some of the more mystical elements of the overarching plot. Much as it started doubling down on the parasites explanation it started doing so in a way that is better than just a handwave of “alien magic.” The explanation of Oyashiro, Rika in the timeloop (even though I have the theory it’s actually Hanyuu in the timeloop, and Rika’s just an unfortunate passenger to this fate), the very existence of Hanyuu herself. It handles it all extremely better than it did during the entirety of Tsumihoroboshi.

This chapter was a much-needed shot in the arm to improve the trajectory of the entire series. It’s all too easy to imagine a hypothetical scenario where it just continued its downward spiral, and just kept being worse than Tsumihoroboshi. But despite the odds it completely averted that, and came out much stronger for it. You could probably argue that my high opinion of the chapter is only because I went into it with such low expectations. I don’t think that’s the case however. I grant you that I didn’t go in to Minagoroshi with high hopes, but I don’t think I went in expecting it to be an actively miserable time.

In terms of it as a mystery I don’t know if it’s an exceptionally good one. Despite my enjoyment of mystery novels, games, and so on, I don’t feel that I have a good handle on what makes one good or not. Maybe it would’ve been a better mystery if it didn’t immediately cut to Takano injecting Tomitake with H173 and setting up all the stuff for Operation Doomsday. If we just stuck with Rika up until the reveal about Ooishi’s investigation in Gifu, or hell even later with Keiichi’s death.

As it is, however I think that Minagoroshi is far and away the absolute strongest of all of the chapters so far in the Answer Arcs. Possibly even the series as a whole. There was such a wide variety of interesting things happening that except for the plotline about Satoko it kept the story moving at a very brisk pace. I’m very excited to see if the final chapter* Matsuribayashi can keep the streak going.

I love these silly comics.

#higurashi #higurashi when they cry #higurashi no naku koro ni #higurashi playthrough

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pjisskullourful · 1 year

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ｓｔｒｅｓｓｒｅｌｉｅｖｅｒ

🐾Thomas × reader [The Gift part11]

NSFW🔥smuttastic fuckery, hijinks for adults only

° Thomas Raggi/non-binary reader insert

° its the weekend before university finals & you are panicking, but thomas knows how to calm you down

wordcount::: 4,507

° commissioned by my truly amazing baby nibling jace (@wow-ihateithere)💋 [requests are open! but commissions get priority, secure the 6th spot in my cue here!]

° [ITA:] cucciolo: puppy - caro: dear

“It’s four AM.” Hearing your boyfriend’s voice startled you into looking up from your textbook at once. He was standing in the doorway of the study, his hair messed up from the hours of sleep he had been enjoying. “Don’t you think studying can wait- maybe when it isn’t so late, I mean early?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” You mumbled, feeling as if you had been caught doing something embarrassing.

You hadn’t realised how late into the night it had gotten. You had taken yourself out of bed around one o’clock, tired of tossing and turning as your thoughts refused to turn off, or even slow down any. You had known that no distractions would actually succeed in occupying your mind.

So you had turned to the cause of your stress - university. Next week was your final exams for the year and you were feeling wholly unprepared. It was very easy for you to imagine sitting down to take the test only to face a major mental blank. And that daunting glimpse into the future inspired a lot of fear. Fear that couldn’t be easily dismissed, you tried to fight back on it, but the logic that you held was shaky.

‘I’ll feel better once I’ve gone over this concept’, you had thought to yourself as you sat down on the sofa, beginning to read.

After a lot of reading, a new thought had come to you, ‘I need to give this paragraph a re-read, then I can go to bed’. That had prompted you to pick up another textbook in pursuit of a specific page.

And now it was four o’clock?

Thomas stifled a yawn as he came over to you. “I don’t think sitting up, out of bed and reading about sociology is gonna help you fall asleep, baby.”

You sighed. “I know. But with finals so close, it’s like I don’t know how to turn the stress off. And studying helps that.”

“Oh, it helps?” He asked as he stood beside the couch, not sitting down with you. “So you’re saying that it helps you feel better, like less stressed and all that?”

“Something like that.” You replied hesitantly. In your mind, you compared your reason for turning to studying to the instinct of grabbing your elbow after painfully striking it against something solid. Did cradling the injury take the hurting away? No, but it felt better than doing nothing.

He gave you a sceptical look. “Now I’m not about to call you a liar. However, I do know what you look like when you’re not stressed. And what I’m looking at right now is not you stress-free.”

“Well, it’s not-...”

He silenced you by showing you the palm of his hand. “Luckily for you, another thing that I know is how to help you relieve all of that stress. I’m just gonna need you to come with me back to bed.”

You glanced down at the textbook. “I’ve got more than half of this page left to read.”

“I’m sorry, but how long have you been at this?” He asked.

“I don’t know, I guess about three hours.” You said, trying to play it off casually.

It didn’t work and he was making a sarcastic scoffing sound. “Alright, it is definitely time for you to take a study break. Come on, you’re coming to bed.”

“Can’t I just finish this page and meet you in there?” You asked.

“No way. You’ve had three hours to read millions of pages, that’s enough for now. There’s plenty of time for you to come back to this later, much, much later.” He said and he leaned down, securing his hands around your bicep. “Come on, don’t make me get tough with you.”

You chuckled, still remaining seated. “Oh-no, the wrath of puppy. Ooh, I’m so scared. What’s puppy gonna do? Are you gonna bark at me ‘til you get your way? Or maybe you’ll bite my ankles. It’s all really terrifying to imagine.”

He showed a good-natured smile in response to your teasing. “You can joke all you like, but you’re really curious, I can tell.” As he pulled on your arm a little you wondered when he had become an actual expert at reading your body language and other non-verbal cues. “If you’ll just come with me, you can find out exactly what I’m planning.”

You couldn’t help questioning your motives behind why you were resisting so much. You shut the book and moved it off your lap so you could get to your feet. “Okay, puppy gets his way.”

He grinned and let go of your arm so that he could hold your hand instead. “Hell yeah, let’s go.”

It was easy to get caught up in his energy. Maybe you had found a distraction strong enough to get your mind off of tests.

Once inside the bedroom, he turned to face you. He lifted one of his hands up to your face, caressing his fingers across your cheek as he leaned in closer. “I want you to use me.”

You kissed him, wrapping an arm around his waist. “I like how that sounds, but could you get a bit more specific?”

“Take all of your stresses and frustrations about finals out on me.” He said, rubbing his thumb against your bottom lip before moving in for more kisses. “Don’t worry about my pleasure, don’t even think about it, not for a second. You can just use me.”

You had started to smile, now holding both arms around him. “I can?”

“Uh-huh, I’m just your dumb little pup, use me like I deserve.” He said.

Your heart was fluttering as you started to kiss him again, your tongue moving forward to run across his lips. He had succeeded in redirecting your thoughts, it was an offer too titillating to refuse and once the door was opened, you had absolutely no interest in shutting it without first investigating. You pushed your tongue into his mouth, rubbing it against his as you happily gave over control to your libido.

Before too long, you were leading him over to the unmade bed. You pushed him onto the mattress with him keeping his eyes on you, keenly awaiting your guidance.

“Tell me again while you’re getting naked.” You said.

He put his hands to the bottom of his oversized shirt, swiftly taking it off. “Use me.” He removed his underwear, allowing you to see how his cock was already getting firm. “Use me.”

You stood in front of him as you took your turn to take off your clothes. You started to unbutton the flannelette pyjama shirt that you had been wearing. He boosted himself up to close some of the distance between the two of you and pressed some kisses to the exposed skin of your neck. Warmth spread through your gut in response and you couldn’t help smiling.

Once your arms were free of the top, you put your hands to his cheeks and used this to redirect him to look up at you. You placed your lips to his, your kisses lingering, and the study felt incredibly far away.

“Do you want me to sit on that pretty face?” You asked.

He twitched, his eagerness too great for him to hide. “Yes.”

You gave him another kiss, unable to keep yourself from indulging in those lips some more. “How about you lay down and get comfortable for me?”

He moved back, scooting away from the end of the bed. He reclined, flat on his back, with his head resting upon a pillow. You eyed the way his cock stood at attention as you pushed your underwear down.

You stepped out of the underwear and approached your side of the bed. You climbed on to the mattress and placed yourself on top of him. You supported yourself with a knee on either side of his head. He was looking up at you with wide eyes, taking in as much of this sight as was possible.

You further braced yourself by grabbing for the headboard. Once you felt confident that you would be able to maintain your balance, you started to lower yourself. You saw his eyes fix on your pussy as you got it closer to his face and you could only guess at what he was planning for you.

He lifted his head, making contact with your pussy with a tender kiss to your labia. His lips cradled one side, leaving behind an invisible print of saliva when he switched to the other. You shut your eyes, concentrating on the feeling of blood rushing into your cunt, bringing even more heat.

Your pussy lips were already parting for him, without a conscious effort from you. He inhaled your scent as he continued to give your pussy kisses, giving you time to sink into this moment. You were blissfully letting everything else go.

Once he had thoroughly warmed your labia majora with his lips, he then set his tongue upon them. Long strokes up each side allowed him to taste more of you, while you were grateful to feel more pressure in this area.

He didn’t just glide his tongue up-and-down, he was angling his head so that his licks could move inwards. His tongue discovered the skin that was getting wet by your own anticipation, lapping at the moisture here.

You felt a shiver rush through you when he brought the tip of his tongue to your labia minora. He used the tip of his tongue to slowly explore you here, following the natural contours of your pussy. He licked around your entrance, dedicating so much time to this that you thought he might be trying to commit the shape to memory, for some purpose that would be revealed later. You savoured the feeling of his concentration to this area, with it allowing you to shrink your consciousness down, your desires ready to run the show.

“Oh, cucciolo…” You said in a shattered breath when his tongue began to search inside of you finally.

His tongue extended into your pussy and you felt yourself tense up a little, yearning to explore that next level of pleasure. He wrapped a hand around your thigh, gripping you here as his tongue worked tirelessly at your inner-walls.

He was making you feel so good, tingles spreading through your body as you looked over your shoulder to check on him. It appeared that he was also feeling so good, with the tip of his dick still pointing directly at the ceiling. You made a mental note of this, letting it add to your surging arousal.

Your jaw fell slack, a surprised moan swelling up when he rapidly flitted his tongue up-and-down repeatedly. Your hand grabbed to the headboard tighter as you keenly wiggled your hips. This had the potential to start a fire in you.

Before you could start to adjust to this sensation, he was withdrawing his tongue altogether. This granted you the chance to catch your breath, gathering yourself so you could make it through more of his teasing. He didn’t move too far away, the heat from his face still present on your skin.

Your heart leapt when you felt his tongue again, this time it was flicking against the hood of your clit. At once you were thrilled by this.

You got the idea of further exploring this lust by sharing it, and you started to reach behind yourself. He was still lavishing your clit with attention as you extended your hand to his cock. You wrapped your fingers around his shaft and clumsily began to jerk, trying to find the best way to stroke him.

Before you could set into any kind of rhythm, he was taking his mouth off of you so he could speak. “Babe, what… you don’t have to do that.” He put a hand to your wrist, seemingly ready to physically stop you.

“I know that I don’t have to, but I wanna.” You said.

“Shh, you should stop.” He said and you could hear a slight waver in his voice as he probably fought against his own impulses. “It isn’t about me right now and that’s the way I want it.”

“But you’re hard.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

You looked down at his face, finding him wearing an earnest expression. “But I want you to enjoy this too.”

He caressed your thigh. “That’s sweet and I am enjoying myself, honestly. Please don’t under-estimate how much pleasure I get from giving you pleasure. Yeah, an orgasm would be really nice right now. But more than that, more than anything I just want to please my dom. Let me make it all about you and your pleasure, please?”

“Okay.” You said, giving his hair a pat because you were as enamoured with his submission now as you had been upon him first giving it to you. You couldn’t disagree with him at this moment.

“If it’s something that you really wanna explore, don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll still be hard later.” He said.

You laughed. “Yeah, there’s never a shortage of boners with my puppy.”

He let this discussion come to an end, his tongue returning to your clitoris. He swirled his tongue around the tight bundle of nerves until you were ditching your earlier plan altogether, taking your hand far from his dick. Your eyes fluttered shut as you went with his suggestion to not dedicate any thoughts to him - you made your desires your only concern.

As his tongue continued to work over your clit, you felt the tip of one of his fingers slowly pushing inside of you. He guided the digit between your walls, making you feel his treatment of his clit even more. You gave a little whimper as he moved in deeper, you were excited to start feeling full.

He soon had a second finger disappearing into you. The electricity rushing your system became too much for you to simply be still any longer and you fed the lust by grinding into his face. You tensed your thighs, delving deeper into the stimulations with every swing of your hips.

He worked his fingers in time with you, setting into the tempo that you were establishing. You were serving the need that burned inside of you, more-and-more of your body responding to him.

You started to get fixed on the feeling of your incoming orgasm, wanting to fall apart at the very core of your being. Amongst many other things, you were craving greater friction. You put your hand into his hair, grabbing a handful as you bucked your hips faster. His tongue rubbing at your clit was enticing endless pleasure into you, it had you obsessed.

“Fuck, cucciolo…” You moaned as you grinded harder into him.

He kept up with you, not giving you a single second to recover. His consistency was exactly what you needed, rewarding every movement as you made it.

You rutted against him a few more times, keeping your momentum as your legs felt like they were turning into jelly. But the wave of pleasure was overcoming you, making you weak as the orgasm started to dawn. You lost your pacing, just squirming your way through the mighty peak.

You shook and gasped for air on top of him as he retracted his fingers, giving you the chance to come to terms with the height that you had just reached. He leaned back from your cunt and your hand gripping his hair steadily released.

You were still feeling dazzling tingles as you moved off of him, all but collapsing onto the bed next to him. With no more tension in your body, you easily got comfortable.

He curled up at your side. “Can I have a kiss? I know that I’ve got a bad case of pussy breath right now, but can I still get one kiss?”

You opened your eyes to look at him, instantly seeing how keen he was - wide awake, his eagerness was untouched by fatigue. You wrapped an arm around his shoulders, bringing him in closer. “Yes, of course you get kisses now.” You peppered some quick kisses upon his lips. “You did so good.”

You placed your lips on his, kissing him properly as you continued to feel the effects of your afterglow. You twirled some of his hair around your finger as you deepened the kiss. You tasted your own excitement on his lips, a testament to how hard he had worked.

“Really?” He asked of you.

“What are you talking about, really? Yes, you did great and you know you did. Unless you somehow blacked out and missed that orgasm.” You said.

“No, I know that you came, that part was fuckin’ awesome.” He said. “But I feel like I’m still detecting some stress in you…”

“Is that so?” You asked, curious to see what he was leading to.

“Yeah.” He asserted. “And I would feel bad if I didn’t properly help you relieve that, ‘cause I said I would and I’m a pup of my word.”

“Well I’d hate to make a liar out of you.” You said.

He began kissing you again and this made it clear that he wasn’t just playing around with being flirty and cutesy, he hadn’t made his statements lightly. And now he was going to share his intentions.

You thought that this was the point when he stopped revolving everything around you, he must be ready to bring his cock back to your attention. You predicted him offering to fuck the stress out of you and you would say yes to it, happy to get off with him.

But he seemed to think that you needed more warming up, moving his hand down to your cunt. His fingers moved along your cunt, which was still buzzing with the sensitivities provoked by your climax.

You expected him to move away (he would need to leave your side to get a condom). But as he looked into your eyes, he only came closer, letting one of his fingers work your pussy open. You parted your legs further for him, feeling what had been your dwindling afterglow translating into aftershocks. Your heart rate increased as he discovered just how wet you still were.

You felt like you could melt just from his gaze, so you shut your eyes and initiated another kiss. You wanted to give him something that he could properly enjoy, something that could fill him with more of that vicarious pleasure he had spoken of so highly.

As you were kissing, his second finger disappeared into you. Your sensitive walls clenched to the touch, ready for more attention. He easily found a tempo to work you over at and you held him closer, feeling that pleasure swell up again. His tongue glided between your lips, welcomed into your mouth with a whine from you.

You chased one sensation after another, climbing back up to the peak. He kissed you through your shivers and moans, unrelenting in his goal of drawing another orgasm out of you.

You arched your back, pushing your body more determinedly into him when he curled his fingers up and into your sweet spot. You felt how easy it would be to unravel as he pumped his fingers, colliding with your soft wall repeatedly. The stimulations were making your toes curl, begging you to abandon the few scraps of composure that you had left.

It didn’t take much for this to reach the threshold of what you could take. Thanks to his consistent massage, you were soon feeling the orgasm explode into you. You broke the kiss as you soared into the climax.

You were still greedily gasping for air by the time his fingers were pulled free of your sensitive cunt. Thoroughly weakened by the second climax, you leaned into him for support. You buried your head into the warmth of his chest and let yourself partially drift away. If he asked whether or not you were still feeling stressed, you would have to admit that your mind was feeling so blank that you weren’t confident in how to spell the word stress.

You became aware of the hair on top of your head shifting, then you heard the noises of him kissing you here. At the same time you were feeling his fingers stroking up-and-down your back. You didn’t think it would take much for you to fall asleep, catching up on what you had missed out on.

“Are you feeling better, babe?” He asked.

You smiled as you lifted your head, looking up at him. “Calling how I’m feeling ‘better’ would be a hideous understatement.”

“My bad.” He said. You could see the shy smile beginning on his lips as he found a way to move in closer. “Is it okay if I-... can I-... you can tell me exactly what to do, what not to do, but can I get off now?”

“Oh yes, cucciolo.” You said, giving him a kiss. “You have definitely earned yourself an orgasm.”

“How do you want me to do it?” He asked.

You licked your lips as you pondered the possibilities. You were thinking about what would turn you on the most, what you could commit to memory to get worked up over when without him.

“You can just jerk it for me.” You said - it wasn’t a request.

“Okay.”

His cock was hard and awaited some attention. He didn’t take his eyes off of your face as he wrapped his fingers around the shaft, about halfway down. He stroked upwards, wet sounds accompanying the movement of his fingers over the head. Then he glided his hand all the way down, reaching to the base. You got an insight into how sensitive he was when you saw his body briefly overrun with shaking.

You curled some of his long hair behind his ear. “You just do it however you want, caro. You don’t have to worry about me telling you that you’re doing it too fast or not right. You don’t have to worry about anything, you can concentrate on making you feel good after you made me feel so fucking good.”

“Thank you.” He said.

“Aw, you’re welcome.” You said, his obedience adding to the pleasure that you got from viewing this.

Before you could lean in and start kissing him, he raised his unoccupied hand up to his mouth. His lips parted so that he could place two fingers inside. Your heartbeat increased when you realised these were the fingers that had been in your cunt. You saw his cheeks suck in as he thoroughly sought out the cum that still coated these digits.

He seemed to suck on them harder as he picked up the pace on his dick. You applied your trimmed fingernails to his scalp, gently raking across the skin. His eyes began to flutter shut, with him fighting against this to keep watching you.

He writhed forward, his chest rapidly rising-and-falling as the intensity increased for him. You were right there with him, still basking in your afterglow. Your eyes darted from his face to his dick and back again, not wanting to miss a thing. You studied his face and guessed how close he was. You watched his strokes and remembered riding him.

A powerful twitch temporarily gripped him and his wet fingers slipped out of his mouth. His mouth just hung open, if not for how much he was struggling to catch his breath, you would have given him so many kisses. But you resigned yourself to lightly scratching his head as you enjoyed this continuing erotic display.

Finally he lost the battle, his eyelids shutting as he surrendered more of his control to the desire. His hips thrusted in a half-tempo, not trying to match the persistence of his hand, but clearly needing to exorcise some of the feral energy coursing through him.

“Oh, oh…” He panted out.

You were admiring the pretty sheen of the light catching on the cum beading up on his tip. Then you looked up to appreciate all of the colour that had rushed into his gorgeous face. He looked so good, and at the same time, making sure you were still feeling close to those memories of your own climax.

His mouth somehow fell even further open as he began to buck with reckless abandon. You watched how fast his hand was working on his shaft, it was almost a blur in its impassioned stroking.

From deep in his throat, a whimper began, the only way to express the ecstasy he was tapping into. He keeled forward, almost bumping you as he curled himself up for the conclusion. You held your breath, on the edge of your metaphorical seat. His whimper had developed into a cry and your thighs were clenching in your anticipation.

“Fuck!” He half-shouted it.

Then, with one final snap from his hips, he hit the precipice. In front of you he came undone, everything coming to its grand finale.

He took his hand off of his dick and he was unsuccessfully trying to catch his breath as he slowly raised his head to look at you. His wide eyes met yours and you felt an unimportant flutter in your cunt. Your chest swelled with both pride and arousal.

As he was coming back into himself, you swooped in, covering his mouth in enthusiastic kisses. He reciprocated as he placed his hands on you, trying to ground himself.

“I love you.” He breathed.

“Oh, I love you too, caro.” You said, holding his hot face in your hands. “You have no idea how sexy that was.”

Something of a smug smile appeared on his face. “And how’s your stress-levels?”

In the rush of so many positive emotions, you started to laugh. “So low, so, so low that even Flo Rida would be proud.” You said, making him laugh too.

“See, I told you that I knew how to take care of your stress.” He said.

You smiled, not bothered by his bragging. You began using your fingers to create invisible patterns on his smooth chest. “Yeah, because you’re not just sexy, you’re also the smartest puppy.”

“No, you’re the smart one of the two of us.” He said and he picked up one of your hands, looking into your eyes as he kissed your palm. “I hope you know on some level that you have nothing to worry about. Truly, those finals should be worried because you’re gonna kill them, absolutely kill ‘em. You’re a genius.”

You felt a blush rising in your cheeks. “I don’t know about that.”

“Well I do.” He insisted. “This isn’t the first time you’ve taken finals and you’re gonna make it again this time. You’ve got this, you know you do.”

"Thank you, babe."

Maybe it was his reassuring words, or maybe it was the exhaustion taking over - either way, sleep came before the stress and panic had a chance to come back.

»»————-　♡　————-««

🍑taglist: @gr8rainbowpunk - @idyllicbutterfly - @maneskindiva - @maneslut - @saschenkaaa - @slavicgoddess13 - @elvirabelle - @maneskintifoso - @thegeminisgirl - @ha-la-ansia - @butkutee - @ursulalurks - @itsmaneskinbitch - @icarodamiano - @crwnnjules - @paralianeyes - @fand0mskullfa1ry - @lizzylynch1 - @kammerstx - @myleftsock - @tellmesomething01 - @adoredamianos - @vittoriaisfuckingpathetic - @gay-for-victoria-de-angelis - @shinshans - @lonnybunnys [join here!]

#maneskin x reader #maneskin fanfiction #maneskin smut #maneskin fic #manesmut #thomas x you #thomas x reader #thomas raggi fic #thomas raggi x y/n

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starswallowingsea · 1 year

Text

just calling this one himeru comes up with a song theme. no i dont understand the lyrics in the sample i'm just trying to write because i need to stretch my muscles

word count: 950

HiMERU tapped his notebook with the tip of his pencil. Anzu had told him he needed to come up with some ideas for his solo song (and that he couldn’t use any of his old songs as a cheap cop-out) so here he was, in the garden with an empty cup of coffee and a blank notepad. A few pieces of paper were crumpled up on the table, some scribbles peaking through the wrinkles. Suddenly HiMERU understood why Leo had an endless trail of paper following him around all the time.

This was more difficult than he had imagined it to be. Who was HiMERU? Who was he behind the mask he wore every day? Even when he was younger, what had his interests been? He checked his phone, which had been opened to his music player with another idol’s solo song playing from the speaker, and saw that his battery was almost dead. He still had to visit the hospital today and it was only four in the afternoon. He dug through his bag for a spare charger, but where would he plug it into? He was outside and didn’t particularly feel like going in quite yet, and he didn’t want to leave his phone unattended either.

He could plug it in during rehearsal later, probably. Rinne typically used his own phone to sync with the bluetooth speaker, so it would be fine. Until then, he’d have to be careful to not let it die.

HiMERU stood up and stretched. It wasn’t a good idea to just sit around either, and maybe taking a lap around the garden would help clear his mind. The flowers were just about to bloom, and maybe he’d get some inspiration from that. Couldn’t hurt anyway.

He closed his eyes and let the wind clear his mind. When he opened them again it was like something had been lifted, though he still didn’t know what to write about. It didn’t have to be a full song, just some ideas for lyrics, maybe a verse or chorus, but nothing was clicking. Nobody wants to listen to a song about perfection, and that was what HiMERU as an idol really encapsulated. He tried to be kind and personable to fans, but that also wasn’t exactly a thrilling song theme either.

Great songs needed a focus, and HiMERU was anything but today. Rehearsal was in less than an hour and he would be heading straight to the hospital before trying to do some semblance of a nightly routine before going to bed at 10 o’clock sharp like he did most days.

He opened his eyes again and took a look around at the flowers. Some were still struggling to open but many were in full bloom in a rainbow of colors. Roses, tulips, plum and cherry blossoms, wisterias growing up the side of the greenhouse. He took a deep breath and let his mind calm down again.

A small patch of blue flowers caught his eye tucked away near one of the plum blossom trees. He walked over and knelt down next to them, noting the small sign that denoted them as forget-me-nots. Flowers of love that matched his, well, Kaname’s color palette on stage. The soft blues would compliment him well in a photoshoot and it would be excellent fan service.

But HiMERU, the man behind the mask, wanted to take one of the flowers and press it so he could give it to Kaname. It would last longer if it was pressed in the pages of one of his favorite books, and maybe he’d be able to connect with his younger half-brother with it when he woke up. He plucked the stem of a flower between his fingers and twirled it gently.

Look at me, hold me tight, it seemed to say to him. Look at me and hold me tight, don’t let go no matter how hard the world tries to separate us.

Typically the flower represented romantic love, and he had seen some of the other idols put it in their bouquets to their…friends (it was an open secret that many of the idols were dating each other, but nobody dared spoke of it to the media because it would only come back to bite them down the line). But when he pictured Kaname with the flowers, all he wanted to do was pull the other boy into a hug and never let him go, never let him fall into something so dangerous again.

Maybe he was being a little overprotective thinking like that, but he had been in stable condition for over a year at this point with no signs of waking up any time soon. HiMERU was not a spiritual person, but he had spent countless nights praying to whatever god or spirit was out there that Kaname would wake up.

He thought forget-me-nots encapsulated Kaname perfectly.

He plucked a second flower, one for each of them, and went back to his notepad. He scribbled down some notes, a few lines that had come to mind, and then checked his phone again. Just enough time to make it to practice if he left now.

He grabbed his bag and gently tucked the flowers in his jacket pocket. He’d find one of his detective novels and press the flowers in it later.

He must have had a noticeable uptick in his mood, as all three of his other unit members had commented on his good mood while he plugged his phone into the wall. He told them it was nothing, but spared a soft smile as he fingered the flowers in his pocket before returning to the group and beginning their stretches.

#shay speaks #shay writes #im not gonna main tag this one i feel my migraine coming back but eh #feel free to reblog it anyway #i might do a little series of these for alkakurei as we get teasers for their solos idk yet #would people be interested in that? i might make that a little collection on ao3 or smth #i'll probably touch this up before then obviously this isjust like. first draft wrote this in an hour

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msviolacea · 2 years

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4 skips!

So, this one turned out interesting - I used my "Big List of Favorites" playlist, and four shuffled skips in was Poe - Control. Which has been associated in my mind for YEARS with an OC whose story I've never written, mostly because I've never quite managed to work out all the details of the plot.

But, she's the one who appears in my head when this song plays, so I decided to try to put her down on the page, at least a little.

Original fic here - a space opera setting, one I'm slowly (VERY slowly) adapting from an AU fanfic I wrote in ... 2008? Thereabouts.

Oh no, Lark thinks, you're not winning that easily.

"Return to previous level," she tells the computer, as she reaches up to move a piece of code from one screen to another. "We'll find a different entrance."

"Fourth level," the computer announces, a moment later. Its voice is cheerful and feminine, and Lark mostly tries not to think about how much it sounds like Serena. She built it that way, but sometimes it's hard to remember why.

Her hand reaches up to touch her cheek reflexively. She no longer feels a phantom ache around the irregular ridges in her skin, not while awake. The feel of them grounds her.

"Move to position 3509.4," she tells the computer, "and deploy at half speed."

Gareth's team built this security system. They're better than the last time, she notes, but they still won't be better than her. Honestly, Gareth should thank her for all the training she's giving his people. No training simulation would teach them how to code a security system better than trying to keep a step ahead of a hacker. And Gareth himself taught Lark the basics, all those years ago.

She shakes her head. "Why the nostalgia today?" she asks herself.

"I do not recognize that command."

"Disregard, I'm not talking to you." Lark slaps her own cheek lightly. "Let's see what this section looks like."

Another hour passes without her notice, as she analyzes the code, line by line, symbol by symbol, looking for the weak point. She's almost resigned to pulling back to the previous level again when she finally sees it - a simple juxtaposition, two symbols switched. It's a mistake anyone could make, even the most expert of programmers. It doesn't affect the way the code runs at all; what it does, though, is give someone like her a millimeter of space to squeeze through.

A millimeter is all she needs.

It takes several more hours, but the work from here is a well worn path for Lark. The virus she leaves will do its job the next time the system reboots, sometime within the next twenty-eight hours. At that time, more than two dozen people will receive a notice that their debts to Den-Tarr have been forgiven. The Den-Tarr system will have no record of those debts ever existing. And more than two dozen people, along with their families, will have the means to save a bit of money and get the hell off of their miserable planet.

It would have been nice to free more, she thinks, but this was as large a group she could manage without exposing herself. She'll come back later, she promises. Her next target is another recruiting company, a way to stop the exploitative assholes from ever funneling the desperate to this planet in the first place.

Oh, yeah, and to take the Den-Tarr recruiting fees for herself. Her hardware doesn't pay for itself, after all.

"Process complete," the computer says. "Execute?"

"Yes."

As her primary screen goes blank, Lark sees her own reflection - and for a brief second, another face imposes itself on top. A hallucination, she knows it, but she still sneers at the memory of it.

"Hi Mom," she murmurs. "Get fucked."

#jaime writes #ainyan #original writing #lark is a character who is always with me #i'll write her full story someday #someday when i feel like i can do justice to it

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doctorbrown · 11 months

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DOCTOBER '23 ⸺ 「 18 / 31 * LETTER 」

September 1, 1885

The longer he stares at the blank parchment laid out across his desk, the more inexplicably daunting the task before him becomes.

As soon as the ink hits the paper, this situation becomes set in stone. Final. His signature will seal his fate in a contract binding between him and the universe, the terms of which are known only to them and, in about seventy years, to Marty.

Emmett L. Brown becomes a figure lost to time under promise to guard against accidentally doing something to irreparably alter history and the knowledge of how to build another time machine stays trapped with him in the nineteenth century.

It has been eight months now since he arrived, welcomed by locals who knew nothing of his name nor his reputation and were willing to welcome him into their small growing community. As far as time periods to spend out his retirement years went, the late nineteenth century wasn't so bad.

Now all that was left to do was tie up the final loose ends that have frayed far into the future, well out of his reach.

The DeLorean and schematics are in place, waiting to be unearthed by his future-past-counterpart. The map is clear, as are the clues he'd left inside the mine.

The letter—

There's a twinge of regret in his chest as he lifts the quill from the desk. Eight months is a long time to have waited to write this letter, he knows, yet he also knows that so long as his calculations are precise, right down to the second, then the delay will be negligible in the grand scheme of things. He had to first exhaust all avenues before committing himself to a lifetime here.

Now that he has, there is the comfort that, for Marty, no time will have passed.

From here, the letter has a seventy-year, two month, twelve day journey ahead of it.

There are a hundred different ways he could start this letter, a thousand different things to say, and many of them involve reassuring Marty, first and foremost, that he is alive and unharmed. Even if the letter is only delayed by a few moments, a few minutes even, he knows his best friend's tendency to panic and assume the worst.

Marty would likely believe he was dead, and why wouldn't he? The DeLorean was struck by lightning and in a quite literal flash, he was gone, thrown backwards in time when the bolt overloaded the electrical system, destroyed the time circuits, and sent the car accelerating to eighty-eight miles per hour.

He dips his quill in the ink and begins to write.

Dear Marty: If my calculations are correct, you will receive this letter immediately after you saw the DeLorean struck by lightning. First, let me assure you that I am alive and well. I have been living happily in the year 1885 these past few months.

Emmett's brows furrow as he continues. Now that he's started, the words spill out across the page in swooping lines and splotches of ink when he's too impatient to wait. If he could, he would fill Marty in on the entirety of these last eight months, but there simply isn't enough paper for a full recount, so he condenses everything, relaying only the most relevant information that he thinks will paint a sufficient picture.

He still has his wishes to write, and in a spot of morbid humour, Emmett notes to himself how this almost sounds like a will.

By the time it catches up with him in 1955, he supposes it will be.

Do not come back for me, though I will miss you terribly, Marty. Watch over Einie for me. Destroy the time machine. This is all I need.

Marty's future is exceptionally bright and Emmett can only hope he will make the most of it. He's instilled in him as much positive reinforcement as he possibly could; the rest is up to him now.

Four pages and a set of instructions later, Emmett finally signs his name, neatly folds up the document, and hurries to the Western Union office.

A single man sits at the desk; a middle-aged gentleman with dark hair greying at the sides, a beard, and thick glasses. He introduces himself as Theodore as Emmett walks up to the counter.

❝How can I help you, Mister—?❞

❝Brown. Emmett Brown.❞

Something flashes in Theodore's green eyes. ❝You're the town's new blacksmith, aren't you? Thought you seemed familiar. What can I do for you?❞

❝It is imperative this letter be delivered with these precise instructions!❞ Emmett hands the instruction letter to Theodore, whose face scrunches up sceptically as he reads it.

❝Hold on a minute. You want us to hold onto this letter until❞—Theodore checks the paper again to be certain his eyes aren't playing tricks on him—❝November 12, 1955, seventy years from now, and deliver it to a kid on the side of the road in front of the...construction site of the Lyon Estate housing development approximately two miles south of the city limits at precisely 9:20PM. And your intended recipient is a five-foot-four, brown haired, blue-eyed boy named Marty McFly who is just going to happen to be standing there?❞

Theodore drops the page onto the desk and stares at Emmett like he's waiting for the punchline to some ridiculous joke. Emmett knows that look well; it is the very same look most of the residents of Hill Valley give him as they deem him mad and shuffle aside to give him a wide berth.

Emmett's resolve never wavers. ❝That's correct.❞

Theodore glances behind him to his colleague who throws a simple, entirely unhelpful shrug back. ❝I'll pay whatever the fee is to hold on to the letter that long,❞ Emmett says, and after a moment and at least four different expressions that pass across his face, Theodore lets out a long sigh.

❝This has to be the craziest, most peculiar request we've ever gotten. Alright, Mister Brown.❞ He shuffles a few papers around at his desk and produces a writing utensil along with a receipt and slides both over to Emmett. He taps a nail on the signature line. ❝Sign here.❞

#doctober 2023 #god i got sick after the con and laser tag and i feel *terrible* and i don't have it in me to fix this one or proof it so #please accept it as it is #even though it's a jumbled mess #i also wanted to keep writing and talk about the wild reputation and rumours that surround doc's letter at the western union office #tbh - there's probably some crazy wild shit #and that betting pool was definitely pretty big especially as 1955 hit and they got closer and closer to the delivery date #&; a great idea can change the world 「 hc 」

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ghosts-and-blue-sweaters · 1 year

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3 thing ask:

2, 6, 11, 33, 34, 37

Three movies you have rewatched many times

1. Spirit: Stallion Of The Cimarron. I went through a phase when I was nine/ten where I’d rewatch this movie multiple times a week for… like a year 😅

2. Bolt. Underrated movie!! This was another one I looped when I was younger, and I tried writing a fanfic about it when I was eleven maybe but gave up after one page or something lol

3. The Good Dinosaur. Yet another one I looped when I was younger :) I saw this one in theaters too!!

I went through a major animation phase when I was 9-13. All these + How To Train Your Dragon were pretty much all I watched aksgaksgaksg

I still have all my animash edits saved :) Perhaps I will share them someday…

Three characters that inspire you

Ooh man, hmm…

1. Tommy (DSMP). This answer seems silly at first, but I’m always touched by how much and how hard he tries. He tries so hard to be good, and to help people, and to never give up on people, and it’s amazing. It’s rare that I find characters who are so, for lack of better words, good. He’s just a really good kid.

He also loves most everything he touches, and he loves hard. He loves so hard that it’s impossible to not see it, to not feel it, to not be changed by it, and that’s freaking powerful.

(I’m really having to Think about this question, because while I like a bunch of characters, I’m not often inspired by those characters)

2. Zelda (BOTW/TOTK). LOOK AT ME PICKING A CHARACTER FROM A VIDEO GAME!!! WOO!!!

If I had to describe Zelda in one word, I’d choose “selfless”. So, so selfless. It’s crazy.

The things she does for her kingdom and for Link and for the things she cares about is near-unmatched; she’ll do hard things for the good of others, and I mean really hard things. Heartbreaking, painful, scary things that I honestly probably wouldn’t do.

I think she’s really neat :) And I think I could learn a lot about being selfless from her.

3. Goshhhh I’m kinda drawing a blank here ummm

*spongebob time-passing-screen-thing with the french guy*

Okay so I literally hopped off tumblr for the night and came back to this question twelve hours later lol and I still cannot think of a character :’0

Three books that you would recommend everyone to read

!!!!

OOOOOOOH!!! OKAYOKAY!!!

1. The One And Only Ivan :D This is one of four stories that has ever made me tear up, and the only story that has ever made me cry. It’s just… ough. It’s beautiful and unique and it’s amazing it’s amazing it’s amazing I CANNOT tell you enough how amazing this book is oh my gosh-

AND FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING, DON’T FREAKING WATCH THE MOVIE! IT SUCKS! IT TOOK ALL THE THINGS THAT MADE THE BOOK UNIQUE AND GOT RID OF THEM AND THE RESULT IS AN INFURIATING PIECE OF MEDIA THAT DOES NOT DO THE BOOK JUSTICE! DON’T FREAKING WATCH THE MOVIE! READ THE BOOK!

2. What Beauty There Is by Cory Anderson. I read this one very recently, I think in December, and… wow. Absolutely stunning. Just… wow. It’s haunting—that’s probably the best word for it—and beautiful and deep and dark and tragic. It’s the sort of book that made me feel a bit heavier while I was reading.

(Also one of the four stories that has made me tear up sooooo)

There is a bit (not a lot at all) of swearing, and one scene that bordered the lines between PG-13 and something above PG-13; it was like… I don’t know, it’s kinda confusing. It was sort of sexual but nothing really ended up happening. It was more like an implication or a suggestion.

But other than those things, the book was fantastic and I highly highly recommend!!

3. THE ROAD BY CORMAC MCCARTHY!!! YES THIS DESERVES CAPS LOCK!!!

!!!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

It’s one of the coolest and best stories I have ever hekkin read and it’s so sad and so amazing and so well-formatted and so interesting and so OUGHHHH

I need to reread this again 😭

There’s like, one swear word maybe? Two? Hardly any, really. But there’s definitely some disturbing scenes that would make a lot of people uncomfortable, so I’d advise caution.

But yesssssss this story is so good I’m gonna scream 😭

Three scented candles that you love the most

Gonna be perfectly honest here, I don’t like candles all that much. I just… eh. I don’t see the point. Not my thing.

So instead of doing scented candles, I’ll just list three of my favorite scents in general 😅

1. Vanilla :)

2. Certain flowersss maybe?? Some of them smell nice? Like vanilla but with honey and sort of like yogurt now that I think about it.

But a lot of flowers don’t smell like anything to me, so meh.

3. Uhhh

(This question is making me realize that my sense of smell is either not very strong or I just don’t… care that much about it lol because this is hardddd)

3. Like. Food. Good food. Yyyyyes.

Three people in history that inspire you the most

This is making me remember that I really do like history, and I like learning about history/people in history, but it is MISERABLE trying to find history books that aren’t hard to read or incredibly boring. So unfortunately I don’t know as much history as I would like :(

And I do like a bunch of people in history, but like the character question, I’m not often inspired by them.

Three languages you would love to learn

1. ASL!! I’ve been wanting to learn this one for years but haven’t been able to figure out how :’0 I would really like to take a class, but they’re surprisingly difficult to find.

2. Dutch! I think it’s super satisfying to listen to and I think it’d be fun :D

3. FRENCH!!! I technically know a little bit of French, but definitely not enough to say that I truly speak it.

#ask #ask game answers

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sandboxscenes · 5 months

Text

EBG Starter (May 2024)

Solitaire is a single person game.

Create a sequence from King down to Ace, and then separate each card in their respective suit pile.

Simple.

Solitaire can be relaxing. While the rules stay the same every round, where the cards are and when they come up, can be different every time. In that sense, it's predictable. But due to variation, every experience can differ.

And sometimes that means, bad luck after bad luck.

So after you did another round of solitaire, a sigh left your lips.

You lost again.

Your head fell onto the keyboard as the screen seemed to mock you. You could see the piles of cards left haphazardly in different piles. You hoped that this time would be different. You lost the previous four games because you ran out of moves - the cards were not in your favor. You lost again for the same reason. Your losing streak continues.

"It's the fifth time tonight! This game must hate me."

You pounded on the table in frustration.

"If it wasn't for that stupid Ace of Hearts blocking my next card, I would've won." You crossed your arms, sulking.

Your eyes wander to your phone charging next to you. 9:30pm.

"I guess now is a good a time as any to stop for the night." Your fingers travel to the laptop's power button.

"Oh wait!"

You pull your fingers away from the laptop's power button, and pull it towards the trackpad. You move the laptop's cursor and click on a program.

"Alright. Let me do my dailies, and then I'm done for the night."

Throughout your entire Genshin Impact playing session tonight, you were yawning. Your eyelids grew heavier with every passing minute. Despite the sleepy haze you found yourself fighting through, one by one you finished the game's assigned daily commissions.

After finishing your final daily commission, your screen froze. You pressed some buttons on your keyboard to open Genshin's menu. Nothing happened. You leaned forward to listen and find out if the game itself froze. You could hear the game's music still running in the background.

"Great. Just great."

You got out of your chair to get ready for bed. You would deal with this later.

After twenty minutes, you finished getting ready for bed. You returned to the desk to see if Genshin was still frozen. You approach the dark laptop screen and click on the buttons. The laptop surges to life, but instead of Genshin, another application greets you on the screen with a blank page.

"What?"

Torn between your urge to investigate what was currently on your screen and your sleepiness, in the end, the urge to sleep won out.

You take a deep breath. "Look, I don't know who you are or why you're in my computer. But do you mind if we talk about this later? Preferably at a more reasonable hour?"

Silence.

"Right. Computers can't talk. Alright then. I'm gonna turn this off for now, and I'll deal with this tomorrow."

You watch the screen go black as you turn off the computer. You close the screen, and walk away. Once you get into bed, sleep quickly takes you.

In the middle of the night, there is a crack of light that seems to spill out from your computer screen. The light appears only for a moment and then disappears just as quickly.

#( OOC: Gonna be trying something different. It is technically a starter and does give hints regarding how I'll answer any EBG sabotages. )#EBG Collection #2024 Album: Writing Practice #Library Shadows - Works #EBG Scenes: May 2024

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behindthedesk · 11 months

Text

Wednesday November 8th, 2023: Let your heart out, Eliza.

It's a Wednesday night and, like usual, I'm sitting in my room, alone, and not sure what to do with myself. I spent yesterday and today cooped up in my room and didn't go out much besides going out for a walk, get take-out, or walk with my older sister. The usual. To defend myself, I do have a nasty cold, so I did mostly just sleep through these last 48 hours. Even with that justification, it doesn't make me feel any better.

I'm so bored. My life feels like an endless cycle of the social highs of work and the deep, depressive lows of having days off. I am 22 years old and yet I feel so...alone. I feel like an anomaly. Everyone I knew from four years ago has all but disappeared from life and have been replaced by a new set of characters. That change wasn't subtle, and I still feel like I'm getting used to it. I didn't feel like this two months ago, but I do now. I wish I had a life outside of work.

Look, I get the whole #unwind and #liveyourtruth kind of deal about it being okay about being a homebody and enjoying spending your off days alone and by yourself. My sister is like that and she's living proof that it works out great for people. Between 2017-2018 she spent most of her time in her room and not leaving home only for her to be unaffected when she went back to college - and actually got better grades than when she was in high school. I'm introverted and I love and need time to myself, but I just need to feel alive.

If I'm being completely honest, I wish I was in college. If things went as planned, I'd be in my senior year of college and be on track to a get a political science degree. Obviously, that didn't happen. Most of the people I want to know or keep in contact with that are my age are either in schools away from here or are just as lost as me but are at least wandering about, exploring. For me, I'm stuck behind a customer service desk.

Isn't that the perfect segway.

I'm going to begin this blog just to let out my feelings about my life. I don't expect anything to come of this besides just getting my thoughts out. I tried recently to write out my heart on my typewriter but that lasted a good two days - also, like, those keys can hurt my fingers omg. I work in customer service and am one of those people you hear your cashiers page for a "(blank) leader" when they need help. I do a little bit of everything in the front end of a grocery store. I don't really want to go back to work tomorrow because some of my favorite people won't be there.

I'm going to use anonymous, fake names to talk about the people I know to give them and me privacy. I think it's fair if I'm going to vent about them on the internet.

Tomorrow I won't have Joceyln, Deanna, or Torin. It's like the trifecta of help I won't get. I will have Rona at least, but she will come later in the evening. Carson will be there, but he will get on my nerves. Katie will need me to tell her what to do. I will have to deal with Kelsey and Christina for my first half. Hopefully Kelsey will keep her mouth shut.

Maybe this the first and only post I will make, but who knows. Let's see how my attention span will allow me to keep doing this.

I listened to the album "Now and Then" by Eliza & The Delusionals when I wrote this. Such a good album and band!

#blog #life #confession #diary #journal #customer service #minimum wage #lonelly #writing

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alyswritings · 2 years

Note

omg ur Bridgeton posts are so cute 🥺🥺 can I pls recommend one where Anthony’s daughter gets in trouble and he gets angry but then it ends in fluff 💜

Anthony goes into the drawing room and looks around for the ledger book he was reading earlier. He usually doesn't take items out of his office, but he couldn't focus in the office and figured a change of scenery would help. It did and he got some work done, but forgot the ledger in the drawing room, just deciding to go back later to get it.

Anthony finds the book and opens it to make sure it's still intact. He grabs the spare papers for his work next to the book and stops when he notices a fade trace of something that doesn't seem like writing. He flips the page over and finds a terribly drawn dog on the back of the paper.

Anthony immediately knows it's Y/N's doing as Gregory and Hyacinth are much better at drawing and his other siblings obviously wouldn't have done this.

"Y/N!" Anthony yells out. Soon enough, he's able to hear small footsteps rushing into the room.

"Yes, papa?" Y/N asks.

"What is this?" Anthony asks, holding up the paper.

"It's a dog." Y/N informs.

"Yes, I know, but why is it on this paper?" Anthony asks.

"I found the page empty and wanted to draw." Y/N says, not understanding the problem.

"This is part of my work, Y/N. You do not mess with my work!" Anthony shouts.

"So-Sorry." Y/N says, cowering back a little at his loud voice. "I-- I didn't know. I assumed it was just a blank sheet."

"Well, you assumed wrong." Anthony coldly states. "I want you in your room. Now."

"I didn't--"

"Go to your room!" Anthony bellows.

Y/N quickly rushes out, running to her bedroom, making sure to shut the door behind her.

"What was that all about?" Benedict asks, walking in, having heard the young girl get in trouble.

"She drew on my paper." Anthony grumbles, looking at the messy drawing before flipping it over to look at his work.

"Well, at least she drew on the empty side of the sheet." Benedict says, attempting to show him the bright side.

"It's still my work. It must go in the ledger." Anthony says.

"Is a little dog drawing really going to harm it that much, brother?" Benedict questions.

"The point is she touched something that does not belong to her." Anthony says.

"She probably just noticed it was a blank sheet of paper and decided that nobody had any use for it." Benedict tries to defend his niece.

"She should have flipped it over." Anthony retorts.

"Go on with your brooding then. But here." Benedict holds out a small sketchbook. "She's been asking for one after watching me all the time. I finally managed to find one that's small enough for her to carry around."

Anthony takes the book and Benedict walks out.

- - -

A few hours later, Anthony managed to calm down. He knows Benedict is right and that the drawing isn't going to effect his work. Especially given it's on the back of the page where nothing is or needs to be. He feels it might've just been all the pent up stress he's been feeling with his work and he took it out on the four year old. Which is not at all fair to her.

Anthony grabs the sketchbook his brother gave him earlier and makes his way to Y/N's room. He stops outside the door that's cracked open when he hears sniffling and his youngest sister's voice.

"Anthony does not hate you. He got angry, but I'm sure he still loves you. He's your father. Mama gets mad at me sometimes, but she still loves me." Hyacinth tries to comfort her niece.

Anthony opens the door, stepping in. He clears his throat to get their attention, both girls immediately turning their heads to him. Y/N looks back down at her lap and Anthony gives his sister a look to leave.

"I shall be in the drawing room." Hyacinth says, mostly just stating so if her niece wishes to find her later she may.

Hyacinth rushes out and Anthony goes over to Y/N's bed, sitting where Hyacinth just was.

"Y/N?" Anthony calls, but the girl doesn't move. Anthony places a gentle finger under her chin and lifts it up so she's looking at him. "Darling, I'm sorry for snapping earlier."

"I'm sorry for drawing." Y/N says, looking back down.

"You needn't apologize for drawing, my dear." Anthony tells her. "It's just where you drew."

"I'm sorry for drawing on your paper." Y/N clarifies.

"It's quite alright. I know it was an accident so I may have had a slight overreaction. You thought it was an empty sheet and nobody can really wrong you for that." Anthony says. "But from now on if there's paper lying around, make sure nothing else is on it." He instructs and Y/N nods.

"Here." Anthony holds the small sketchbook out to her. "Uncle Benedict got this for you. Now you can draw all you want in this little book. It is yours."

"Really?" Y/N asks, an excited smile on her face, and Anthony nods making Y/N grin. "I believe you should go thank him."

Y/N nods and goes to get off her bed, but turns back and hugs her father. Anthony hugs her back, placing a chaste kiss to her head.

#anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton blurb

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chickennuggetswrites · 3 years

Text

Co-worker Bestfriend x Reader

Reader: Gender Neutral

Characters: Co-worker Bestfriend (Gender Neutral)

Featuring: yandere, a bit of derealization, a bit of stockholm, unreliable narrator, blood and violence but not much

===

You opened your eyes and looked up at the nearby clock up a wall. It ticked mockingly at you.

Tick! Tock! Tick! Tock!

There it is again. The sound of that blasted clock, grating your ears as it continued on ticking monotonously. Endlessly. Drowning your thoughts out as it went on and on and on…

Click! Clack! Click! Clack!

It wasn’t any better with the typing sounds of the keyboards ringing out from your surroundings. You look down at your hands hovering over your own keyboard. The text cursor in your screen monitor blinking at you from the blank page of the document you had opened. You knew you probably should get back to work but you just couldn’t get your fingers to type anything. Your mind was drawing a blank.

You hated it here. You hated being stuck in your small cubicle. It’s suffocating and tiring. How long have you been working now? The time showed you that it’s only been four and a half hours, around 11 am, but why does it feel like you’ve been here for much longer than that?

“Ya tryin’ to summon words on your document with your mind?” A familiar voice sounded out that snapped you out of your stupor and you looked up to the right to see your best friend and co-worker leaning over gray cubicle wall, the circle under their eyes as prominent as always. “You’ve been spacin’ out for, like, five minutes now. Ya alright?” How would they even know how long you were spacing out anyway?

“You look like shit.” You absentmindedly told them. It seemed that your mouth filter wasn’t working properly today. You don’t even think it was working at all. In response, your best friend just winked playfully at you, a tired smile on their face, and said, “At least I look like hot shit, and I can say ya don’t look too far off.”

You paused and look down, trying to process what they just said. A minute later, you let out the quietest, “…I look like shit?”

You sounded somewhat pitiful and sad that your best friend couldn’t help but raise their brows at you and shook their head at their attempt at flirting falling flat. Seems like you were really out of it. They leaned their head on their arms that they draped over your flimsy cubicle wall and hummed in thought.

“You’re really spacin’ out a lot, lately. Say, why don’t we take an early lunch break and go to the cafeteria to keep our energy up? After that, if we still have time, we can go to the break room and take a quick power nap. Sounds good, yeah?”

Yeah… yeah, that sounded especially good. So good that you didn’t really protest as your best friend practically dragged you out the office.

“Ugh, you know Jenny from the IT department? She…”

“…great idea but still lacking in…”

“Joe, my man! How’s the missus?”

“…can’t. I still have to go to…”

Everyone’s chattering sounded like static buzzing annoyingly in your ears, useless and always repeating. You’re sick of it. You’re sick of hearing it.

As you were led through the hallways, passing by countless of faces that you couldn’t really comprehend, you looked over to you and your co-worker’s intertwined hands.

Somehow you felt slightly conflicted seeing this. It’s not that you hate having your hand clasped together with them, but it’s more of a… you couldn’t really put it to words. You don’t know what you’re feeling or why you’re feeling this way but you know, somehow, that your best friend was the only constant in your life and you need to hold on to them tightly and refuse to let them go. You don’t want them to disappear… You don’t want to be alone…

You tighten your loose grip, seeing their shoulders slightly tense before slumping. It seemed that they didn’t expect you to do that. The two of you continue on quietly moving through the crowd. You drown out your surroundings and sink into your thoughts.

By the time you snap out of it, you were already sitting down on one of the cafeteria tables with your favorite food, hot and steaming, ready to be eaten in front of you. Your best friend must have ordered it for you. Probably noticed how out of it you are today. They were seated across from you, already eating their own food with fervor.

It’s sweet that they know you enough to know your favorite food. And to order it for you with their own money. You mentally note to pay them back later.

You looked down at your own food. You couldn’t wait to dig in. It looked delicious. It looked beautiful. It looked… It looked… disgusting…

You had no appetite. You didn’t want to eat it. You even felt slightly sick from just looking at it so you lightly push it away from you.

Seeing this, your friend furrowed their brows, mid-bite. “What’s wrong? Ya don’t feel like eatin’?” They put their utensils down and quickly moved over to you in worry, trying to see what was wrong.

You tried to reassure them, “No, ah… It’s just that… just that I don’t feel like eating anything heavy today… I’d prefer something light like… soup, I guess.” You say and lean back on your chair, shoulder slumped. You were so tired… Seeing you like this, your best friend took your hand and tugged you lightly.

“C’mon, let’s go.” They said and you blinked in confusion. “Go where?”

“To the break room, duh. Gonna, gonna have ya lay down on the comfy couch there. Get that good, good z’s.” You gazed over to their unfinished meal with a questioning look. They waved their hand dismissively and said, “Nah, I’m already full! Full as a horse. Horseful.”

You slightly laugh at their nonsensical joke. Feeling tired, the sound of lying down on the couch for a quick nap was very tempting. You nodded at your best friend and let yourself be dragged off again.

You blinked, and suddenly you found yourself in the break room, your head on their lap. They were playing on their phone, too busy to notice that you were awake. You looked over at the clock on the wall. It was already 2:24 pm. When did the time go so fast? What happened? Wasn’t it lunch break just now?

Your friend seemed to have noticed the movement of your head when you tried to look up at the clock. They smiled down at you, putting their phone aside. “Yo, ya awake? I was gonna win the game. Gonna pew, pew, shoot the enemies and win. But you’re more important. How ya feelin’?”

You blinked slowly up at them, and slightly tilted your head. “…When… did I-- we get here?”

“Hm?”

“Here… um, on your lap?” You start unsurely. “Weren’t we just…at the cafeteria just now? How did we get here so fast?” Your friend gave you an odd look and put a hand on your forehead to feel for your temperature.

“Ya have a fever, buddy? We walked here and then ya pulled me on the couch with ya and then slept on me. My leg’s all numb now but you’re like a cat and it’s the very important golden rule to not move and wake up a cat when it’s sleeping.”

“Oh…I don’t remember doing any of that…” Was all you said, ignoring the cat comment. You quietly added, “…Is there anything wrong with me…? Nothing feels real anymore… I don’t feel real anymore…”

Your best friend didn’t say anything, expression turning neutral as they moved a hand to your head and patted you again and again, as if telling you everything was alright. The rhythmic motion made you feel drowsy and you found your eyelids getting heavier. Just as you let unconscious take you, you faintly heard your friend say, “The bossman must’ve been workin’ ya too hard… Must be their fault you’ve been outta it today… I knew it. It’s all their fault… But don’t worry, I’ll take care of them later. You’ll feel better soon…”

And with that, you close your eyes and--

…

Everything was eerily quiet.

You opened your eyes and automatically looked at the clock up on the wall. Although the room was dark, you could barely tell that it was already midnight. The lights were turned off and you couldn’t hear the hustle and bustle of people walking out in the hallway, which was odd in itself since the company was usually still active at this time. What’s more, your friend wasn’t anywhere in the room. It seemed they had up and left earlier without telling or waking you up.

You frown, a sinking feeling pooling in your stomach as you stand up. You walked over and opened the door slightly, peering out from the small gap. It was completely dim, aside from a small light source down the hallway that illuminated it eerily. It made the hallway look like a scene you would see from a horror movie.

Where was everyone? Where was your friend? Why did they leave you here alone? You felt slightly hurt by this. Until you remember what your best friend had said earlier.

“Must’ve gone to the boss’ office…” You muttered to yourself, peering out at the hallway once more. Although your mind was telling you to sit down and just wait for your friend to come back, that they hadn’t left you and was just doing something important right now and was going to come back to you once they were finished, you stepped out into the hallway.

Your footsteps echoed loudly into the night. A part of you was telling you to turn back now before it was too late but you forced yourself to go on. There was absolutely no one in sight and the office seemed to be in disarray. Computers, papers, and small things were scattered all over the floor, as if people had hurried out of here without mind to what they bumped into.

You looked up at the clock. What could have happened here in a span of about 11 hours to turn this place into something akin to a ghost town? And why weren’t you informed?

You blinked and, just like earlier, you were all of a sudden standing in front of a set of double doors. A double door that led to your boss’ office. Your hand was hovering over it, looking like you were just about to knock. You let it fall on your side.

The feeling of uneasiness started to rise in your gut. Something in you was telling you to turn back, that it still wasn’t too late. You ignored this, gripping the door handles and turned.

Bloody. It was so, so bloody. The walls and the floor were splattered with crimson. Your boss’ lifeless corpse on the ground, a pool of red surrounding them, looking maimed beyond recognition. And your best friend… your best friend was beside the body, a bloody and dented fire extinguisher that they had used to beat your boss up into a pulp falling down on the grounding, clattering loudly, as they looked at you with wide eyes. They clearly didn’t expect you to suddenly show up

“You-! You weren’t supposed to—How did you even—“ They held their bloody hands out to you, panic visible in their expression. “Wait, wait, d-don’t run! This—This isn’t what you think it is! I promise I’ll explain so p-please don’t…” You blinked, static ringing in your ears. You… Why didn’t you feel anything? Seeing your friend like this? Seeing that they had killed your boss? In fact, you almost felt… relieved? That they were here, perhaps? That they hadn’t left you?

You didn’t know and you didn’t have time to ponder as aside from the static in your ears, you could hear the sound of ticking clock again. It was getting louder and louder and you found yourself being unable to breathe.

You looked up at your friend. Their mouth was moving but you couldn’t seem to hear them. You wonder if they thought that you were scared of them? They probably did with how you were reacting. They probably thought that they caused it.

They seemed to have noticed that you were hyperventilating and just as they rushed over to you in worry, you close your eyes.

The deafening static subsided and all that was left was the ticking.

You opened your eyes and looked up at the nearby clock up a wall. It ticked mockingly at you.

Tick! Tock! Tick! Tock!

There it is again. The sound of that blasted clock, grating your ears as it continued on ticking monotonously. Endlessly. Drowning your thoughts out as it went on and on and on…

Click! Clack! Click! Clack!

“…Why did you leave me?” Was what you said, hurt in your tone. They seemed taken aback by your response. “W-What?”

You blinked as your brain caught up with what you said and you shook your head. What were you saying? Huh, seems like you were really out of it right now.

“Nothing, nothing. I just… I think I dozed off for a moment there.” Your friend just raised a brow but didn’t question it.

Yeah… yeah, that sounded especially good. Though, why did it feel like you’ve heard this before? Multiple times, even…

Your friend continued, “Oh, and we can get some soup if you don’t feel like eatin’ anything much today. There’s yummy, yummy soup in the cafeteria. I’m sure it can make ya feel all better again!”

You whipped your head up upon hearing this. Seeing them smile at you, that same tired smile that they always graced you and only you, you couldn’t help but slowly give them a smile of your own.

“Yeah, that sounds… that sounds great. Maybe I can even lay my head down on your lap later, if you don’t mind? Or if you want, you can lay your head down on my lap?” You teased, taking great pleasure in seeing their eyes widen.

“W-Whoa, really?” They say excitedly, flustered and face red. “This has got to be, like, the best surprise ever. Very unexpected, very surprise. Can’t believe I unlocked the good ending!” Although you didn’t have any idea what they were saying, you found yourself laughing at their actions.

You held your hand out towards them and smiled. “Let’s go to the cafeteria, yeah?”

“Y-Yeah!”

They took your hand and clasped them together. They were warm. You felt complete.

#chickennuggetswritings #yandere #x reader #i got inspired to write this when i saw manlybadasshero play Overtime (a demo game by turnip_liker)#all i can say from that is josiah is bae #please give more josiah content

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caravelmp3 · 3 years

Text

UNDER THE CANYON MOON

pairing: josh kiszka x female!reader warning(s): mostly fluff, just brief mentions of alcohol and sex word(s): 2k note: hi hi hi !! this is just a little something i wrote up the last couple of days with the inspiration of light my love, canyon moon by harry styles, and the interview where josh talked about road-tripping the u.s. last summer <3 i don’t write one shots often but let me know what you all think bc i might shuffle some more out soon lol. hope you all enjoy !! :)

The Los Angeles sun was hot, beating down onto the city basking in its late-summer hues. You parked your car on the street in Silver Lake and carried a bag of food and drink tray to the door of a recording studio, more than prepared to be swarmed by hungry boys who had been cooped up in the studio since five a.m. on the dot that morning. They had a breakthrough the night before with a new song, and after getting home and going to bed for a few hours, the creative juices started flowing again and they were back in the booth.

A windchime on the door sang as you pulled the door open and walked inside, greeting their manager who was at a table by the door.

“The boys here?”

“Down the hall,” he nodded, pointing a finger in the direction of the hallway. “They’re more rowdy than usual so be prepared,”

You laughed and turned down the hall, walking towards the studio. The walls were decorated with memorabilia of rock and roll greats and record plaques, and among them, you spotted a picture of the four boys with their Grammy award. It seemed like time had passed so quickly. They won the award for the first album and they were already working on their third, shooting them further into stardom.

“Coffee’s here!” You shouted in a really bad New England accent when you noticed the recording light was flipped off above the door.

You stepped into the room to a chorus of cheers and “thank god you're here”’s that made you laugh while sitting the food and drinks down on the table and they all rushed over. You handed out the specific orders and pointed to which drinks was theirs when they got handsy and tried to grab everything from her out of both excitement and some desperation for caffeine.

“Our savior,” Jake said, reaching out and grabbing your shoulders to give them a gentle shake before taking the coffee you were holding out to him, and then you handed Danny’s to him, too.

“Just the coffee girl here,”

“Well, you’re a little bit more than that,” Josh said, walking over to the table to grab his full cup.

You pressed a hand against the table, leaning over to him. “Just a little?”

“A little bit,” he shot you a wink before swiftly pressing a kiss to your cheek.

You were more than just a “little more” than the coffee girl, you were typically their designated drunk driver, the one who took all of their candid photos, the mediator in times of need, and well, the girlfriend of the lead singer, too.

Everyone in the studio took their food and drinks and scattered among the seating area in a break from recording. Instead of one tiny room with all of them cramped together, they had a wide open space with booths for the different instruments and bean bag chairs and big comfy, velvet sofas, and there was dim lighting with deep toned rugs that gave off the vibe of a more relaxed feel rather than the fluorescent-light, tiled-floor feeling that made them feel rushed and confined by rules they didn’t set themselves.

You liked the studio, too, and often took naps on the sofa while listening to them play instruments individually in the recording booths and while they were writing. One night they had found you at two a.m., bundled up with a blanket on the bean bag chair after they spent the night writing in the front room on the piano, but it wasn’t the first time as you often napped in their Nashville recording offices, too.

“You guys been busy today?” You asked jokingly while lowering onto the sofa armrest, receiving nothing but glares shot in your direction. “Okay, okay, touchy subject,”

With a mouthful of bread, Sam pointed to Josh, “Josh finished a song, didn’t you?” He was grinning.

You hummed in joy and surprise, grabbing Josh’s knee as he sat next to you. “Really?”

It had been a rough few days for all of them as they tried to shuffle out a few more additions to the new album. It felt incomplete with something missing, but they couldn’t quite put their finger on what it was exactly, so they attempted to bring back and revamp old songs, write and record new ones, but nothing seemed to stick, until now.

“Yeah, wanted to wait and show you later, but someone can’t keep his trap shut.” Josh said, pretending to be serious before cracking a smile and taking a sip of his coffee. “Just wanted it to be a surprise,”

“Well it can still be a surprise, I’m surprised now,” you said. “Can I hear it? Or read what you got?”

Josh nodded and stood, grabbing your hand and pulling you with him. There was a little recording room fit with a piano inside, his writing journal placed on the music stand where he had scribbled notes and keys and melodies in pen. He picked it up and handed it to you.

“Nothing seemed to click until last night, when I started putting it together.” He said.

“Is that why you wouldn’t tell me what it was when you all got back to the house?”

Josh shrugged, pinching his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger. “Yeah, yeah, I wanted it to be special when you first heard it.”

You sat the coffee cup down onto the floor while lowering into the small chair in the corner, holding the journal like it was the most delicate piece of art in the world. In silence, while Josh watched on anxiously, you read the words he had splayed across the blank page.

Can you light my love? Flames glowing bright as the sun Deeper than oceans you run Watch as our world has begun

Your mind is a stream of colors Extending beyond our sky A land of infinite wonders A billion lightyears from here now

You felt your throat tighten, tears tempted your eyes.

It was a love song.

“Josh-”

“Oh god you hate it don’t you, you dread it, despise it,”

“Oh shut up, I’m in tears right now, you know I love it.” You looked up at him with a smile and a sniffle.

His words across the page were sloppy, some cursive, written in different pens of different colors, some lines crossed and scribbled out, others underlined.

“Your mind is something I will never fully understand.” You told him as he sat down on the chair next to you. “How the fuck did you come up with this-”

“I was thinking about our trip out here, the week we spent driving out and all of the stuff we did… and how I think I fell more in love with you.” His voice softened.

You reached out, placing your arm on his shoulder, fingers playing with his curls. “I can’t put it into words how much I love it, how much I love you,” you said, “and you make me sound so lovely when in reality I know I was a pain in the ass that entire trip.”

“Yeah, but my pain in the ass,” he kissed the inside of your arm.

Two weeks before the boys left Nashville to head to Los Angeles, Josh called you at midnight with an idea in mind – the two of you renting a camper to drive out to L.A., falling into all of the tourist traps along the way and stopping in random small towns to sleep while exploring the in between, which would definitely beat the boring four-hour flight. And you, half asleep and across the country, agreed.

It would be fun. Right?

And it was. Every time someone asked how it went, you called it “the most magical week of my life.”

While the others waited behind for their flights the next week, you and Josh set off from Nashville, heading west with only the destination in mind and a trusty map in hand. Everything else just came to you both.

The first stop was three hours in the trip, in Memphis. You and Josh roamed Graceland on Elvis Presley Boulevard and had lunch near Sun Studio before taking in the mementos and relics at the Blues Hall of Fame where Josh talked your ear off, rattling off more details about each band and singer than was on the info-cards on the wall.

Then it was two hours to Little Rock, falling asleep in the back of the camper after a take-out dinner outside of a random supermarket. Sitting in lawn chairs in the middle of a parking lot, you held Josh’s hand under a blanket and watched the pink sunrise over the hills, and then it was back on the road again.

From Oklahoma City to Amarillo, you fiddled with the map when Josh got lost after a wrong turn in a small town where he insisted on seeing the giant 66-foot LED soda bottle sculpture, and in the middle of northern Texas, he made it up to you by cooking your favorite dinner. You thanked him in a quiet whisper as you crawled into the bed with him that night, sliding under the covers where he greeted you with warm hands and kisses against your neck that made you squeal with the tickle of his mustache and he grinned against your lips.

Josh got to choose the music all the way through New Mexico – Neil Young and Crazy Horse to John Denver’s Thank God I’m A Country Boy, and you were only able to squeeze in Joan Baez every hour when you stopped to stretch your legs on the side of the road, belting the words to him while he laughed at your voice cracks.

And after you both pitched the tent in the Petrified Forest in Arizona, Josh hummed the tune to some new song while you two sat under the midnight stars in the canyon with a roaring fire, his arm around you, his sweatshirt draped over your shoulders. When he tried to start telling you a scary story after you heard a weird noise outside the tent, you blindly hit him in the dark and accidentally hit his nose, causing you both to burst into laughter after the initial panic left. He laughed loudly into your shoulder as you held his face in shock, catching the scent of your lavender lotion, and his body relaxed when the laughter died down, feeling so at peace in his life with you there.

It was the tail end of the trip, but the excitement hadn’t died down yet. After showers in the camper in the middle-of-nowhere-Arizona and five hours west, you and Josh found a bar outside of Las Vegas that resembled Coyote Ugly, so you both had a round of tequila sodas and margaritas before walking around the small town that evening and sleeping off the tipsy-headaches in the air conditioning. On top of the covers, you looked at Josh napping in the sunshine, cheeks flushed red, curls poofy from the wind, and you felt your heart grow in your chest before falling asleep next to him.

And then came Los Angeles, the final stop, the dreaded one. But you and Josh didn’t tell anyone that either of you were sad to be back with them in L.A. when they asked, and instead, you two smiled and hugged everyone after piling out of the camper in the drive-way of the Silver Lake house.

Cleaning out the camper, tossing cheesy novelty t-shirts at each other and laughing at how many socks you two managed to lose along the way and how many bug bites were added, watching the developed clips Josh had filmed of scenes in the desert and you asleep in the passenger seat, you both were nostalgic about a trip that just ended.

It was so easy, so freeing to just be together on the road, with only the destination in mind. It revealed a part of them that the other didn’t see often, like your tendencies to get your lefts and rights mixed up while giving directions, and Josh’s equally awful sense of direction didn’t exactly pair with the fact that he was a maniac while driving in the first place.

But those parts were just added to the long list of why you and him loved each other in the first place. So you became the designated driver after Amarillo and Josh stuck to telling you “left or right” for the rest of the time. It was a compromise, another reason why you two worked so well together.

It was a form of love in itself.

“We’ll have to drive all the way back to Nashville then, so you can write more songs about me.” You teased.

Josh rolled his eyes but cracked into a grin a second later. “Let’s not get too carried away,” but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t always mentally reliving the night under the canyon moon.

#gvf imagine #greta van fleet imagine #gvf #gvf one shot #greta van fleet one shot #gvf fanfic #greta van fleet fanfic #josh kiszka imagine #josh kiszka one shot #josh kiszka fanfic #greta van fleet

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serys-writes-stories · 3 years

Text

Unboxing

Masterlist. Referenced Manual Page.

Word count approx 2650.

CW: Pet whump, unboxing, brief nudity, slight experiment whump vibes (but I promise Zaria is just eager and not insane, this isn’t a lab whump series), it as a pronoun, referenced conditioning and beating, fear of future abuse, dehumanisation, knives (not used, only displayed), misunderstanding, 130417 thinking he’s a Bad Boi TM.

—————

A dramatic score of violin and piano notes drifted through the air, dampened by the sounds of sighs, groans, pencil scribbles, crumpling paper, and a forehead hitting a desk. Zaria tossed a paper ball behind her. It landed in the already very full wastebasket in the corner, setting off a small avalanche of dead trees and even deader dreams.

Shadow’s Summit had begun in a dream, as pillars of onyx and silver, fine glitter, and a looming black mass that kept growing and growing until everything had been swallowed by darkness. Zaria had woken with a gasp and gotten straight to work plotting a new story—one she was really excited for.

Fast forward four months, and Shadow’s Summit was still nothing but a very rough draft of about a thousand words, half a dozen mood boards, two playlists, and nothing more. The main character didn’t even have a name yet.

A knock at the front door forced Zaria out of her chair for the first time in what could have easily been days—it had only been two hours, but it had felt longer to her. Maybe she’d take a walk later. Some sunlight would do her good.

She was surprised to see two white-clad men at her door. Between them was a crate with the letters WRU printed in black across the front. A smaller box was secured on top of it by long pieces of rope.

Zaria wondered if they had carried that whole thing up the seven flights of stairs to her apartment, knowing the elevator was out of order. Still, neither of them seemed to be tired. They were both absolutely ripped, though, so maybe they’d had practice and this wasn’t much of a workout to them.

“Zaria Jaleki?”

“That’s me.”

One of the men presented her with a clipboard and tapped a blank line at the bottom of the page before handing it to her. Once she handed the signed form back, the men invited themselves in with the crate.

One of the men presented her with a clipboard and tapped a blank line at the bottom of the page, then handed it to her while the other invited himself in with the crate.

She handed back the signed form and they each told her to have a good day. Then, she was alone in her living room with a sealed crate.

She knew people called them boxies, but who would’ve thought they actually came in boxes?

Zaria started with the smaller box. Inside, she found full-body, light-weight restraints, and a standard, padded crop—exactly what she ordered, except for the missing blindfold. She’d worry about that later.

Inside was also a booklet. The cover page was a colour-printed image of the nearest city’s WRU training facility. Standing in front of the main entrance was the branch’s owner with her two pets. One had long, purple hair, while the other, much larger one, had a black buzz cut. A domestic and a guard. All three of them were smiling in a way Zaria couldn’t help but find chilling.

She opened the booklet, pacing around the apartment as she read the first page entitled Upon Arrival. It was quite helpful. She skimmed through the rest of the booklet, wondering when the boxie itself would arrive.

Then she remembered the second box. The human sized one.

She returned to the living room and stared at it for a moment. There were no latches on the crate, it was sealed with nails; she wouldn’t get it open easily. Internet, she decided, and found instructions on how to open the crate.

After a brief struggle, the top finally came off, revealing a small, blindfolded boy—so that’s where the missing blindfold was—with copper curls and bound wrists.

He was naked.

Zaria’s eyes whipped up towards the ceiling the moment she realised the company hadn’t even given him the courtesy of boxers or a t-shirt.

She took a breath and looked back down at the pet—her pet. An interesting thing, really. He shook with what Zaria assumed was a mixture of fear, anticipation, and cold, but didn’t dare open his mouth, not even to let out the faintest of whimpers. She’s read that fesh pets could have a variety of initial reactions and had watched plenty of unboxing videos to prepare herself for whatever her boxie might do once he arrived. She was glad to have gotten a pet that, upon first glance, seemed to be on the calmer, quieter side.

Zaria slid her phone from her pocket and stood over him, taking note of the way his shoulders rose and fell with every shuddered breath, the way his skin was an angry red where rope dug into his wrists and ankles, how she knew his eyes were darting around by the way the thin blindfold shifted ever so slightly. Most of it was pointless, really. He was stored in a sealed and locked box for delivery, plus his wrists were kept in front of him, meaning he could have easily pulled off the blindfold. Maybe it was to show how well trained he was supposed to be.

Once she was satisfied with her notes, Zaria stuffed her phone back into her pocket and went to her bedroom to find some clothes that wouldn’t be too big on him, then returned to the living room. The pet hadn’t moved an inch inside the box. She reached in to untie the blindfold, earning a flinch from him when her fingers grazed his ear. He was taking deep breaths now, forcing himself to stay still and not run for dear life. He would stay, be a good pet for his new owner. He would.

—————

The black fabric was pulled away from him. He squinted at the contrast of the former darkness to the bright lights his eyes were now exposed to. They reminded him of the training facility. Of Handler Stark.

“Hi.”

He looked up and met the golden eyes of a woman with hair as black as night. His gaze dropped back to his knees. Rule number 6: Don’t make eye contact with Master unless commanded. He’d already made a mistake.

“Hi,” she repeated. He figured it was best to play it safe until he had clear rules of when to speak. “So, uh, I’m Zaria, your new owner.” Her voice dropped and she mumbled, “God, that sounds so wrong.” She cleared her throat and continued. “I’m going to untie you, tell you to put these on”—she waved a bundle of clothing—“and then you can introduce yourself to me too. Let me see your hands.”

130417 obediently presented his wrists to his Mistress and held them still while she struggled to find a safe place to slip the scissors under. Once the ropes were cut, she simply said, “Feet.” He instantly raised his legs, now sitting in a perfect V position. “Flexible, alright.”

She freed his ankles and helped him up, but the long hours of his delivery had left his legs numb. He apologised the instant he fell forward onto her. She was a few inches taller than him, he noticed. The difference would make it easier to avoid eye contact as he was taught.

She held him until he was stable on his own, then handed him the sweatpants and t-shirt. It was more than he’d been allowed at the facility.

130417 nearly exploded with happiness, though he didn’t show any of it, answering with a simple, but sincere, “Thank you, Mistress.”

She coughed. “Oh, god, no way. You’re not calling me that, it makes me sound creepy and old.”

Confusion flashed across his features before returning to neutrality as he slipped on the clothing. “Master, then?”

“That’s not what—” She pondered over it. “Actually, sure, why not? It makes me sound like an evil monarch and I’m down for the vibe. Better than Mistress, at least. You hungry?”

The grumble of his stomach was all the answer she needed. His cheeks flushed red in shame.

The kitchen was attached to the living room in a semi-open-concept design which would make manoeuvring the house easier, and 130417 was grateful for any small advantage he was given. The walls were a pale blue that matched the sky he saw through the window. He got caught up in the view of skyscrapers and clouds in the distance, a welcome change from the bleak facility rooms he was used to.

“Sit,” Zaria said, turning towards the fridge and snapping him from his reverie. He slid to his knees and waited.

She turned back around with a bottle of water in hand, stopping when she saw him. “You can sit at the table if you’d like.”

A test.

“Pets belong to the floor, Master,” he said.

“Whatever fits your liking, I guess.

She handed him the bottle and began preparing a snack—well, tossing some leftovers on a plate and throwing it all in the microwave, but he’d be grateful anyway, right? When she turned to give it to him, he was struggling to twist off the bottle’s cap, a crease between his brows as he tried this way and that way, skinny fingers slipping around the tricky plastic.

“Need help,” she asked.

His eyes dropped and his cheeks went pink again. “Yes, please, Master.”

He gave her the bottle, and she took off the cap without a second thought. Stupid pet, couldn’t do anything.

She placed the bottle and plate in front of him, gave him a fork, then seated herself across from him and waited. He waited too. The scent alone was enough to make his mouth water, so different from the bland crackers and shakes he’s been fed at the facility when he was good.

Now that he thought of it, the room itself smelt of cinnamon and something vaguely familiar.

“You can eat,” she said.

Hesitantly, he scooped up some cheesy potatoes and popped them in his mouth. His eyes lit up. He melted. He took another bite. It was so much better than the tasteless stuff he had become accustomed to.

He was clumsy with the fork, unused to using one, but he did his best, and he hoped his Master found his behaviour good enough as well.

Zaria smiled at his excitement. She was sure his tail would have already made a dent in her floor from wagging with joy had he been a puppy.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

He hurried to swallow and promptly answered with the words Handler Stark had made him memorise. “130417 is my serial number, Master. You are free to call it whatever you desire.”

“It?”

“Your Pet, Master.”

“Oh. Well, we’ll just have to come up with something later.”

130417 finished eating and waited for his next instructions. He was surprised when Master took the plate and put it on the counter rather than ordering him to wash it. He figured he would have to later, after she had finished her introduction—he hadn’t received any house rules, after all.

“Up,” she said, motioning for him to follow. He stayed a step behind as she walked back through the living room.

She explained that he was allowed to eat any time he was hungry, as long as he told her beforehand. He also had free-reign of the living room, but wasn’t allowed to use the TV until she had shown him how, and he wasn’t allowed to answer the door without her present.

Next, she led him to a small bedroom. The walls were pure white to match the dresser and nightstand. A platform of wood pallets in the corner raised a mattress about a foot off the floor. It was covered in soft blankets and fuzzy pillows in a variety of warm colours. String lights lined the perimeter and the window was covered by a burgundy curtain.

“This is your room,” Master said.

130417 startled, blurted, “What?”

“If you don’t like it, we can change it.”

“No,” he said quickly. “No, you don’t have to change it.” He loved it. It was beautiful. He simply hadn’t expected so much. Handler Stark had told him to expect a cold, dark closet, and to be grateful if he got so much as a soiled dog bed to lay his head on. “It’s more than it deserves, Master.”

She smiled. “You need somewhere to sleep anyway, so I figured I’d might as well make it look nice. It was a fun little project.”

130417 was about to fall to his knees and express his gratitude when Master pulled him out of the room to continue her tour. Beside his room was a bathroom with a black, tiled floor, and a counter and mounted mirror that spanned the entire right wall. To the left was the toilet and a glass walk-in shower.

“You can use the bathroom anytime you need, but tell me if you’re planning on having a shower and wait if the door is closed.”

“Yes, Master.”

Then, she led him to her own bedroom, and it hit him harder than the baton Handler Stark had used to make him better.

Paper.

That was what he could smell earlier. 130417 felt his temperature rise. Paper meant words. Words mean sentences and paragraphs and things he wasn’t supposed to look at. Pets didn’t read. He knew that.

His eyes darted around the room. They landed on a bookshelf. A big bookshelf filled with books and more books. Pets don’t read. He ripped away from it, landing next on a bin overflowing with paper. More paper. Pet’s don’t read. He averted his gaze again—and almost wished he hadn’t.

130417 found himself staring at a collection of intricate daggers mounted on the wall, all shining metal and deadly edges, his Master’s words now a distant, muddled blur.

Of course it had been too soon to assume he wouldn’t be hurt here. Of course he’d be. He knew pain wasn’t only used as a punishment: it was also an opportunity—to learn and become better. All owners wanted to make their pets better and all pets wanted to be better for their owners. It was stupid to think a life in service without pain was possible. How could it forget so easily? The daggers were a clear reminder of his place—one he evidently needed, but one that made his hyperventilating worse nonetheless.

A hand waved in front of his face. “Ginger? You listening?”

Ginger? Was that him?

He blinked up at his Master, who was looking at him expectantly, as if she’d just asked an important question. He dropped to his knees and stared at the floor.

“Please, forgive it, Master. It . . . it wasn’t paying attention,” he said with a voice threatening to leave him entirely. So many mistakes and it hadn’t even been an hour. At this rate, he’d be returned for retraining by tomorrow. 130417 didn’t want that.

“It’s fine.” A gentle hand slid into his hair.

She was petting him.

That was a good sign. It meant he hadn’t failed past the point of no return.

“I was just saying you’re not allowed to touch the books or the blades. I work in here, and sometimes I’ll prefer to be alone, but you can come see me if you need anything. Got it?”

His first thought was to tell her that a pet needs nothing but to please their owner. Then he thought it would be better to answer with a simple yes. Next, he wondered if this was another test to decide if he knew his place or not.

“Yes, Master,” he settled on,” but Pets don’t have needs or wants.”

She hummed. “That makes my life easier, then. But you will need clothes. I’m not giving you all my hoodies.”

Her hand pulled away, and he missed the warmth it had provided.

“Shower time for you,” she said. “Then we’re going shopping.”

“Yes, Master.”

#pet whump #whump #unboxing whump #bbu #corsen #box boy universe #box boy whump #nudity tw #conditioning tw #dehumanization tw

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