#let alone use a program like excel

[jvlianbashir]

i know that others have already commented on this but most of my high school interns are so helpless when it comes to technology that doesn't completely spoonfeed the experience that it is actually terrifying

[katiexpunk]

Summertime Sadness

Pairing: Mr. Ben X fem!Reader | W/C: ~4.3K | Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Summary: With your Senior year coming to a close, Mr. Ben tells you how he feels about your class behavior. Some lessons are hard to learn.

Warnings: Dub-con (could even say non-con) dark themes. This fic absolutely contains an exploitation of authority. You alone are responsible for what you consume on this platform; just keep scrolling if that’s not your cup of tea. Student/teacher relationship. Dom/Sub undertones. Age gap. Reader just turned 18. Sexual tension. Blatant flirting. Teasing. Bratty behavior. Use of sir. Use of daddy. Semi-public sex. Desk sex. Loss of virginity. Orgasm denial (!! the fic theme per the challenge). Light spanking. Crying. Some Spanish. Unprotected rough P in V. Oral (both). Creampie. Dirty talk. A smidge of degradation. Twisted morals. No aftercare. A/N: I have to say, writing orgasm denial for Mr. Ben was definitely not something I saw on being on my 2024 dance card, but I’m here for it. This fic was written as part of @iamasaddie Kinky May follower celebration. Aly, congrats babe. Thanks for the fun prompt.

Fic title and final line inspired that song. You know the one. Minimally edited.

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Fresh off the heels of your 18th birthday, you stride into the final day of your senior year. 

Only two classes left. It feels strange, a bittersweet blend of nostalgia and excitement. In some ways, you've acknowledged your growth, recognizing the woman you’re becoming. In others, many things have remained the same—the bright pink on your bedroom walls, the frill of your bedspread, the chipped glitter on your nails. But in many ways, everything has changed.

You certainly no longer look like a young girl; boys are suddenly turning heads left and right. Your shirts fill out more, and your jeans are tighter. You stand taller now, and your reflection in the mirror reveals confidence you didn’t have a year ago. 

Your dad now gets very nervous when the weekend arrives and you tell him you have movie plans. He hides his worry behind a weak smile and a stern warning. You roll your eyes but appreciate his concern. You wonder how he might react if you told him it’s not the boys he has to worry about in the first place. 

You have fun with them, of course. It doesn’t take much—a flick of a pen, a pop of gum, and a good push-up bra—but none of them have ever really captured your attention. No, after the lights go out, with your hand between your thighs, you let yourself dream of rough hands, the tickle of a beard on your soft skin, and a much firmer, much older presence.

So what if he’s your teacher? 

Cyndi Lauper said it best, girls just want to have fun.  ++++

“Excelente, Matt. Muy bien hecho (excellent, Matt. Very well done),” you hear Mrs. Martinez say shortly before she turns to you, red lipstick smudged on her teeth. 

¿Puedes decir, "Next month, I intend to participate in a cultural exchange program with students from Spain."

Despite having spent the past year in this class, you haven’t really gotten much better. You might be if Spanish just didn’t happen to fall right before English, before his class. 

You pause, wide-eyed and suddenly very nervous. 

“Uhh –,” you clear your throat. “El próximo mes, tengo la intención de participar en un programa…” you pause again, looking at her for any sign of reassurance that you’re not totally messing the sentence up, “de intercambio cultural con estudiantes de España…” you elongate the a in España, almost a question to it. 

“Perfecto,” she praises “Excelente pronunciación y uso del subjuntivo (excellent pronunciation and use of the subjunctive).” 

You sink back into your seat, satisfied and self-assured. The clock on the wall suddenly commands your attention, each tick a tiny torment, counting down the minutes until the next period. Your last class. Not just the end of the day this time, but what feels like the end of an era. 

Your stomach feels like it’s in knots, your palms suddenly a little clammy. You're unsure if it’s the lingering anxiety from the pop quiz or the bittersweet realization that you won’t see Mr. Ben after this.

You knew this moment would come; you had prepared for it. If this was the last time you’d see him, you figured, why not put on a little show? That’s why you slipped into a short skirt and a dainty little tank top this morning. You swear you saw your mother clutch her pearls when you walked out the door, but she didn’t bother to say anything, and you knew she wouldn’t, not since your last argument. “Mom, I’m 18 now, I can dress however I want,” you had said. 

This wasn’t entirely new. You’ve slowly gotten more and more suggestive in your outfits over the progression of the year, particularly in Mr. Ben’s class. You didn’t mind hiding behind a hoodie or a sweater in your other periods, but you always made sure to tuck that into your backpack before English. 

It hadn’t been your plan at first, but when you showed up in his class earlier this year, your white tank top soaked from the rain, you noticed how he couldn’t take his eyes off you, the way his eyes fluttered down to your hard nipples hidden behind the transparent fabric. 

But there was something different about the way he looked at you, unlike how the boys in your grade did. His gaze held something deeper, something darker, perhaps. He looked at you as if you were the devil sent to destroy him and an angel destined to save him all at once.

And you love it. 

Week by week, you began dressing a little more suggestively. You couldn't help but smile when you approached him after class one day, wearing a pretty sundress that hinted at the creases between your thighs and ass if you bent over just right, and he went beet red. 

You had spent the entire year chipping away at the exterior he had built to maintain any sense of professionalism.

And today was the day you were going to watch it all crumble.

++++

To your dismay, Mr. Ben hardly spends any time looking at you during class. In fact, he seems to be trying to look anywhere but. You do your best to catch his attention. You even go as far as to pull a lollipop out of your bag, provocatively sucking on it in the hopes of catching his eye.

Despite your best efforts, he pays you no mind. 

Your heart sinks when the final bell rings, and Mr. Ben wishes the rest of the class a good summer and says he'll see everyone at graduation. 

You can't hide the disappointment on your face as you start to pack up your bag, the sweetness of the lollipop on your tongue a stark contrast to your now gray mood. Just as the rest of the students shuffle out of the room, you hear him call your name, asking you to stay behind. You pause, curiosity piqued despite your lingering disappointment, and turn to face him, wondering what he could possibly want you to stay behind for.

The classroom empties, and he closes the door, leaving an electric silence hanging in the air at the sound of the lock. You turn to face him, heart pounding in your chest. His eyes finally meet yours, and you see a flicker of the same tension that has been simmering all year. 

"You wanted me to stay?" you ask, the lollipop pinched between your fingers, still toying with it on your lips.

"Yes, I did," he says, rounding the desk and coming to sit on the front of it, arms crossed over his chest. His broad frame fills your vision, the dress shirt clinging to his skin just right, his salt-and-pepper curls framing the crease between his brows.

You drop your bag on a nearby desk and take a step closer to him.

"I've been really disappointed with your behavior this past year," he rasps, his voice firm.

And oh. It catches you off guard. 

"And why is that, Mr. Ben?" you ask, playing the innocent card, deciding to go along with whatever this is, your attention mostly on the sweet stickiness of the lollipop on your tongue.

He scoffs, but his eyes are glued to your mouth. “Please, sweetheart. Don't think I haven't noticed the way you've been looking at me, dressing like a little slut just to catch my eye."

“Oh, so you did notice then…” you say, your voice teasing as you swirl the lollipop in your mouth.

"You like tarting yourself out for a grown man, sweetheart? Someone old enough to be your daddy?" He rises to stand and towers over you. His eyes glaze over your face, that same darkness even stronger now. His pupils are dark enough to edge out the brown, while your eyes are bright enough to cut glass as you look up at him.

"And what if I say yes?" you ask, removing the lollipop and holding it between your bodies. Your eyes drop to his lips, watching as his jaw tenses and the vein in his forehead becomes more pronounced. He seems to wrestle with his thoughts for a moment before his gaze locks onto yours, intense and scrutinizing. 

"Come on, Mr. Ben, don't you want a taste?" you say suggestively, your voice dripping with playful teasing. Slowly, you rub the glassy texture of the candy over his lips. His eyes widen slightly, and his lips instinctively part. With a hint of a smile, he accepts the candy on his tongue, savoring the sweet flavor as it dissolves.

"Yeah, sweetheart, I do," he groans, his voice rough with desire. He breaks the lollipop with his teeth, the hardness crunching audibly. The sweet shards scatter across his tongue, and he grins at you like he wants to do the same to you. 

His hands find your hips, and he pulls you into him, his cheek grazing the soft skin of your jaw as he dips to your neck. His lips latch onto your skin, sucking gently, leaving a mark, eliciting a soft moan from you. 

He pulls back, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, “Naughty fuckin’ girl, I oughta teach you a different kind of lesson, one you might actually listen to. Poor little baby’s been too cock drunk in my class, probably didn’t learn a damn thing in this class all year, did you?” 

"No, sir," you giggle, your laughter light and playful. He responds with a low groan, the sound filled with a mix of frustration and arousal.

“Guess we’re gonna have to do something about that,” his hands drop to your ass, and he plants a firm smack on your backside with his right hand. 

“I’m gonna tell you what to do, but I’m not gonna tell you twice,” he says as his large palm comes up to hold the column of your throat, his thumb just under your jaw, tilting you up to face him.

“When I tell you to get on your knees, you’re gonna do it,” he says, voice low. “If I tell you to look at me, you’re gonna do it,” he continues, “And if I tell you not to touch yourself, you’re not going to,” he says, dipping his face lower to you. You wonder if he can feel your pulse quickening under his hand, caught in a lusty daze fueled by hot breath and the sight of his blown pupils.

“Tell me you understand,” he commands, not really questioning.

“Yes,” you rasp. 

“Yes, what?” 

You look up at him, confusion painted on your face, but then you realize what he’s asking for, what he’s giving you. What he wants you to call him. 

“Yes, daddy. I understand,” you say, tightening your grip on his forearm, feeling his muscles' strength still grasp you, pulling you closer to him.

He looks down at you, apparently satisfied. 

You think for a moment he might kiss you, his lips barely an inch from yours, but he doesn’t.

“Oh so you are capable of listening,” he praises, releasing his grip on you.

“Get on your fucking knees, baby. You wanna dress like a whore, I’ll treat you like one.”

His words wrack through you, the filth and the promise behind them sending shivers down your spine. You fall to your knees, feeling the hard, scuffed-up linoleum beneath you. Positioning yourself beneath him, you fold your hands in your lap, waiting for his next command. He reaches down, his pointer finger lifting your chin to face him. He runs his thumb slowly over your lips, even his touch is demanding. 

“Been thinkin’ about what this pretty little mouth could do all year long.”

As he releases you, you take that as permission and reach out to undo the buckle of his belt. You momentarily fumble with the cool metal until it’s completely unbuckled before you begin working with the zipper on his slacks. You tug both his pants and his underwear down just below his hips, and his thick length springs to attention.

Your breath hitches in your throat at the size of him. He’s big. His cock is already at full attention, red and weeping. Your mouth waters at the sight of it. You look up at him, silently asking for permission to touch him, and he nods. 

“Go on,” he says, and your hand comes to wrap around the base of him. The thought of all of him being yours stirs something low in your belly. If something is so wrong, why does it feel so right? 

You stroke along his length, feeling the silky warmth of his skin, the heat, and the thick veins that add texture to each pass of your palm. You pause at the top of him and let out a little squeeze until a small bead of precum forms at the tip. You lap it up, and he lets out a groan, and his hands fall to grab the back of your neck.

“Keep that mouth wide open for me,” he orders. 

You part your lips and tease your tongue around and then start sucking on the tip, slowly taking more in until you’re sucking on the full head of his cock, and your tongue is whirling around it. His grip on the back of your neck tightens, and he gently cants his hips forward, urging you to take more of him.

You’re barely halfway down, and the back of his cock is already on your throat. You start bobbing your head up and down, and he mutters a little curse under his breath and bites down on his lip.

“Look so pretty with your teacher’s cock down your sweet little throat,” you moan around him, the sound reverberating against him, “This what you wanted, hmm? Needed your throat fucked like a slut?”

Your thighs clench together, a syrupy mess of your own slick smears on your skin beneath your skirt, barely contained in the thin strip of your thong, his filthy words adding to the roaring ache in your cunt. This doesn’t go unnoticed by him as you notice him stiffen just a little more. 

He holds your head and forces you to pick up the pace, pushing yourself to take more of him. He thrusts firmly, meeting your movements along his shaft.

“Tha’s it, just like that…” his groans are lecherous, coupled with the profane sounds of you gagging on his cock. It’s rough. He’s bigger, thicker than any high school boy you’ve ever had in your mouth. You can hardly breathe, but he doesn’t seem to care. 

He tightens his grip on your hair and fucks your mouth the way he wants to, the way you always hoped he would. When you try to pull off of him to catch your breath, he tsks at you, and holds you on his cock for a second longer before letting go and letting you off him to catch your breath. 

You cough and try to fill your lungs with fresh air. He takes a moment to watch you wipe the saliva and precum from your mouth with the back of your hand. It’s a vulgar sight, his freshly legal student on her knees in his classroom, mascara smudged from the tears you’ve begun to cry from his cock. He commits it to memory. 

“That was your first lesson,” he rasps, “Now it’s time for your second.” 

You rise, your knees burning from the harshness of the floor. He takes a step forward, guiding you back until your backside presses against the front of the desk. His knuckles trail over the front of your body, pausing on the swell of your breasts before dipping lower to the edge of your skirt. With a deft flick of his wrist, the pads of his fingers graze over the front of your sex, feeling the wetness that has soaked through the fabric.

“I’d ask if this is all for me, but I already know it is. Sloppy little cunt has been dripping for me all year, hasn’t it?” he coos, slipping his fingers beneath the fabric, grazing against your clit. You gasp in response. He uses his fingers to draw a few tight circles on your clit, eliciting a moan from you as he does. 

“Please, daddy. Need it so bad.” 

“Misbehavin all year, and you really think you deserve to come?”

He uses his middle finger and prods at the entrance of your wet hole. You pout. 

“Daddy, please, I’ll be a good girl from now on, I promise.” 

“I don’t think you will, sweetheart. Can’t be giving ya whatever you want. Everything comes with a set of consequences,” he kisses your neck and continues to tease your clit. 

“Including fucking your teacher,” he rasps in your ear, punctuating it with a bite on the flesh there. He shoves his middle finger up into your cunt. You yelp, it’s so much, almost too much. 

He moans in response. 

“Oh, and you’re tight, too. Thought you might be. You ever been fucked here?” 

“No…” you sound shy saying it. 

“Never?” he asks, eyebrows raised. 

“No, only ever fingers,” you whine as he slips another finger in. There’s a stretch and a burn from the intrusion. 

“Fuck,” he groans as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you. You’re so wet that the burn is beginning to lessen as he gently moves his fingers inside of you. 

“Gonna be a teacher’s pet, and let me help you out with that? Gotta earn it to get back on my good side, and you can start by givin’ up that sweet little v-card of yours to me.” 

You look up at him, a little unsure, a little nervous. You glance down at his cock, he’s so big, you’re not sure you can take all of him, but you know you want to try. 

“Yes – yes, daddy.” 

“Lay down on the desk,” he commands, and you listen. 

Your upper back rests on the oak desk, draped over the final grades for the year. There's just enough room for your hips to slightly dangle off the edge, with his hips positioned between your legs.

He pauses to admire the way you look up at him, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your perky tits still in your bra, a little sheen of sweat on your chest. He notes the way you still look flustered from taking him in his mouth, still a little nervous. He smiles, knowing he’s going to fuck every ounce of that right out of you.

He wants to claim ownership of every inch of your body, and he doesn’t want to wait any longer.

He drops to his own knees this time, hooking his thumbs into your underwear to pull them down with him. His face immediately finds your cunt, and he wastes no time before he lays a trail of soft kisses over your wet and waiting folds. He starts slow, a kiss here, a lap there, and eventually begins to pick up his pace.

He sinks a thick middle finger into you again, and this time you're ready for it. Your hips cant up at the welcomed intrusion, and your back arches, unable to stay on the desk. You feel his hot breath on your pussy and let out a small mmm at the way he presses his forearm across your lower half to lower you back down to the desk, to keep you still.

His mouth returns to your clit to work you, and he adds another finger, twisting and working them both into you with precision. You’re so fucking close – your slow crawl to the cliff of your orgasm turns into a full-on sprint. As if he couldn’t already tell from the way you’re moving, you verbally confirm your closeness for him. 

“Please,” you moan. “Please – ugh, need to come, please let me come,” you beg.

“You come when I say you can,” he says, voice slightly muffed against your wet skin.

He presses his lips against your clit, but doesn’t give you enough tongue to get you where you need to go. You’re already so swollen, sensitive – you know all you’ll need is a little suck, and you’ll be gone.

You don’t know how much longer you can stave off your pleasure, but you want to be good for him, to listen, to obey.

He knows you want to come, that’s obvious, and god does he want to know what you look like when you do, to feel it, to be the reason; but still, he continues to tease and let it build. Your face twists, your jaw goes slack, and your eyes close and it all but screams I’m close, make me come, make me come. 

It’s all too much, way too much. Tears begin to fall from your eyes. 

“Consequences, sweetheart,” he rasps, “you gotta learn.” 

He sucks your clit into his mouth and he grazes it with the top of his tongue and closes around you. You flutter your eyes closed. You warn him that you’re close, “Daddy, fuck, please let me come. I’ve learned my lesson, I swear,” you rasp out your pleas with a symphony of moans.

Satisfied with your pleading, he decides to take mercy on you. He looks up at you through his thick lashes, drinking in the way he has you melting, the way he has you crying, begging for him. 

“Alright, sweetheart. I believe you. Go ahead and come, want you to soak my face,” he says, voice hoarse but still smooth like velvet.

You obey and feel the taste of your sweet release rush through you like a warm summer breeze on a hot day. Your vision goes white, and your whole body tenses with pleasure as he works you through it.

“You gonna tell your daddy thank you for letting you come?” His dilated pupils tell you he’s high on it; on you. His beard shines with your slick under the harsh fluorescents. 

And shit, it’s filthy. He looks indecent in the most delectable of ways.

“Go on, wanna hear you say it,” he says, grabbing his thick cock in hand and lining the head of it up against your wet and waiting hole, pausing there before pressing in, waiting to hear your gratitude for what he gave to you. You let out a little whine.

“Thank you, daddy,” you tell him, and he nods, once more satisfied. Both of his hands come to your hips, surely leaving little bruises under his strong grip. Your slick makes it easy for him to bury himself in you to the hilt, even with the size of him.

“You sure you’re a virgin? Sure are taking this cock like it’s your fucking job, like it was made for me, aren’t you?” 

He pauses for a moment to give you a second to adjust; you feel so full, you swear you feel him in your lungs. He begins a relentless pace, thrusting his cock deep inside of you, the obscene sounds of the clapping noises fill the classroom. 

“Daddy, daddy, daddy, thank you, oh fuck,” you cry.

“That’s right. Say thank you for giving you this cock, for fucking you smart,” he commands.

Thank you – thrust – tha - thrust – thank you, fuck, thrust.

“Please tell me you’re on the pill or somethin’, wanna fill up this tight cunt, give her a taste of what she’s been asking for all year,” he groans as he continues thrusting into you. 

“I am, I’m on the pill, please, daddy, give it to me.” 

“Fuck, shit. Gonna fill this tight pussy up.” He fills you deeply, pausing buried deep inside of you, and you feel him explode inside of you. Your breath comes in stilted as the world begins to fade back in. 

When he takes a step back, his tip smears against your inner thigh, leaving a trail of precum on your flesh. You bring your hand to cup your pussy, collecting the cum in your palm. You catch most of it, but some of it smears and pools onto the papers below. 

He pulls up his pants and walks across the classroom to a box of tissues on the back wall. He hands them to you, and you use them to clean yourself up. You both adjust your clothing in silence. Once you're both fully dressed, you stand there quietly, the weight of the moment settling heavily between you.

"You did good. I'll make sure you get an A for your final grade," he says, his voice hollow and detached. He avoids your gaze, the weight of his actions now sinking in, the line he's crossed glaringly obvious. You open your mouth to say something, but he's already turned away, striding towards the door. Without a word, he opens it and holds it for you, the silence between you deafening.

"Have a good summer," he tells you, his tone almost too casual. "I'll see you at graduation."

You try not to read into what he might mean by that. 

You walk away from him, feeling a little used, confused, changed. 

Somehow, everything and nothing has changed at the same time. As you walk away, a whirlwind of emotions churns inside you. 

What's summertime without a little sadness?

END

Tagging some moots who might enjoy: @toxicanonymity @syd-djarin @endlessthxxghts @auteurdelabre @yxtkiwiyxt @joelmillerisapunk @xdaddysprincessxx @javipispunk @survivingandenduring

[yuyan]

To my darling

A/n: Merry Christmas and have a happy new year! I hope you enjoy it @pavo-ocell-me! This was a very fun event that I loved taking part in @2023gisecretsanta

Pairing: Lyney x gn!reader

Tags: Pure fluff! Modern au, implied school/college setting, penpals, pre-established relationship, reader is learning French, where reader lives doesn't have snow, one curse word just one ^^

"Take intermediate French they said. You'll be fine they said," you muttered to no one in particular as you read the Google translation over and over again. "My French teacher is going to kill me."

You rubbed your eyes, peeking out of makeshift pillow your arms made. Standing tall at the front of the class with a booming voice was your French teacher. She held a small, clear glass jar with folded bits of paper inside in one hand while placing a stack of letters on her lectern with her other.

"Speaking with natives is an excellent and necessary way to develop your language skills (unlike this soon to be 30 minute speech) so due to the cancellation of the exchange program for this year and the long dragged on meeting, we have decided to give you all pen pals!" she announced. Her arms held a wide stance, awaiting for something you were unaware of.

Some whispers and small squeals echoed through the lecture hall. Others groaned and put their head on the desk, waiting for celestia, perhaps even an archon to take them. You did neither.

"I wish I could turn back time," you sighed. After contemplating for an hour whether your teacher would ever find out that you used Google translate to write half your letter or not, you started handwriting it on a stack of fancy paper you really shouldn't have been able to afford. "Shell never know. It's not like he can tell her anyways."

As you dragged your pen along the piece of paper, you remembered the speech about how necessary this was, the small piece of paper you pulled out of the bag and the letter that came with it. With a small smile playing on your lips, you signed off and stuck the small paper that read "lyney" just below your name with a paper rainbow rose you made yourself. It had its imperfections but it's similarity to the fresh ones he sent you left you content.

"Oh my god why did he reply so fast?" you asked yourself. Not even 3 days later and you received another letter from lyney. You traced the grooves of the red wax seal made you shiver. He wouldn't ever know you used google translate right? With pursed lips, you opened it. Perfume immediately muddled your senses as you opened up the envelope. Your peers hadn't even sent their first letter, let alone receive their second.

As you skimmed over the letter, you took down some notes like where he's from–which was so uncessary–what he likes to do and some of his contact details. You hummed, giving yourself imaginary pats on the back for reading a whole three sentences before typing the other two paragraphs into Google translate. You really needed to switch classes, desperately.

It was only then you spotted that a sentence in french came out the same in the translation. "You really shouldn't be using Google translate for these letters," written at the very bottom. Well fuck.

"You are friends with your penpal? Well that's lovely (name)," your French teacher clapped with bright sparkles in her eyes. It blinded you for a second and you had to look away before you lost the ability to see forever.

Instagram

(potato_name):lyney sent a reel.

(potato_name):lyney sent a picture.

(potato_name):lyney sent you a mes...

I didn't use Google translate for this one. Are you proud of me? You wrote at the bottom before slipping the letter into its envelope and sealing it with the new wax stamp set you bought recently.

You rushed back home. You winced at the clatter of your laptop in your bag hitting the floor, deciding it was a problem for future you. Ripping open the envelope and skimming through the letter, you read at the very bottom 'I am proud of anything you do, mon Cheri."

A smile broke out onto your lips as you neatly kept it away in a small box your mother got you from Fontaine when you were little. The small box was made of white marble with gold outlining its edges and gathering in a few swirls in the middle where the golden clasp rested.

The Sun shone brightly despite it being the middle of December. Rays of Sunlight squeezed through your closed curtains and you wondered if it was snowing in Fontaine right now. Did Lyney like playing in the snow?

Letters became less and less frequent as your peers lost motivation in writing long drawn out of paragraphs with nothing but small talk. A year and a half had passed yet your teacher held a strong morale despite the head of languages not enforcing this penpals program anymore. Even they must have gotten tired of the back and forth.

A few days until Christmas holidays. Opening your phone, you checked to see if lyney had texted you anything. Nothing...

Your eyes kept glossing over your texts from Friday 11am. Its been a week. Pictures of him and his two siblings who added you back on Instagram. Even Lynette had texted you today, showing some new tea she bought from inazuma last week.

Lynette

My brother has been writing non-stop for the past few days. Are you guys still doing the penpals thing?

You

No, maybe he is writing to someone else?

Your stomach dropped as you reread your message. "Writing to someone else...I need fresh air." You took your phone and wallet and headed out the door.

"Where are you going?" your roomate called out but you were already heading to the lift. You ran your fingers through your hair, pushing it out of your face with a sigh. It shouldn't matter. It shouldn't matter but this is the fifth time you've checked your phone this morning and its been a week with only a read tag.

"I seriously need to ban myself from my phone."

Lynette

Oh...nevermind. I'll ask him then.

Sent Friday 10 : 39am

"The christmas carnival was so much funner this year," your friend said, laughing. Then one hiccup escaped from her mouth. And then another one. Until you and your other friend bursted out laughing. "Not funny!"

"Yeah yeah. I still can't believe (Name) won that plushie from that shooting stall," your other friend said. He tossed another chip in his mouth, after finally calming down from his laughter.

"I'm surprised too. Those games are typically so rigged, I mean did you see the look on the owner's face though?" you said.

Holding up the little classic brown teddy bear, you admired it at all angles. Its red bow had a little bell hanging from the centre, jingling as you walked.

Its silly smile matched yours and then you noticed it. The small teddy's bowtie resembled the one Lyney wore in one of the pictures he sent. And the small envelope the size of your palm that the teddy held was a real one made of paper.

"(Name)? Whats wrong?"

"Nothing! I just realised my parents wanted me back at 10 and well its 11 so I have to go," you said with a bright smile, "Bye!"

"You live in a dorm though?" your friend countered, "(Name)!" But you were already walking out of the festival gates.

Picking out the small envelope, you brushed your thumb over the grooves of the wax seal. The same wax seal that you used for the last letter you sent. Did he really get the same stamp?

A mini rainbow rose fell out. The vibrant colours provided a stark contrast to the humid summer night. One letter. Five words. I love you, Mon cheri.

Your eyes widened and you nearly dropped the letter, fumbling with it for a bit. Taking in the cool nighttime breeze, you looked up only to see the person you hadn't talk to in a week standing only a few metres away from you.

Lyney held a bouquet of vibrant rainbow roses in one hand and the other behind his back.

"How are you..?" You took as step back, your gaze falling to the floor then back up at him again.

"I told you I'm a magician in one of my letters didn't I?" Lyney started, "I would appear anywhere if it was to be with you."

[kusaka6e]

RISKY

prohero bakugou x fem!reader

sfw

hi :) sorry for being so inactive i’ve been dealing w the loss of a family member really close to me and i’ve just had no motivation to write so if this sucks pls just bare with me :,)

———

when you entered the hero charts in japan, you didn’t know what to expect. your quirk had manifested much later than expected, but you seemed to be able to use it very well. you excelled in your hero studies programs in high school, but your home country was extremely sexist towards female heroes. so, you headed for japan.

you’d been living there less than a year, but couldn’t imagine your life any other way. you’d become extremely close with kirishima when you started working for his agency, which forced you and bakugou to be close. truth be told, you two couldn’t stand each other at first. you were both headstrong, stubborn, very stuck in your own ways.

but, he grew on you. not like you’d ever tell him that, but he did mean a lot to you. you two looked out for each other in battle at work, and went to war trying to out-drink each other when you went out with the rest of your friend group. even though sometimes he would unexplainably give you the silent treatment or be extra irritable with you at any given moment, you didn’t think too much of it.

so when you took a flying leap off the top of a skyscraper going after a villain, it really pissed bakugou off.

you, him, kirishima, and izuku had already been on the lookout for an anonymous criminal behind a child-trafficking scheme in the city. there was a call reported from a large medical complex building, to include a daycare center and pediatrician’s office on the floors there.

bakugou, izuku, and kirishima were handling most of the rescue aspects. thankfully, you’d all responded quick enough that no children were kidnapped or severely injured. meanwhile, you were chasing a criminal up the floors of the building, determined to get answers out of him.

“what are you doing with those kids?!”

“i-i don’t know, really! the boss just sent me here to get them!”

and he was adamantly refusing to name his boss. so when he attempted to jump off the roof of the building, you went after him without a second thought. you were wrestling with him as you both hurtled towards the ground, swearing you were either going to get answers or die trying.

bakugou saw all of this happen from ground level, using his explosions to get to you as quickly as possible.

the villain manages to clock you in the face, blurring your vision and disorienting you.

“deku!” bakugou grabs the villain by the arm, throwing him down to deku and blasting himself towards you, keeping an arm around you as he lowers you both down to the ground.

he rushes you back to the agency, the medic team examining you thoroughly. they determine that you don’t need any further medical attention, just suggesting that you rest for the remainder of the day.

you take an extra long shower in the agency locker room, surprised to see that you’re not alone when you enter the co-ed section of the locker room. bakugo is sitting with his head in hands, donning a red riot t-shirt and sweats.

“surprised you’re still here.” you open your locker, putting your suit into your duffel.

“i wanted to make sure you didn’t try to pull any stupid shit again.”

“again?”

“you’re kidding, right?”

“i have no idea what you’re talking about.”

his jaw clenches, making you raise a brow as he huffs in exasperation.

“that shit you pulled earlier! why’d you jump off the roof?!”

“oh, that.”

he stands, walking closer to you as his face heats with anger.

“oh that, like you couldn’t have died?!”

“and what if i did? that’s kind of in my contract.”

your nonchalant attitude is only infuriating him more, knowing you’re striking a nerve.

“and what if you did, seriously?? the people who care about you would be absolutely crushed and you fucking know it! stop trying to act so careless!”

“and just let that guy get away and put even more kids at risk? i don’t think so.”

“then why not send me or deku after him?! our quirks let us fly, yours doesn’t you idiot!”

“because i don’t value my own life over doing my job or those of children?! why are you acting like this?!”

“because you are trying to downplay the stupid ass decision you made! just because you’re a hero doesn’t mean you turn everything into a suicide mission!”

“and if i did die taking that guy down, who fucking cares?!”

he lets out an infuriated yell, punching a locker a few doors away from yours and completely caving in the door.

“kirishima cares! so does fucking deku, and mina, and god damn dunceface! i care, for fucks sake!”

“listen, i appreciate you all a lot. but im not gonna put any of that above saving kids, bakug-“

“katsuki.”

“what?”

“you call me katsuki.”

you pause, raising at eyebrow at his demand

“just because this is your job doesn’t mean your life loses all its value! you don’t become disposable just to save other people!”

“i’m not yours to put that much value to, katsuki!”

“what if i wanted you to be?!” his eyes widen, realizing what had just come out of his mouth.

“then fucking act like it!” you wear a similar expression, staring at him wide eyed.

you’re both breathless and red in the face, staring at each other as you both process what’s been said.

in one move, he sweeps you off your feet, wrapping your legs around him and sitting you on the counter in the lockerroom under one of the mirrors. your hands are exploring all over his upper body, one settling in his hair as you pull him impossibly close to you.

“you’re the biggest brat in the world, you know that?” he mumbles against your lips.

“you love it.”

[formulaoc]

hi!!! can i please request a x reader oneshot where she’s in f1 academy and she has a crush on danny who’s presenting the award to her? it’s a little cute moment and she talks with her friends after about it who tease her about it thanks!!!

Hi anon, yes! This is a very cute request, right up my alley. Daniel is one of my faves so this will be fun + I love the F1A girls so any excuse to fit them in here is a welcome one. This would also be a good opportunity to add that I am taking requests not just for F1, but also other series like IndyCar (and F1A which I don't know why I didn't think of it in the first place).

Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x driver!reader Synopsis: Your trip to the podium looks a little bit different this time... Word Count: 1.6k Warnings: Pretend there's an F1A race in Australia...shhh....pretend.

"And for the second time this season, the number three driver from ART Grand Prix takes the win in Australia!"

You're on a high. You'd struggled with funding your whole life—the money it takes to fund a seat is no joke—and this seat is your one shot at moving up the ladder; yet even after all that pressure, at the top of your game without a worry in the world. You park your car neatly behind the "1" sign in Parc Ferme and hop out of your car, pump your fist, and immediately run over to your team behind the barrier.

A barrage of celebratory pats hit your helmet, "Let's make a habit out of this, shall we?" says your engineer.

You chuckle and nod, "Sounds good to me."

You don't have long before you're beckoned over to speak with Naomi Schiff for your post-race interview. "So, two in a row. How does it feel?"

Your grin spreads wide, "It feels amazing. You know, the team and I have been working very hard off-track. It's been amazing too to be a part of this program where I can just focus on racing which is all I want to do at the end of the day."

Naomi nods. "You've clearly channelled in on that focus, taking an early lead in the championship, what are your next steps to maintain that lead?"

You instinctively place your hands on your hips, mulling over the question for a second, "Oh, uh, that's s great question. I think it'll be important for me to keep a good training and sim schedule, knowing when to push and when to rest is important because a tired racer is a slow one."

"Wow, excellent answer, thank you," she pivots to face the camera directly. "Back to you guys in the studio." As you're ushered away for the podium, Naomi turns around to give you a double thumbs up and mouthes 'good job'.

They leave you Dorianne, and Hamda in the cool-down room for a moment as they sort something out about the podium—apparently, one of the presenters is running a tad late and a few officials toddle out of the room, leaving you three alone. Even though you're thoroughly tired, you break the silence, "We're in the Max Verstappen podcast room."

The other girls chuckle. Dorianne nods toward Hamda, "Did you get to meet him?"

Hamda smiles. "I did. It was really cool."

Dorianne turns to you this time, "And you got to meet Daniel and Yuki, right? How was that?"

You feel the blush creep up on your face as you try not to choke on your water. "It was good. They were really nice."

Dorianne smiles knowingly while Hamda has a mischievous grin on her face. "That's all? Amna said you—"

"—oh, woah, cameras," you say as you fake cough twice to hide your words.

"They didn't have us in the cooldown room for the other races so I doubt they have the cameras set up to broadcast," reasons Hamda. Dorianne nods in agreement, eager to hear what information Hamda got from her sister. "So anyways, Amna said that she turned bright red every time Daniel spoke to her or looked her way."

Your mouth flounders like a fish and Dorianne looks to you for confirmation that it's true, and your lack of response is a resounding answer for her. You decide to finally say something to stop the two girls from giggling, but you're called by one of the officials.

As you walk through the hallway up to the podium area, Dorianne asks, "Who is presenting today?"

"That would be Oscar Piastri and Daniel Ricciardo," says the official.

The two girls are immediately sent into a laughing fit upon hearing the second name. You flash your eyes at them with a warning but it only makes them laugh harder and makes the official look at all three of you like you've grown extra heads.

Amna is called first out onto the podium platform, and she can barely hold it together, followed by Dorianne who is also laughing to herself. The two girls get their awards presented to them by Oscar which can only mean one thing: Daniel will be giving you yours. So when they call your name and you step out onto the platform you have to try your best to not make eye contact with the other girls or else you will start laughing.

You hop up onto the podium, and sure enough Daniel Ricciardo comes out from the other wing to present you with your trophy. It's fairly loud, so it's hard to hear, but as Daniel shakes your hand he says, "Fancy seeing you here."

"I could say the same to you. I mean this is my podium after all," you say sarcastically, knowing from your previous conversations that he can handle more than his fair share of banter.

"Well, you know, I'd actually say it's mine considering where we are, but I'll let you borrow it."

"I—" You're cut off from responding by one of the officials politely directing you and Daniel to look at the camera for the picture. You shake Daniel's hand once again for the photographer and he disappears. Your heart sinks a bit. Dang. But that quickly passes as you take a quick picture with the girls on the podium as they try to whisper something to you, probably about Daniel, that you can't hear, probably for the best.

Your heart swells with pride as your national anthem plays for the second time this season; you hope to make it a regular occurrence like Max had with the Dutch anthem last year. But once the anthem is done, it's game on. Hamda takes a step back and away, not wanting to take part in the champagne showers, but you and Dorianne race to your bottles to spray each other.

You slam the bottle down the way you've seen Lando do a thousand times and go on the attack against Dorianne; she gets you good too, right in the face, but retreats. You go after her, only to accidentally spray Daniel who'd been standing just off-stage in the face.

Your mouth makes an 'O' shape as he walks out onto the platform. Dorianne is practically dying of laughter at your mess up. He gestures to you to give him the bottle so he can have a sip and you oblige, but at the last minute, instead of pressing the bottle to his lips, he dumps it on your head. You pump your fist in the air, taking the champagne shower like a champ. It stings your eyes a bit so you can only kind of hear Dorianne saying, "here! Take Hamda's."

There's now a new and full bottle of champagne in your hands, and you know exactly what to do with it. You slam it against the ground, and Daniel can only take a single step back before he's bombarded with champagne. "Ugh, you know I was rooting for you to win," he says as he wipes his eyes, "but I might have to change my pick next time."

You scoff, pretending to be offended. "I guess Yuki will have to be my pick from now on." The officials start to hurry you off the stage so they can get to cleaning it up.

"Oh, so it's like that?"

You cross your arms, "Yeah, it's like that."

The two of you laugh for a moment, no longer able to hold up the charade of banter; you almost forget to be nervous around him for a moment. "But seriously," he says. "I was rooting for you."

"Thank you. That means a lot."

"How could I not root for you? Just talking with you at the RB after-party I could tell your sense of humour is almost as good as mine, you're nice, you have a nice smile too."

It takes you a moment to process what he's said before you're able to come up with something witty to say back, "You must've been paying close attention to me if you figured all that out at one after-party."

"I was." Your eyes threaten to bulge out of your head; it makes sense Daniel Ricciardo of all people is forwards, but that doesn't mean you ever expected he'd be forward to you. To make it even worse he adds, "I think you were too." He quickly adds, "Paying close attention to me, I mean."

You don't know if it's a blessing or a curse that one of the RB team officials has come to collect Daniel—probably to quickly try and usher him into a shower before qualifying now that he's covered in champagne—and saves you from having to think of a response to that. "Anyway," he says casually as if he definitely wasn't hitting on you before, "I'll see you in the garage later?"

"Uh, yeah."

He starts to walk towards the exit but turns around, walking backwards to add, "Oh, shoot me a text if you're still around after the races tomorrow."

"I don't have your number," you have to shout down the hall.

He points to the trophy you're holding; you frown. But as you take a closer look sure enough there's a small piece of paper folded and tucked into one of the corner curves. That cheeky bugger. You take a moment to stare off in his direction in disbelief at everything that's happened in the last hour...until you hear the snickering behind you.

You turn around, eyes narrowed at your friends. "Shut up," you say jokingly.

"We didn't say anything!" says Dorianne, still laughing. They're not going to let you live this down anytime soon.

[pareidoliaonthemove]

Left for Dead

Part One

Scott Tracy breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the wheels of the ‘conventional’ jet he was flying left the tarmac.

His never failed to feel lighter once he was no longer touching the earth, but this time the relief was more intense than usual.

As he guided the executive jet – once Jeff’s favourite plane, a sleek long-haul commercial jet that had been the Aviation arm of Tracy Industries flagship product, and dubbed ‘Tracy One’ – exactly through the ‘gateway’ at the end of the runway climb out, the radio crackled to live. The heavily accented English of the Departures Controller for Trondheim Lufthavn gave him his final instructions to clear the Lufthavn’s controlled airspace and join his filed flightpath out of Norway and back to Tracy Island.

He only let himself relax as he hit his cruising speed and altitude, and activated the pre-programmed autopilot.

Reaching back he caught the retractable tray table and dragged it towards him, before picking up his insulated mug, a custom-made gift from Brains that allowed him to ensure he had hot coffee available on a solo flight in the plane.

He couldn’t help glancing back at the safe built into the bulkhead at the back of the cockpit. He still had grave reservations about getting TI involved in the construction of the World Government’s new high-security computer system to be based in Norway; but the World Government had wanted Tracy Industries for their reputation for excellence and security, the TI Board wanted it, and most importantly John wanted it.

Scott tried not to think about the fact that his brother was likely to include a backdoor to the system.

But Scott had been convinced that it was in the best interests of all involved to take the project on, and he had gone to Norway to meet the key personnel and personally take receipt of the plans. TI facilities would produce the various key components and they would be shipped to Tracy Island for construction by one Hiram K. Hackenbacker

Scott sighed, even Brains had been excited by the prospect of getting to look at the designs, and the attendant programming that the hardware would be running. Something about the specifications for the “new ‘unbreakable’ encryption protocols”, and “the next major breakthrough in computing, practically quantum!”

Scott was worried that the two – three if Alan inserted himself into the mix – computer nerds would back-engineer the TOP SECRET computer and incorporate it into International Rescue’s equipment.

When – and Scott was not an optimist when it came to this sort of things, so it was when and not if – the rest of the world figured out that they had that technology, there would be some uncomfortable questions that Scott would be left to try to answer.

And he was resolutely NOT thinking about what Eos could do with all that processing power. Scott had reached a truce with the Space Monitor’s pet AI, but he hadn’t made peace with it … her. She had come dangerously close to killing John, ‘misunderstanding’ or not, ‘self-defence’ or not.

Harming his family was the one sin Scott Tracy could not forgive.

The next hour or so disappeared quietly as Scott brooded on his misgivings, carefully watched the plane’s gauges, and the sky.

Sometime after the onboard computer indicated that it had successfully completed its mandatory handshake with Chinese Air Control Scott stretched, arching his back and spreading his toes within the confines of his shoes. Flying alone was great for relaxation, flying alone long distances however … no matter how good the autopilot, a good pilot never left the controls unmanned.

Tracy One, while fast, was no Thunderbird One. I’m getting soft, Scott thought bemused. Too used to the multiple mach speed of his usual means of transportation.

Settling back into his seat, Scott once more scanned the gauges … only to see them all fade out as the engines whined their rollback to idle and shutdown.

Scott swore, unbelieving, hands once more on the controls, as he quickly hit two buttons, setting his transponder to squawk distress mode, and deploying the RAT, a small drop down wind turbine that dropped from the planes undercarriage and caught the airflow, generating enough power to get some gauges and controls working.

Fingers automatically worked at the controls, reconfigure for maximum glide, run through the midair engine restart procedure. And …

Nothing.

As Scott immediately recommenced the restart, he was on the radio: “Mayday, Mayday, Maday. This is November Tango India Zero One Charlie. Twin engine roll back, loss of power. Attempting restarts. Requesting assistance to squawk location.”

No response. Scott cycled through another engine restart attempt as he waited, nervously watching the altitude numbers seemingly freefall. There was no way he was descending that fast, surely?

Two more attempts at transmitting the mayday resulted in silence. The engines refused to restart.

Scott reached for his collar and swore. The meeting had been so high security even IR’s integrated collar coms were not allowed. And Scott had been in such a hurry to get back to the Island that he hadn’t changed his clothes, only ditching the ordinary – albeit obscenely expensive – coat, suit jacket, tie and cufflinks.

No direct link home. No mid-air rescue for Scott Tracy.

No matter. He could manage.

Abandoning his attempts to restart as the altitude numbers screamed down under the threshold.

His plane was going to kiss dirt. All he could do was make it as gentle as possible.

Scott switched his attention to scanning the ground below him, looking for a suitable space. Thank god he had elected to fly west towards home, meaning he was over the Gobi Desert.

Sand was preferable to water, no matter what Gordon said.

Sand would make for a nice soft runway, provided Scott managed a tail-first. Letting a leading edge dig in would be a disaster. Even with the International Rescue approved safety features retrofitted to the standard executive jet, there wouldn’t be much for his brothers to recover if she dug in and flipped, or windmilled around a wing.

“Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. November Tango India Zero One Charlie. Restart negative. Unpowered landing necessary. Requesting immediate assistance to squawk location.”

Scott breathed carefully, focusing on his search and not the possibilities.

There!

Off in the distance Scott spotted a level area, large enough for the plane to coast to a stop on her belly.

He breathed out, mentally calculated the distance and descent, and carefully reconfigured the plane, setting the ailerons and stomping on the rudder to bring her tail around into the head wind and shed speed: side-slipping. He gently slewed her back the other way, ensuring she maintained the correct heading, but shedding altitude and speed.

This was a dangerous aerial ballet. More so than any dogfight he had been in during his service. One wrong move …

Scott’s hands were sweating on the control yoke. His heartbeat deafened him.

Oh, there was going to be so many lost of control drills for his brothers in the future. It had been too long since they had run any.

His luck held all the way down.

He managed to line up to the long axis of the space, and his tail kissed sand at the edge of the smooth space.

Metal screamed as sand ripped at the undercarriage as Scott gently lowered the length of the plane onto the dirt, and deployed all flaps and slats, increasing the resistance to the air, even as the sand resisted the movement of the hull.

And Scott became a passenger.

He kept his feet at the rudder pedals, trying to keep the plane moving in a straight line. Yaw risked rolling. But it was largely a futile effort, the path was set, determined by physics, geology and … geography!

Scott’s heart leapt into his throat as the plane hurled itself over the top of a rising dune that had been hidden by his approach angle. It was a significant drop down the other side, and the plane had lost enough momentum that it had little aerodynamic power.

The nose fell, and Scott heard yelling.

It took the eternity the plane was falling to realise that it must be him.

Impact was hard.

Metal screamed as sections of the cockpit rushed towards him, dislodged and distorted.

Something above him broke loose, swinging down into his field of vision.

It was the last thing Scott saw.

Notes:

This is Part One of my last Febuwhump Prompt from MariaShades, Part Two will actually address the prompt, but work's been mental, and Scott's been a little shit and really didn't want to crash his plane ... Oh well, better late than never.

And if I post this half, I'll stop faffing around with it and actually write the second half. In theory.

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Sun

summary: you hadn't talked about it. had believed you'd never have to. but then you'd been alone in a classroom with a madman and the walls had been closing in, no hope, no escape. and then it'd screamed, LET ME OUT.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: panic attacks. eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

this one may be difficult to follow as i use omniscient POV in some instances rather than third-person. i hope i managed to make the head-hopping clear 🫶

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.18

tick. tock.

tick. tock.

Question 1: Why did Frankenstein create the Monster?

Mr. Anderson sat behind his desk, marking that morning's pile of tests. Yours was underway, everyone's heads down, the room silent apart from the scratching of pens on paper and the occasional creak as someone shifted at their desk.

As soon as you'd received your copy, you'd read through the questions; simple enough. Determine metaphor and allegory, write about what's between the lines, not what's on the page.

This wasn't your first rodeo. You loved the practice of analyzing books, finding things the author probably hadn't meant to give deeper meaning to but had, for the sake of high school English. It was where you excelled, earned As and A-pluses, 10/10s, 99/100s.

Mrs. Boudreaux, your junior English teacher, had been the driving force behind your application to the English program at Berkeley. With her guidance, you'd applied in your final semester last year and already had the acceptance letter stashed where your mother wouldn't snoop.

You were really fucking good at English.

And yet...

tick. tock.

tick. tock.

Question 1: Why does Frankenstein create the Monster?

You couldn't focus. Your mind kept slipping, the edges of cordoned-off memories bleeding under the tape. What you'd almost said to Simon earlier—"I'm gonna end up going after him with a—" crowbar crowbar crowbar—your stomach churned. You'd bitten the threat on your tongue and swallowed it back down before it'd had the chance to spill into the world.

Why that? Why, of all things, that? You hadn't...you'd never use...you wouldn't DO that.

"Sissy May! You're not looking! You have to look!"

A quiet, sharp inhale. Like sucking air through a straw. It wasn't enough, but you didn't want the attention. You folded over your desk to lay sideways on your arm, putting your back to the class. Pen on paper, unmoving, blue dot growing as ink seeped through the pages.

Write. Do it. Write something. Anything.

But you couldn't. Half of you was pulled in one direction while time wrenched your other half in another, fracturing in impossible countermotion. Existing forward and backward at the same time.

tick. tock.

tick. tock.

Question 1: Why does Frankenstein create the Monster?

Your vision swam as memories wedged themselves between the seconds, left hand singeing where it was cradled in the crook of your neck and shoulder. The pain shot from the outermost knuckle up to your elbow and struck outward in Lichtenberg figures behind your ribs.

"—the Split River police are considering this a missing person investigation—he lures her to the boiler room—blood blood blood on the walls—and you chose that person to be there—you're stuck here?"

Dialogue ran into each other, warped, distorted, a record played in reverse. Mr. Hartman's speech on Monday, your conversation with Wally, Simon's despair, and private thoughts emulsified into an incoherent sludge that pulsed in your ears.

"—she's stuck she's stuck she's stuck—body could be anywhere—I know this is alarming news, but we have every hope she'll be found safely—aren't friends supposed to trust each other?"

tick. tock.

tick. tock.

Question 1: Why does Frankenstein create the Monster?

Hesitant, careful, you tried not to draw attention as you sat up. Your left hand felt wet and when you looked down you saw tiny pinpricks of blood beading within the crevice of your scar. The pinpricks swelled into each other, more and more, scar tissue splitting up the middle and folding back. Blood gurgled out around the bone and spilled onto your desk. Drip-dropped onto the floor. Dribbled across blank test sheets.

You snatched your hand into your lap—don't look, it's not real, don't look—and clenched your eyes shut, dragging in quick, rabbitty breaths as best you could without making any noise.

"—if you know anything, anything at all, please come forward—he's hiding Maddie in there—I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry—no questions asked, remember?—get your stuff and let's go—I'm sorry I'm sorry—Sissy?"

Your eyes snapped open, immediately trained on the supply closet door. Ominous. Unbelonging. Dry, grey wood and rusted handle. You looked down at yourself, at your hand, open wound spewing a pool under your desk. Clothes and skin stained red. Hair in tacky strings that fell to your waist, much longer than it'd been when you woke up that morning.

Blood. So much. Blood.

tick. tock.

tick. tock.

"LET ME OUT!"

The rusted handle rattled furiously, wood expanding and contracting like the lungs of a nightmare. You were paralyzed in your seat, joints completely fused, unable to open your mouth and scream for help. Tears welled in your eyes, streaked down your face, as you watched the hinges loosen and the doorframe splinter around the strike plate.

"You can't keep me here! Do you hear me!? LET ME OUT!!"

Suddenly, there were hands on your face, a voice in the distance calling your name.

"Go get the nurse." Mr. Anderson instructed, spooked, standing from his desk and rushing down the aisle.

"With all due respect, sir," Xavier said over his shoulder, crouched beside you, hands staying firm on your jaw, "You do it. I'm staying with her."

He turned back to you, repeated your name, told you where you were, that you were okay, that he had you and wasn't going anywhere, shh shh it's okay, I'm right here. Until, finally, thank Christ, finally, your eyes refocused and you seemed to recognize Xavier.

"I need you to breathe for me, kiddo." He said in as soothing a tone as he could given his panic. He grabbed your left hand and put it over his heart, settled his open palm on your sternum, and inhaled deeply. "Come on, May, you can do this. You're okay."

The old nickname stung like a lash, defunct for a reason, but despite wanting to tell Xavier off, you couldn't speak. Your throat was too tight, tongue too large, fuck, you were going to die. Not there. Not in the school. Not where you'd never get out.

Not like this, you pleaded. And then, all at once, you were released, gasping and wailing, toppling out of your seat and onto the floor, into Xavier's arms. He tucked himself around you, protective, safe, and held you as you sobbed.

Outside, Wally almost doubled over, uneven contractions of pain in his chest, over and over, worse and worse. Disoriented, he held himself up on the side of the bus stop.

Rhonda was ranting at Charley about secrets, Maddie's secret—Simon could see them!—and Charley was frantically apologizing and Maddie was gone—where had she gone? It didn't matter—nothing mattered, he had to find you.

"Where are you going?!" Rhonda yelled after him as he took off toward the side door.

And all he could think of to explain his sudden departure was, "I just need some space right now!"

Right then, he didn't care if she believed him. If either of them believed him. If they followed him and found you and found him with you—he didn't fucking care.

He just had to get to you.

Mr. Anderson returned with the nurse, pale and uneasy. Xavier ignored them both as he helped you to your feet. The classroom had thankfully been on its way to empty when Xavier had noticed you'd been unresponsive. Sat stiff as a board at your desk clutching your left hand, the whites of your eyes visible as you'd stared into nothingness.

"I'm taking her home." He said, brooking no argument, holding you against him with an arm secured around your waist and you were almost out, almost away from the terror that had gripped you, but Nurse Laine had to shine a flashlight pen into your eyes first.

She asked questions that you answered with curt nods and shakes.

"Are her parents home?"

Xavier informed, "Her grandmother. I've already said I'm bringing her back." Between convulsions. Had reached into your bag to fish out your phone. Punched the code in easily and found Abigail's number in your contacts. Why the hell was it still 0-6-1-2? Why torture yourself?

It was then that Wally barreled through the closed classroom door. He looked every bit as shaken as you felt. In four long strides, he was at your side, observing Xavier with more scrutiny than he gave to the scene itself.

"I want to go home," You said, weak, wet, directed to everyone in the room, but especially to Wally. Because you couldn't talk directly to him, couldn't touch him; no matter how much you needed him to be who held you, you weren't so far gone not to recognize that that wasn't possible.

Mr. Anderson spoke as Xavier guided you to the door, "You can retake the test on Monday. It's no problem." And it was both a relief and a kick in the gut.

You couldn't look at him. At the man who had abducted Maddie, hurt her, abused her, forced her out of her body.

"Sissy?"

You wrenched forward and vomited into the garbage pail beside the door.

Mr. Anderson took a single step and you whimpered, curling into Xavier as if attempting to hide from the man. Xavier looked between you and Mr. Anderson, a dark expression of suspicion seeping into his features.

"Don't worry about it." Mr. Anderson said of the garbage pail like that's what you were scared about. Like that mattered at all. "I'll take care of it. Just get her home safely."

Xavier gritted out a thank you to Mr. Anderson on your behalf and practically carried you out of there, stopping only to peek into the hallway first to assess how to get you to the car without witnesses.

Minus a couple of students jogging to their next class a few minutes late, the hallway was empty.

Wally remained a stalwart presence at your other side, down the two flights of stairs and out the door into the parking lot.

Lead-rubber limbs caused missteps, scuffing the toes of your sneakers against the gravel. Xavier never let go, every stumble counterbalanced, patient as you found your footing again only to lose it moments later.

He bundled you into the passenger's seat—sideways against the back with your legs still outside the car—and crouched to tell you, "I'm going to grab my bike. I'll be right back, okay?"

"Okay."

After a hard press of his lips to your forehead, he was gone, and Wally took his place.

It felt too much like your sophomore year, Xavier swooping in to the rescue, leaving Wally in the dust. Only, this time, Wally knew you could hear him. More than that, Wally knew you'd answer when he asked:

"Baby, what happened?"

You shrugged, fragile, tired, and, "Panic attack," you said simply. "I think this whole thing with Maddie is getting to me."

Wally nodded as if he understood, but he didn't, though he so wished he did. What he'd felt, what the connection between you and he had delivered into him...if he'd been alive, the pain Wally had experienced would've killed him, he was certain of it.

Are you okay? He almost asked. Instead, he dropped to his knees and wound his arms around your waist, coaxing you forward until you tilted out of the seat and allowed Wally to take your weight. He leaned back and sunk onto his haunches so you were entirely seated in his lap, face under his chin, arms around his neck, fastened to him in a way he was beginning to prefer.

Eventually, "Something happened to me. Six years ago," you revealed, so quiet Wally nearly missed it.

He kissed a crown into your hairline, "You don't have to tell me, pretty girl, it's okay."

"I want to." You insisted, but Wally felt the tension in your back when you said it.

Plastering on his best smile, he craned his neck so he could see your face, practically melting as those big, marbled eyes blinked sweetly up at him. "Some other time, then, huh?" He suggested and was pleased when you agreed. A little nod and then you nuzzled yourself back into his throat with a sigh. Cute as a baby bird.

Xavier returned a few minutes later and set about preparing the car so he had enough space to deposit his bike in the trunk. Once finished, he climbed into the driver's seat and tapped you lightly on the shoulder.

"Ready to go?"

Contrary to last night, when you'd slammed back into your body at speed, you seemed to simply rouse as if from sleep. A far gentler experience that you hoped was the new norm.

"Get some rest, baby," Wally said and stood, dusting off the knees of his sweatpants. "I'll see you tomorrow, right?"

You answered with a smile since Xavier was watching you; refusing to start the car until you'd positioned yourself properly with your seatbelt buckled and the car door closed.

As Xavier drove out of the parking lot, the warmth of the connection between you and Wally fell away like a cloak slipping from your shoulders.

Xavier didn't hesitate to reach over the console and take your hand as if he could sense you needed the comfort. He squeezed and promised, "No questions asked."

You kept your head turned toward the window, heavy on the headrest, and squeezed back.

💀___________________________

PART SEVENTEEN

note: this chapter was written to Amber Run's I Found (TXME Remix). i have a whole soundtrack for this series that i'd like to present once October Sun is complete, but i couldn't keep this one to myself. it's so intense and perfectly captures the fracturing of Reader's mind as she sits in that classroom with her friend's possible abuser.

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if you'd like to be kept up to date, please FOLLOW ME and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS, since the taglist has malfunctioned 🙈 i'm still adding ppl to it, but i can't guarantee that i'll ever use it since attempting to fix the problem is starting to destroy my sanity 💀

[cocteaucherry]

her way chp.2

summary- you were once on top of the world, unfortunately that was taken away from you, but all of a sudden two men, the best at their sports ask for help.

tags- 18+, mentions of bruises, anxiety, broken bones, anxiety attack, ooc probably for some characters, maybe some smut (or threesome) in further chapters. figure skating (can you tell I used challengers for inspo? I also rewatched YOI) gojo x reader, geto x reader, female reader, drinking, gojo has some unresolved feelings

“I'm sorry you want me to do what?”

“I know you heard me for the first time!” He rolled his eyes playfully with a groan adjusting himself on the bench, “I want you to coach me for the Grand Prix,”

You felt like you could pass out right there, your eyes widened shifting your eyes aggressively to your casted leg. “Gojo listen-“

“Please call me Satoru, and! Before you say anything your ankle wouldn’t be a problem, I just need you to teach me!” Satoru pleaded, taking off his sunglasses, his eyes were shut as the soft snow began to fall and melt on his warm skin.

huh, this was the first time you were seeing Satoru’s face without the glasses in person. It was almost unfair how majestic he was.

you let out a sigh tilting your head back, “Why do you need my help? You were winning golds quite perfectly without me,”

“Well now I have competition, in case you missed it Suguru took first.” Satoru deadpanned, opening his eyes, “I’m anything but upset to be honest, I’m glad I have people to face off against now.”

“Wait people? I thought Geto is your only worry.” You peered up at him as his head turned to meet your gaze.

“There’s a few new skaters on the rise, one I’m kinda worried about at the moment. I’m not on my usual game, I feel.. unstructured. You’re one of the best figure skaters in the world.. I really can’t do this alone.”

“Hmm,” you hummed as you felt the stare of Satoru gleam through your soul, you had never thought he’d be this vulnerable to you, “you have a way with words Satoru,” you smiled softly before nodding. “I’ll coach you, but you go by my rules.”

Satoru’s face lit up and his demeanor changed completely, “I promise you won’t regret this!”

“One question, how’d you find me?”

“Oh, your coach told me in exchange for a picture together!” He held out his phone pushing the bright screen in your face to show your blonde haired teacher smiling happily with him.

“Of courseee..”

The first night Satoru had stayed in your house, he vouched that finding a room for an inn on short notice was impossible (even though your countryside town profited off of tourism, and he was a sensational superstar)

He walked in, placing his five luxury bags down in your mid sized house, “Wowww, keeping it humble I see!” He said, collapsing onto your couch, “So I will be sleeping in a bed tonight, huh?”

“Oh no no no, couch for you, besides your training starts now. I need to know your plans for the season, movements, songs-“

“Blahhhh!” He fake retched dramatically playfully rolling his eyes, “Come on! How come we can’t just chill and get to know each other the first night?”

“Satoru we talked about this, you need to focus and judge on your last program. I already know where you lack.” You said curtly as you slowly walked towards the small dining table sitting in the chair.

Satoru sat up squinting his eyes at you, “Oh really? Tell me then,”

“Both of your programs were the same genre, you usually always play ‘sexy’ or ‘charming’ you rarely show a style that could make you vulnerable to the audience. That’s something Suguru seemingly excels with he can play sexy and vulnerable very well,”

Satoru pouted but sighed deeply, damn you were right. “You got me there, so how do I become.. vulnerable and loose?”

You spaced, placing your head on your hand. “That’s something for you to figure out yourself, self discovery type of shit. Who is Satoru Gojo without all the glamour, money and fans?” A silence filled the room with Satoru somehow blanking?

“I’m gonna get some rest, blankets are in the hall closet if you need them, night Satoru,” you hummed standing and walking to your room closing the door behind you.

Hours later when the house was completely dark he was still pondering your question under the fluffy spare duvet, he didn’t need to be vulnerable.. He could just act and pretend, right? You wouldn’t be able to tell anyway.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

“AHT! try again! Make it believable!” You yelled from the sidelines as Satoru panted heavily with an annoyed groan, “ Am I not?! This is my fifth time!” His face was pink with frustration.

You shook your head, “Your fifth time because you look like you’re acting, I want to see YOU be vulnerable for this piece.”

Satoru grumbled, annoyed he skated back to his starting position. Would he actually need to do some homework for this? His eyes were brought to yours, your determined gaze made his knees buckle and his heart race.

He took a deep breath starting his routine for the.. 6th? 8th? He lost count, his thighs and stomach burned too much for him to care,

He couldn't remember the last time a skating coach scolded/corrected him (unless you count his first teacher Yaga) . He usually always did his routines flawlessly but your statement was heavily taxing on him.

alright just a simple axel jump he could ace this just as he got to the back position beginning to push himself off, he heard a familiar voice.

“Practicing without me huh, Satoru?”

Satoru stumbled back landing straight on his ass, regaining his vision he brought his attention to the figure. Long raven hair bought in a bun and the all familiar bang that hung out.

“Satoru! You didn’t tell me Geto was coming!” You smiled, turning your attention to Geto, “Not to sound rude but what are you doing here?” You questioned walking towards him.

“Satoru said he was going to train with someone special and he wouldn’t tell me, so I decided to find him myself.” Suguru grinned and Satoru mentally cursed himself getting up and skating his way to the wall edges.

“Yeah, but how’d you find me?” Satoru grunted stepping onto the hard floor, “Did you forget we both have Life360? You insisted on it.” Geto held his phone up showing the blue and black pings now conjoined together.

“Anyways, how about we all get something to eat? I’ll treat us.” Geto said, plastering a sickeningly sweet smile.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

“No way! Satoru, how come you didn’t tell me you knew each other earlier!” You stared at Suguru’s phone in disbelief in the picture, they couldn’t have been more than ten years old as they both smiled brightly at the camera.

“I was gonna tell you soon!” Satoru crossed his arms, he insisted on sitting on the same side of the booth as you, leaving Suguru on the opposite side.

“You were both so adorable!” You gleamed sliding the phone back towards Suguru as Satoru grinned nudging your knee with his, “ahh so you do find me cute-“

“you’re pushing it Satoru,” you glared at him and he immediately backed down, “So Suguru, any plans for your skate programs this year ?”

“Can’t tell you that just yet,” he winked playfully, “We only have a few months anyway before the first qualifying competition, you’ll see then.” He leaned back in the booth, his arms stretching across the seats. “How about we order some drinks?”

Satoru looked at you in an almost pleading look and you nodded, “Let’s not get too wasted. Satoru has training, also he’s the only one who can help me walk,” you giggled and Suguru smiled with a nod.

You somehow didn’t get blackout drunk but Satoru was pretty close to, who would’ve known he was a lightweight? You and Suguru watched in disbelief as you both sipped on your second drink while Satoru was on his fifth.

The night came to an end at 8 PM as you waved Suguru goodbye, even though he stared he’d be around. Satoru leaned on you drunkenly babbling something about his past competitive seasons.

He didn’t say whether or not he actually got a hotel room so it was back to your house.. again.

You propped him on the couch where he constantly whined about you staying with him and not abandoning him on the couch, “Satoru, I'd like to shower and rest please!” You groaned annoyingly rubbing your temples,

“Noooo!noooo! Just stay and cuddle with me..don’tleaveme!” He whined sitting up against the couch arm running a hand through his somehow tangled hair.

“Satoru..come on just get some rest-“

“Pleaseee..y/nnn I’ll leave you alone!”

“Fine! Fine!” You huffed sitting next to him and like a magnet he immediately clung to your waist laying his head on your plush thighs, “y/n I don’tthink I can actvulnerable..” he murmured and you raised an eyebrow.

“How come?” You said placing a hand on his exposed forehead as he attempted to lean his head into your touch.

“I wasnever taught to be like that, my father would kill me if he found out.. I-i always had to be strong, even at nine..” his tone sounded desperate, almost like he was on the verge of crying. You hadn’t seen this side of him before and you had an idea.

“Well, you just became vulnerable right now Satoru, you’re on the right track. I want you to get some rest now.. okay?” Satoru nodded burying his face into your stomach as he let out a small exhale, “Thankyou for being my coach y/n..” you felt him smile into your clothes as he slowly drifted off to sleep.

What did you get yourself into? You sighed quietly, slowly sliding your phone out of your pocket to check any recent messages, one being from Suguru dated a few minutes ago.

suguru

really enjoyed tonight 🖤 maybe we can do this again but just us? How about this Friday at 7?

you shut off your phone with a grin, you really didn’t know what you got yourself into.

(a/n- I really love this series <3)

[landofzero-archive]

Your Yorishiro - Trouble talking 1

Writer: Kanata Haruka

Season: Winter

(Location: RhyLin Office (Conference Area))

Adonis: Sorry, Hakaze-senpai. Did I make you wait?

Kaoru: Nah, I just got here so don’t worry about it. Especially since I was the one who suddenly called you here, Adonis-kun.

Ah, would you like some tea? If you’re thirsty I can make you a cup of coffee or something.

Adonis: No, I’m fine. What did you want to talk to me about?

The matter was so important that Hakaze-senpai went out of your way to call me here. If I don’t hear about it soon, I’ll be restless.

Kaoru: Ahaha. You don’t have to be so nervous. Come on now, relax, relax♪

Well if you’re so interested in it, then let’s get straight to the point.

Adonis-kun, would you like to try being a talk show MC?

Adonis: …… The MC of a talk show? Me? This must be some kind of mistake, is it not?

Kaoru: Well, that’s how you would react. Let me tell you the details first.

There’s a program that I was offered, and it’s a talk show where two idols get together for a discussion.

Adonis: In that case, I think Hakaze-senpai should just accept the offer……

Kaoru: Yeah, well, I was thinking of just accepting it if nothing interfered, but the scheduled recording date for that program overlapped with something else I had scheduled.

As expected, I can’t change the schedule anymore. But I also want to avoid changing the recording date of the talk show as much as possible.

So I contacted them to decline the offer, but then they told me that if I had any ideas for a replacement to let them know.

Adonis: I see. So you made me your substitute……

However, Hakaze-senpai knows I’m not good at talking. I don’t think I could ever fill in for you.

Kaoru: I do know that you’re not good at talking, so I’m not going to force you.

But you’ve also appeared on lots of shows with us, so I feel like you’ve become more adjusted to it.

That’s why I think it’s worth taking the plunge and trying it out to get rid of your feelings of not being good at it.

Isn’t it a good idea to think of this as an opportunity for growth and to give it a try?

Adonis: I’m happy to have an opportunity to grow but…… is it alright to have this kind of mindset for it?

Kaoru: That’s alright. I asked in advance if it would be okay to even suggest kids who can’t talk well and they said yes.

So the rest is up to what you want to do. If you really don’t like it then I’ll tell them no, so what do you want to do?

Adonis: ………

…… I also thought that it was a problem that I always felt like I couldn’t talk well.

So if I have a chance to overcome that, then I would like to try it.

Kaoru: Alright, understood. Well then, I’ll tell the program staff my official answer.

Good luck, Adonis-kun♪

(Location: CosPro Office (Conference Area))

(On the other side. CosPro at the same time)

Nagisa: …… I see. So Ibara wants to find a substitute for that talk show.

Ibara: Indeed. At this time of year, Eve has jobs that cannot be taken away, so I had no choice but to decline the offer given to his Highness Hiyori.

They said it would be possible to get a substitute, so it’ll be either of us from Adam. I’d like to deal with it myself……

However, I’m finding it difficult to deal with it because I’m busy with various production operations. Which means……

Nagisa: …… Which means I’m the only candidate.

Ibara: But I’m very worried about whether it’s alright to send Your Excellency alone on a talk show that requires flexibility.

Nagisa: …… When I’m alone, you’re anxious all the same.

Ibara: No no, I have confidence in Your Excellency’s abilities.

If you’re fully prepared, you’re sure to achieve a comfortable victory on any battlefield. Ahaha♪

Nagisa: …… Conversely, wouldn’t this instance be a situation where sufficient preparation isn’t possible?

Ibara: …… Oh dear, I truly admire Your Excellency’s insight. That’s certainly true.

There are many elements in the conversation that are difficult to predict. For example, your conversation partner.

Most recently, I’ve heard that Rhythm Link would invite Hakaze-shi. However, they also seem to be having trouble adjusting their schedule.

There’s a possibility that they’ll have a substitute as well. In that case, it’s unknown who the other party will be.

Personally, I believe that Your Excellency can respond as you are without preparing a script……

Depending on who you’re talking to, there’s a possibility that they’ll attack you if you let your guard down, so it’s safer to have some measures in place.

However, in situations where you can’t discern the enemy, you can only make vague plans……

Nagisa: …… So you plan to decline the offer?

Ibara: I want to avoid refusing it as much as possible……

We are currently pursuing a strategy to promote Eden through various media.

That’s why I want to take on as many jobs as possible to let the world know about Eden’s existence.

Nagisa: …… If that’s the case, this program will also be a part of that, wouldn’t it?

…… If so, I’ll take care of it.

Ibara: What? But Your Excellency, is it really okay to do it alone?

Nagisa: …… I just have to do what I normally do with Ibara without Ibara. I think I can do it on my own.

Ibara: Of course, in a nutshell, that’s what it means. It’s hard for me to even show up at the recording site this time, you know?

Nagisa: …… I understand. Even still, this is work that Ibara believes is worth doing.

…… That’s why you said you wanted to avoid rejecting the offer as much as possible. Am I wrong?

Ibara: Yes, it’s as Your Excellency says.

Nagisa: …… In that case, you just need to wish me a few words. If you do that, I’ll do my best for Ibara too.

Ibara: …… Understood. Then, in this case, I’ll leave it to you, Your Excellency.

Well, thanks to Your Excellency’s powerful words, I was finally able to make a decision. Thank you very much.

Directory | Next

[clairdelunelove]

A Light in the Fog Pt.I

dwight x reader, jake x reader, ace x reader, leon x reader, dbd survivor x reader

genre: fluff/comfort, based on gameplay!

warnings: cursing, brief mentions of injury (what's expected in dbd)

synopsis: a collection of various dead by daylight men and sweet, heartwarming interactions you have with them during Trials!

a.n. this isn't the usual programming but I figured to share just in case I have fellow dbd simps out there! also pls lmk if you play!! I need more friends that play dbd 🥺

-

-

dwight fairfield

aka: nervous leader

there it is again

the materialization of your incessant, solid heartbeat that felt like your rib cage was going to crack open whenever the killer was close 

serving as an ominous warning for what was about to come next  

the generator blows up beneath your imprecise fingers and a curse tumbles out of your mouth before you can consider better of it

and the crude expletive startles dwight 

“sorry,” you hastily apologize before continuing to work alongside him, “just sounds like they’re close to us.” 

dwight, however, maintains his swiftness while tugging the colorful wires within the generator, “you don’t need to apologize. just try to keep repairing.” 

and although he desperately tries to steady his voice, you notice the nervous bounce of his knee because he’s aware that the killer is notified of your current location

honestly, he’s an enigma that you’re unable to solve 

dwight carries the characteristics of being a pronounced leader,, locating and increasing the efficiency of teammates whenever he was in Trials 

at times, however, his jumpy behavior or how you’ve caught him biting at the tips of his nails contradicts all previous logic 

but he’s always like this: incredibly polite yet remarkably strategic 

a reluctant brave leader 

in your peripheral vision, you observe the methodical way his fingers pull at the wires,, how his dark brows furrowed from atop his thick-rimmed glasses due to his unrivaled concentration 

and his efficiency bolsters a wave of confidence to wash over you 

“good,” dwight hums in encouragement when the two of you work in flawless tandem, “that’s more like it.” 

soon, the shared generator is more than halfway progressed,, the increase of repair speed having a huge impact 

but the dire presence of the killer is forewarned in a vicious screech 

you both need to make a run for it 

dwight’s eyes hurriedly dart to yours before he tactfully orders, “get going, I’ll finish this!” 

it’s an executive decision,, one that forces him to contemplate so thoroughly that the edge of his hand comes up to push at his glasses 

“what? no,” you shake your head while desperately yanking at the wires in hopes of repairing the generator quicker, “we’re almost done with this and I can’t just leave you here.” 

and the second half of your sweet comment has his expression softening because, of course, he knows you’re worried about his well-being 

a corner of his lips lifted at the sentiment and it’s such a rare occurrence that you’re left stunned while he reassures you, “you’re always looking out for everyone but listen to me: let me watch over you.” 

and sure, dwight’s voice cracks during his confession (which stiffly tumbles out of his mouth) but your cheeks heat up regardless while his next words send you sprinting away with a stronger mentality 

“now,” he pauses to send you a single, assured nod, “show me what you can do!” 

-

-

jake park

aka: solitary survivalist

typically known as a solo survivalist,, not the type to become sidetracked during Trials 

prides himself in his ability to adapt in any circumstance 

an excellent teammate to have, especially in the Realms that are centered around the woods 

yet, he’ll struggle with building connections outside of Trials and is often found replenishing his toolbox alone while the others are gathered around the campfire

not the best at socializing due to his rebellious nature and tendency to flee when pressure grows, he’s uncertain on how to interact with the other survivors 

dark eyes scanning the group, he’d be vigilant yet silent in group settings like this 

everyone’s conversing,, attempting to take the edge off of the uncertainty of when the Entity would beckon them into another Trial  

light chuckles could be heard but the rare noise doesn’t sway his attention 

his fingers work methodically to clean off varying vice grips before laying them carefully in a metal toolbox resting by his feet 

and it isn’t until you sidle in the space beside him does he glance up 

“jake?” 

his name on your lips sounds soft, friendly, and it immediately snatches his attention, “(y/n).” 

it’s silent for a couple seconds,, but from the corner of his dark eyes he notes the skittish smile you offer him at the casual mention of your name 

you’re fumbling with something 

“made this for you to use in the next Trial,” you beckon for him to take the item from your hands, “I figured it might be helpful.” 

his gloved hands brush against makeshift cutting wire made from jagged metal wire and two wooden handles 

it’s an attempt,, that much is certain by the irregular and ragged notches in the design 

but the sentiment is unbelievably sweet 

“for me?” 

the question sounds foolish coming from him but his awkwardness is overlooked by you when you eagerly nod in response 

“you sure?”

just from the shape of it he’s aware that the cutting tool could be used to sabotage hooks (an action he’s never rationalized to commit during a Trial,, yet, it’s a consensus that he’s one of the most agile survivors that could pull off such a feat) 

but your blind, compassionate trust in him is the most relevant factor that he’s dazed from 

a bright grin tugs upon your lips at his realization, “of course. only you can pull it off, jake.” 

and it’s this initial encounter that sparks the habit of jake risking his life to sabotage any hooks whenever you’re being carried by the killer 

it’s a strange deed,, how the solo survivalist abandoned his previous ways if you were even in an ounce of danger 

because he’s sprinting to your rescue 

the time nor place never dwindles his ability to locate the closest hook, slide beside it, and grant you the chance to wiggle out of the killer’s grasp– all while clutching onto the cutting wire you gifted him 

-

-

ace visconti

aka: lucky gambler

“ace, you can’t just keep giving me items during the Trial.” 

your exasperation is lost on the male, however, because he’s already tipping the edge of his cobalt-colored hat towards you 

he’s a gambler 

a lucky one at that 

will continually push his odds of being caught in the basement while looting the permanent chest that’s tucked away in one of the dingy corners 

“just for you, sweetheart,” he casually mentions while bestowing the offering to you 

his breathing is absurdly stable,, considering that he trekked across the entire Realm just to personally hand you the gift 

pressing your lips in a firm line, you halfheartedly scold, “time is wasted if you keep this up, ya know.” 

and, naturally, he shrugs his shoulders in feigned apology while shooting you a charming grin

despite your reprimand you’re still curious on what he gifted you this time 

fingers digging through the contents, a noise of complete awe leaves your lips, “oh, ace.” 

because nestled in the middle of the medkit is a plastic bottle of styptic agent,, used to stop wounds from hemorrhaging 

highly beneficial to use while healing yourself or another teammate and the rarity of the item equates to it being incredibly valuable 

“it’s great but I can’t take this from you,” you pause to close the medkit, “you should have it.” 

his bright eyes peer down at you from behind his shades,, noticing the hesitant sweep of your gaze upon inspecting the item in your hands 

but ace has different plans 

shaking his head, he proceeds to place a gentle hand on your shoulder, “keep it. it should come in handy.” 

and of course it’ll be useful because you realize there’s even added gauze within the medkit to heal a couple more injuries 

it’ll give the team an advantage 

“it’s just a lot,” you fiddle with the box’s metal handle, “this is really good loot.” 

his brows shoot up at this but coolly responds, “what can I say? I’m just a lucky guy.”

he’s bargaining with you, you know that– except he isn’t expecting anything in return 

ace’s charismatic grin is contagious and soon a bashful smile dances on your lips 

and you’re not sure if it’s the warmth of his touch or the persuasive drawl of his voice,, but you cling onto the medkit with earnest

-

-

leon s. kennedy

aka: rookie police officer

“leon!” 

the holler of his name causes his wide eyes to land on your crouched figure 

naturally, you’re leaning into the side of the generator to pull at a bundle of wires and increase the probability of powering the exit gate  

he treads forward before dropping to his knees to assist you in repairing the generator, “fancy seeing you here.” 

and his voice is warm, welcoming, and everything that you adore about leon 

his uniform is slightly covered with remnants of blood and dirt but otherwise he seems safe  

“you scared me,” you sheepishly explained and gestured to the locker he just emerged from, “you need to tell us before you do that!” 

your chiding is only for show, however, because the mutual infatuation you both share for each other is blatantly obvious 

from lingering stares and giddy smiles, your fellow teammates are well informed of the potential relationship 

which is why the third person that was helping you complete the generator stands up to leave 

but not before giving you a discreet wink 

and needless to say, the rookie cop comments about the strange behavior, “I– what was that about?” 

he raises a brow but is immersed with guiding your fingers to the correct cluster of wires 

responding with a quick shake of your head, you wager a glimpse at him when he abruptly digs in his belt pouch 

“oh, before I forget,” leon opens his gloved hand to reveal a flashbang, “I got something for you.” 

before you can sincerely thank him, he drags his hand up to scratch the back of his neck and murmurs, “in case you need it.”   

and the sun’s sweltering rays only emphasize the tips of his reddened ears 

“is this what you were crafting in the locker?” 

you attempt– really, you do– to steady your voice but the gesture is just so overwhelmingly wholesome that your tone wavers 

and your hands instinctively raise to cover your face before you add in muffles, “I’ll keep it then.” 

he perks up at your declaration,, light-hued eyes glistening at the knowledge that you’ll hold onto his flash grenade 

a soft grin dances on his lips, “okay.”  

and there’s a comfortable silence that settles amongst you both 

that is, until leon piques up, “you know, you’re kinda cute when you’re embarrassed. gimme your number when we make it out of the Trial?”

[dreadfutures]

Loving LUMO: 2018 to Present :)

Just up in my feelings about my dog today. He's doing great! I love my dog! I just wanna talk about him. A lot. :) Like this is looooong.

I got my dog at the end of my senior year of undergrad, after I knew I got into a PhD program. I knew I couldn't make it through alone so I wanted a dog.

When I was young, I wanted a wolf! I wanted big fluffy scary looking dogs. Then I wanted a pretty, fluffy, exotic dog. But as I grew older and actually MET dogs (I didn't have a lot of them in my life before), I realized that those weren't the dog breeds for me. I wanted a dog that fit my lifestyle, but also a dog that NEEDED a home, and love. And I wanted to make an impact, rescuing a breed that was often found in overflowing shelters in the US.

Why coonhounds? **mentions of animal abuse, skip to the next section

In California, shelters are primarily full of huskies, chihuahuas, german shepherds, and pitbulls. Since I didn't know where I was going to live or what the ordinances would be, I reluctantly decided I couldn't get a pitty. Many of the chihuahuas, huskues, and GSDs in shelters have serious health problems, probably coming from puppy mills and unethical breeding situations. I knew that any dog could develop an expensive health condition (foreshadowing) but I wanted to find a breed where that was less likely to happen.

I had read that the less "pretty" working dogs are usually better bred. They're smart, learn quickly, and (many hunting dogs) are content with long lazy seasons on the couch. I also learned that hunting dogs are abused and abandoned after hunting season, especially when people get "hunting breeds" and assume all the complex training of hunting is instinctive--it's not, it must be trained. But these "Defective"/"Failed" hunting dogs are let go to freeze and starve, and shelters can't take all of them. Someone called them the chihuahua of the south lol.

“It is sad when they treat these dogs as ‘tools’ they can throw away, instead of treating them like family members.”

Whether dumped or lost, these hunting dogs end up in local shelters, if they’re lucky. Many times they end up shot, hit by cars, or die of starvation or disease.

Believe me I read up on all the downsides of adopting a rescue vs. getting a purebred puppy from a breeder. I read up on all the downsides of hunting breeds. And even so I knew this was probably going to be a good fit.

I also found Maddie on instagram, who is a gorgeous redtick coonhound and possibly the most well-trained dog in the world. I was convinced and turned to a national Coonhound Rescue that takes coonhounds from the south and moves them across the country to be loved in places where they're not so common.

Finding Lu

I originally did want a female redtick that looked like Maddie, so I put in an application for one. The rescue called me and said they had another dog in mind for me and my lifestyle, "But he has a lot of skin! That means he drools A LOT."

His name was Dallas.

Dallas is a handsome 2 year old American English Coonhound being fostered in [city]. He enjoys the simple life and loves nothing more than a warm, comfy place to sleep. He is housetrained, cratetrained and leashtrained; also good in the car. He would do well in a home with slightly older children and would make an excellent companion. This boy wants a loving and consistent family or person to show him how great his life can be. He weighs about 55 lbs and also does well with cats and other dogs.

This is the photo I was sent. :) I fell in love. This was going to be my dog! MY DOG. My first dog. Mine.

I was told he had been found on the streets, emaciated and sick, and that he had become an absolute counter surfer and couch potato in his foster home. And he could climb 10 ft fences if he saw a cat lol. They said he had "anxiety," but as I learned it was severe, severe PTSD from abuse.

I was originally going to name him Mo. For "Mopey." He had the saddest brown eyes and emo eyeliner, it seemed to fit. But "Mo" sounds a lot like "No!" and I soon realized they weren't kidding about hounds being independent and strong-willed. I still wanted "Mo" to be part of his name, but decided on LUMO as a chemistry reference since it was very relevant to my subfield I was going into. So he became "Lu."

The very first day I took him home, he had explosive diarrhea all over the car and there were no dog bathing places taking walk ins, so I had to haul his 35 pounds of skin and bones into the bath. Intense bonding experience to be sure.

He was so, so skinny. You can see in the photos how knobby his tail is, and how you can count his spine, and how all his ribs and his hips stick out. People would come up to me at restaurants and YELL at me "don't you FEED YOUR DOG?????? how can you be so cruel?" as if there wasn't a possibility that I was rescuing an emaciated and abused dog?

I thought he was skinny because of his past on the streets, and I think that was part of it for sure. But what I learned was that he wasn't just having digestive issues because he was "adjusting to his kibble" -- he's actually allergic to chicken, and he was on a chicken diet.

He was losing a lot of weight from the diarrhea, and he was SO itchy, and he had constant infections in those big, soft ears. We did a lot of elimination to figure out his allergies and he's actually allergic to a lot of things, but chicken is by far the worst.

As soon as I switched him to salmon, he started gaining weight really well, shooting up to a healthy 50 pounds. He also stopped getting constant ear infections!

The trauma

So the thing about Lu is that he isn't just "anxious." Anxious doesn't describe him:

He was terrified of blond men with sunglasses. Like just wanted to melt into the ground and phase through walls levels of terrified. My best friend and room mate was a blond man who wore sunglasses all the time. Fortunately he had grown up on an Estate with a whole bunch of working dogs and was so good at helping me get him over his fear. He was afraid of strangers in general, but none as much as blond and bald guys.

He was GREAT on leash from the start! But randomly, he would just...stop. Freeze, plant his feet, stare glassy-eyed into the distance at nothing at all. Nothing in particular triggered it. Not sounds, not anything I could identify in common. Just sometimes...he'd just freeze and shut down. I had to carry him sometimes as far as a football field to get home. Often it was right in the middle of the street. :( After ten or so minutes of staring, he would come-to, and he would sit down and look around all disoriented.

Also I had been warned about how some dogs "pull" on leash. It turns out that most people are talking about pulling...ahead. And training a dog who pulls ahead is WAY different than a dog who tries to pull backwards. Lu was so skinny that he could slip out of his harness, no matter what size of his harness. I quickly learned there was no tying him off and going into restaurants by myself, because he could EASILY chew through any leash in a few seconds, and he could slip right out of his harness and just DIP. But even on walks, during his PTSD flashback moments, he could pull back so hard his arms would come up by his head and he'd just noodle out of his harness.

He was terrified of stairs. Going up and down. My bedroom was on the second floor. The beach was down a steep flight of stairs.

He had no idea how to play with other dogs at all.

He was scared of grass. It was as if he had never stepped on grass before and thought it was lava. I'm suspicious that he might have been trapped in a concrete outdoor dog run or kennel for most of his young life.

He had persistent UTIs... and he counter surfed and ate a whole stick of butter, and went into acute pancreatic failure.

He had some sort of paw trauma. it was impossible to touch his paws, let alone clip his nails. No matter how skinny and weak he was, it took more than 5 people to hold him down long enough to clip his nails. He was terrible at the groomers. Dremels weren't any betters.

Pretty early on I had to settle for "progress" over "perfect."

We took baby steps together. From May to August, he became so much more outgoing. He fell in love with my two tall blond sunglasses guy friends. He started learning to get excited about toys. And we developed a routine so he wouldn't destroy my room when I left him alone.

I had to respect that he definitely, 100%, always knew what I wanted him to do when I gave him commands. And when he refused and said "No," there was no food, no toy, no incentive I could give him to get him to do it. At least not that time.

When I first moved to grad school that September, I had a lot of people in my cohort come over to my apartment. Lu hid under my bed the whole time and wouldn't take any treats to coax him out. We lay a whole pack of turkey in front of him and he wouldn't come out. :(

But within a few months, he had a growing circle of human friends that he was comfortable with. And honestly even by October of that year, if a new stranger came to the apartment, all they had to do was get up on the couch and offer him a Merrick toothbrush treat and he'd be in their lap.

Here he is with his companion cube in early 2019. He loved that suede couch lol.

Health issues :(

So because he ate a whole stick of butter and went into acute pancreatitis, we started monitoring his blood levels. They got better after treatment--but never back to "normal." They remained at the "hmm this looks like renal failure, Cirrhosis, or hepatopathy" levels, which was weird, because he was constantly getting happier and acting healthier every day!!

Eventually a vet suggested we see an internal medicine specialist. Turns out.... Lu's liver is like. Tiny. Like puppy sized. He has had this disease since he was a baby, which is why he's never known he was sick lol.

After about 9k of imaging and stains and biopsies, we learned:

He has copper hepatopathy, which today my new vet's jaw dropped as a like "WOW we HEARD about this in vet school but I've NEVER actually seen it! It's so rare!"

His liver is tiny, full of fibrosis, cirrhotic, tons of remodeling (in the bad way). His liver is ORANGE from how much copper is in it. The damage is completely irreversible. I have a copy of the biopsy & lab results and I can just imagine the scientist at the research institute they sent the samples off to, their voice as they wrote this report. It screams "HOW IS THIS DOG ALIVE?"

I just find it so funny, as another analytical scientist.

The other funny thing is that they prescribed him chelation therapy to help him get better (it didn't help and he doesn't get worse without it, so we have since stopped that; it was expensive). My PhD thesis is in metal chelation lolololol of Ni, Co, Cu. lololol

So that was an expensive process. He has to have a prescription low-copper diet, which has stopped most of his symptoms of this disease, and we have to do expensive blood tests to make sure he doesn't get worse.

And then he became a sock eater.

He passed the first few. Then he got sick. With the vet's help, he was able to pass it without surgery. And then the next time, it was life or death.

The vet I went to was so unethical and immoral but it was my only fucking option. I wouldn't have my dog here if my best friend at the time hadn't been wealthy enough to give me the 13k I needed on the spot, in cash, to save my dog's life with surgery.

In the hospital, the fucking awful vets:

claimed to use dissolving stitches. I don't think they did; I still feel them! 4 years later!!!

let him get a skin infection all over his body that made his paws swell up and bleed, and his paw pads fall off and bleed. It was terrifying. And cost me more money of course. It was so evil. He still has scarring all over his legs from it where fur hasn't grown back :(

He has bad teeth but according to the vet "not the worst! :)"

He expresses his glands in his sleep sometimes. UGHHHH they don't tell you that about dogs lol.

He still is terrible for claws. It's been worse and worse lately, to the point where I worry about how long his nails are and whether it will be bad for his joints. But it's the only thing he's really ever been aggressive for. :( I really worry about him. I have trained him to scratch a board of sandpaper to file them down, but they get sharp that way too lol.

Progress, not perfect. He lets me give him paw massages and check his nails and manhandle him, but just. Not clippers or dremel. :( Not there yet.

Anyway, he has been super healthy for many years now. He's got lumps and bumps and skin tags. The vet thinks he's about 9 years old, and definitely a senior. ;_; <3

Things I Love about LUMO

His ears are, I'm not kidding, the softest material in the world. And so warm. He loves it when I stick my finger in his ear and tickle his brain. He loves an armpit scratch. His tail used to be like, stuck, in such a sad position and I never thought he'd wag his tail and now it waves high all the time.

They told me he would probably never be a dog who plays. But when I got him, within a few weeks, I found the puppy inside of him. He runs like a silly rocking horse, completely uncoordinated and flopsy. He'll do fetch. He loves surgically disemboweling stuffed animals. He throws around his XTREME CHEW PLASTIC ANTLER and plays fetch with it with me.

He has several "spots" where I can get his leg thumping when I scratch him. He loves to be wrapped up in a burrito of blankets and sit in a sunbeam.

He leans on me and looks up at me with those big brown eyes and there's no fear or sadness in them anymore it's just sweetness and silliness.

He is so smart. He's attended a bunch of PhD level classes, and he's developed his own language. He's so smart. He knows how to tell me what he wants, he knows the rules and knows how to push them right up to the limit. He loves his sweaters. He will tell me what he wants by tapping on things with his paw. He knows that if I hold out my left hand it's to hold his paw and do a shake. If I hold out my right hand it means wait. He knows that the camera I have can see him and he'll knock it over so he can do mischief.

He loves his velvet chaise lounge. He loves his memory foam ultrasoft velvet bed. He loves his goose down comforter. He loves to sit on my pillow and fart. He basks in sunbeams and curls up in a tiny tiny little ball and he shrimps and sucks on his toes. He's basically a cat. He doesn't really want to go on walks, he pulls me back inside as soon as he's done his business. Except for when we have company--he loves walking with a pack of people.

When he talks to me, like just having a conversation, he sounds like a seal. Like a tortured seal. Or like a crying baby. He's never really figured out how to be a dog or sound like a real dog but we understand each other that's what matters.

He absolutely takes advantage of this to complain when I am not giving him what he wants. He'll roll over on the ground like a drama queen and wail and cry like I'm abusing him and it's because I'm across the room holding a pork chop that's just for me.

Today in the car he was WAILING like a seal, which usually means "LET ME OUT I NEED TO POOP" but after 3 or 4 tries to walk him, he made it clear that what he ACTUALLY meant was "PEDAL TO THE METAL GIRLS LET'S GO WHY AREN'T WE MOVING WHY IS THERE NO WIND ON MY FACE OR FLAPPING IN MY EARS MOOOOOOOOOVE."

For a while he was 69 pounds (NICE) but he's back to 64 lol. He stays between 63-70 pretty much depending on how active he is.

Anyway I have been reminiscing a lot because I figured it was time to add him to the "happy endings" page on the rescue website and I was going down memory lane.

Looking at the photo I took on the day I brought him home, and a photo I took last month, you can see his white face is spreading.

The defined white bit on his nose that whispers between his eyes has now spread to both his eyebrows, and his cheeks are getting quite white. But his eyes are bright and his ears are perked up and he is safe and warm and loved and stinky and soft. He gets fresh treats all the time (he loooooves celery, and pears, and sometimes carrots and sweet potatoes. and tortilla chips. and salmon oil.). He loves his prescription kibble and our routine. He has lovely friends and lovely car rides and he is just the best dog I could have asked for in my life when I got him and every day.

I've had to be so patient and calm and kind even when I was scared and angry, with his stress and his ptsd and his destructiveness and messiness. All he deserves and needs is love and he knows what's wrong and what isn't, sometimes he just can't help himself, and we move on together. He made sure I had a reason to come home and not sleep in lab during my PhD. He made sure I had a reason to get out of bed during my PhD.

And now we're just living our best lives together. :)

[nine-of-words]

Something Borrowed (Part One)

M Gargoyle x M Reader

STORY TAG || NEXT

Wordcount: 3486

Content Warnings: Discussion of a Breakup

I think this might be the closest thing to a romcom I've ever written, so that should inform what this one's going to be like.

You’re cursed to be alone.

You wake up, alone. You do your job, alone. You eat raw cookie dough in your pink silk pajamas while curled up in bed as you watch your programs, alone. Then you go to sleep, alone. 

Everything- alone.

You’ve nearly gotten used to it. Accepted it. Welcomed it, even.

It's certainly easier to not have to constantly worry about another person's feelings or needs.

Some people are just meant to be alone. 

Though, you never imagined you’d be one of those people…

You let out a long, dreary sigh as you pick up another glob of buttercream frosting on your offset spatula and smear it in a practiced movement against the side of the cake on the counter in front of you.

…It’s really not all that bad, you reason as a small smile finds its way onto your face.

There’s always cake.

Today is more of the same. Another slow-paced and quiet Tuesday morning like any other for your modest, but cozy little bake shop.

…Or at least it was.

The bell above the door jingles sharply, announcing a customer. You look up from the frosting job you’re working on, chasing the sullen quality from your person.

“Good moooorning!” A small, perky, business-casual clad faun says in a chipper sing-song, shattering the peace of the empty shop by calling out to you before you even have a chance to put on your customer service face and greet them. They quickly make their way over to the counter, their hooves clicking on the tile. They produce a lanyard-bound ID from their vest pocket and present it to you. “I’m an investigator with the mana bureau.”

The small picture does indeed show the person before you, clearly trying to hold back a smile for a neutral, bureaucratic photo.

Kirkja Papadakis-Kierkegaard, 

3rd level Mage-Investigator, 

Certified Cursebreaker.

“Oh- Um, Hello. What can I do for you, Investigator…” You tilt your head at their ID, trying to reason out how to pronounce their last name without slaughtering it.

“Just call me Kirby! Everyone does!” They laugh, and after they give a cursory glance around the shop to ensure there’s no other customers, they continue; “I have some things I’d like to chat with you about! Is now a good time?”

“Sure, it's as good a time as any.” You smile wryly and motion to the bakery case. The first thing you learned growing up in your small, rural village's only bakery is that baked goods are an excellent ice breaker for nearly any social situation. “…Can I get you anything? Complimentary, of course.”

“Um. Yes???” Kirby basically scoffs, and you see the familiar glazed look in their eyes that you so often see in customers as they lean over the case. "That one." 

They point to a pastel pink-blue swirled crown of frosting with a puff of spun sugar nestled in the center. 

"Candy floss? Good choice. I'm testing this flavor out, so you'll have to let me know if you like it." You turn to grab a small plate from the rack behind you. "You can sit at the counter if you'd like."

"Don't mind if I do." Kirby lifts themselves up onto the bar stool with a grin.

After plating their cupcake and setting it in front of them, you pull up your own beat-up wooden stool you keep behind the counter and take a seat across from them. There’s no customers to assist right now and you don’t have any tastings scheduled until later this afternoon, so you might as well make yourself comfortable. You can always do the tasks you had planned later- one of the perks of being your own boss, you suppose.

“So. I’m here about a string of mishaps of magical origin that have happened across several weddings in the area.” Kirby starts, peeling off the paper and happily taking a large bite out of their cupcake. “Mmph- They all involved the wedding cake. As it would happen, my investigation so far turned up the only thing the couples involved all had in common was that they had gotten their wedding cakes from you.”

"Me…?” You say incredulously. “What could’ve happened?"

"Cakes exploded." Kirby says as elegantly as possible through a mouthful of cake and frosting.

“They exploded…?” You say, aghast, looking directly at the potential explosive in their hand. “And you’re sitting here eating one?!”

“Don’t worry about it! We’re not at a wedding.” Kirby says with a little chuckle, but it reassures you little. “Plus, I’d know if this bad boy was going to magically explode, for sure.”

“Oh no, that’s…” You cover your mouth with your hand as the information sinks in. It didn’t occur to you that a curse was something that could spread. You'd hate to think that you were passing on this misfortune to your customers, even the more difficult ones. “You don’t think… Are curses actually contagious? I’d feel terrible…”

"Sometimes. It’s complicated. Do you mind if I do a quick reading?”

“Ah, no. Go… right ahead?”

You’re not exactly sure what a magical audit entails. Being a numan, magic is a force that generally doesn’t directly touch your life often, outside of being in periphery to it on a daily basis.

“Great.” They put down the cupcake.

Kirby closes their eyes and stays quiet and still, which despite you not knowing them very long at all, seems to be starkly at odds with their usual demeanor. The only movement they carry out is bringing their hand up to hold the bolo tie at their neck.

You can swear that you feel a small thrum in the air - but knowing you have no capability for feeling energy magic yourself, you think you may just be imagining it.

And then, after a few more moments of slightly awkward silence; it’s over, just like that. All in all, it’s a rather underwhelming affair.

"Wowie, it's a shame, this shop is so cute but the vibes are waaaaay off! Magically speaking, that is. The decor is immaculate.” They finish fiddling with their bolo tie and open their eyes, a neon cyan hued glow fading from their irises. “I could tell from the moment I walked in something was funky, but this is just… Oof."

“That doesn’t sound like particularly good news.”

“It could be worse! But you have… hmmm, how to put this without it sounding scary…” They say as they pick their treat back up in one hand, and wiggle their finger at your general person with the other. "You’ve got a big glob of nasty energy hanging out all over you. Centered in your chest area.”

“Ah, that’d probably be because I’m cursed.” You say, matter-of-fact.

"That’s sure what it looks like! ” He says in a surprisingly bubbly tone, despite the worrying subject matter. “Don’t worry. Curses are my speciality, so I’ve got you. We just have to get to the bottom of things, and I can help get rid of it!”

“That would be lovely.” You say sheepishly. “How can I help?”

“Why don't you tell me a little about how an average day goes here?" They pull out a pen and a notepad from their bag. You lace your fingers together on the counter in front of you, trying to resist the urge to chew your nails down from the nerves.

You recount out loud your day so far: You came down early, baked off some of your batters, and while they were cooling you started a fresh batch of your signature buttercream. Not too sweet, just right. You piped a batch of cupcakes to add to the case, double checked your pars for the day, and wrapped delicate little treat boxes with fancy little bows for display.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

"Hmm. That sounds very picturesque, but none of that particularly screams 'OOOH NOOO I'M CURSED!!!' to me." They fiddle with the pen between their fingers in thought. “Usually there’s more… overtly magical disturbing spooky things,  y’know. Blood seeping from the walls, unexplained patches of goo, disembodied cackling skulls… that sort of thing! Almost like a haunting.”

"No, nothing like that."

"Nothing at all? With this level of energy around here, I'm surprised you're not having constant poltergeist activity."

"Apologies. I'm afraid my life is a bit dull." 

“Oh, don’t feel like you have to apologize! If anything, it's nice to have a curveball every now and then. Any little thing you can tell me might help, even if it doesn’t seem important at first."

You wrack your brain, working your hands on the hem of your apron, trying to jog your memory.

"I suppose there could be some wee things. Sometimes things seem to get lost or moved to places I didn't put them. Or… when I'm closing the shop down for the night, I'll feel dread like I'm being watched, even though I know I'm alone… I chalked it up to being forgetful and sad."

"Hmm. Forgetful- sure, happens to everyone." They click the pen top on the counter rhythmically. "But what's there to be sad about?"

"Er…" You hesitate. Exactly how personal are you supposed to get here?

The last thing you want to do is pathetically dump your issues on a stranger that's forced to be here, just because you have no one else to talk to.

These days, you’re severely lacking in social support. You’ve lost all of your friends in the breakup, as if your ex had won custody of them. There’s always your family, and you call home often. But you can only say so much about how you’re feeling to them- your parents are getting up there in age, and you don’t want them to worry too much about you. Your sister may have single-handedly kept you sane during the worst of it, but you don’t want her to bear the full emotional burden. It doesn’t help that every single phone call has a segment asking when you’re moving back, either…

"I’m not here to judge, so tell me everything. Even if you’ve committed a crime! That’s not my jurisdiction, so I could care less,” He giggles brightly. “Unless your victim cursed you from beyond the grave - then maybe it is? If that's the case I’d have to make a few phone calls to find out.”

You let out a huff of a laugh. Their energy is infectious, but you’re immediately faced with a huge obstacle.

…Where do you even start?

How can you condense nearly a full year of heartbreak into a mere minutes-long explanation?

Somehow, you find your words.

“Everything was fine until I opened that letter,” You finally start. "After that, my entire life fell apart."

"Ah, now that sounds like something I can work with!" The faun starts hastily jotting down notes as you speak. "Do you know the sender? Do you still have the letter? What did it say?"

"No, I don't know the sender- and probably, but I’ll need to look through storage-" You begin fielding his rapidfire questions one at a time. "But to paraphrase: everyone who had a hand in their failed marriage would suffer like they did- that any love I had or will have from now on will wither before blooming.”

"Yikes. Sure sounds like a disgruntled ex-client would be the first place to look.”

“I… didn’t realize it would pass on to the wedding cakes I make…" You say, still absolutely gutted at the thought. “I hate to think something I made ruined someone’s wedding…”

“Hey, technically we don’t know if that's the case yet! It could all be a coincidence. But I'm guessing something happened to support the letter’s claim?"

"Yes." You clear your throat, trying to dislodge the sudden frog stuck there. "The day after I received the letter my… well. My ex-fiance left me with no warning."

"Oh no, I'm so sorry to hear that. Had you been together long?" 

"Eight years. He was my first boyfriend after I moved here. It was so sudden… things were normal- they were perfect. Or so I thought... Then just like that… He was gone. And so were all of our plans… I had to cancel everything. No refunds of course, but it wasn't even losing all the gold that hurt. It was hellish." You let out a shuddering sigh, realizing you're going off on a tangent. "Sorry, I probably shouldn't be making this interview into a therapy session…?"

"You go right ahead and spill as much as you need. I love tea."

You don’t need more encouragement than that to take the rare opportunity to vent. You find you continue to blab long after Kirby has finished their cupcake, them listening along attentively and responding with support or disgust where appropriate. They’re listening so intently, you’re not in a hurry to stop yourself.

"...Then all of our friends sided with him. Or at least it felt that way, since they all seemed to fall off right after…”

"Oh, that is so uncalled for!” Their ears flick in shared indignance before a grin finds its way back on to their face. “Don't worry, you'll see enough of me during this investigation, I'll be your new bestie by time we're done here. Especially if there’s cake like this is involved, haha-"

You laugh and nod, despite being skeptical of that claim. You don’t really think you even remember what it feels like to have a mutually supportive friendship at this point, so while it would be nice… you’re not holding your breath.

With that, Kirby tells you that they’ll be back the next day to start combing through your past client files, reassuring you when you question if it’s safe to keep selling cakes in the meantime. Then, like that, they’re off. And just in time, too, as it’s just about the time that customers tend to start turning up, and you still have a cake to finish frosting.

Hours later, you're finishing tidying up the back for the night. The colors of the end of sunset are staining the back window already.

It's been a long, eventful, emotionally draining day. You certainly didn't expect to bare your deeply personal relationship trauma to a stranger today. Kirby was very kind about everything, but still…Then, you got hit by an unexpected rush, on top of that.

Though, you have to admit that it was nice, not only having some validation of your curse being a real thing that is affecting your life, but being given a small glimmer of hope that it may be curable.

Usually you would throw yourself into work and relish not having to think about what happened to you at all. So, while having to talk about it felt a bit like picking at the open wound- in a way, you feel a tiny bit lighter having spoken to someone about it, even if you know that feeling won’t last.

After all, you can already start to feel the heavy sense of loss settling back in now that you’re alone again, a constant weight on your chest.

You're more than ready to go upstairs, relax and turn your brain off for the evening. Perhaps watch a program with people even more woefully unlucky in love than you are. Even if you’re doing it by yourself…

You glance at the clock.

Just six minutes until close…

And of course, that's when you hear the telltale jingle of a waiting order go off.

You heave a sigh. Then you stand up straight and wipe your floured hands on your apron, putting a customer service smile on, despite the fatigue. 

Walking out into the front of house, you see the culprit is already physically present. 

A gargoyle man dressed in a fine suit stands near the self-ordering kiosk, checking the watch on his wrist. The pink silk paisley of his tie charmingly matches the blush sheen of the quartz horns protruding from the tawny stoneskin of his forehead.

Immaculate grooming. Good posture. Excellent sense of style. 

Your love life may be an absolute trainwreck, but you’re relieved you can still recognize a handsome man when you see one, apparently.

"Hello there," You greet the well-dressed man in your shop, trying to keep voice sounding smooth and unfazed. "It'll only be a moment and I'll have your order together.”

“Hey, good evening. Take your time.”

A dazzling smile. And a nice voice too. 

You’re slightly weak in the knees.

You’re suffering as you meticulously pick his order out of the case, trying to convince yourself that you’d be this picky and only selecting the nicest looking cupcakes for any customer, not just the ones you find particularly attractive.

"Here you are, Carlyle, " You read his name off the screen and deftly seal up the bottom of the rosy pink paper box with a strip of tape before setting it back on the counter. "Can I get you anything else?"

"No, nothing more for me. Then again-" He squints at the chalkboard above you, and seemingly not finding the information he's seeking, adds: "Do you not serve coffee here…?"

"Ah, I'm afraid not. This is a cake shop, not really much of a cafe.”

“Too bad. It’s likely going to be an all-nighter, so I thought I’d get a pick-me-up beforehand.”

“Well- are you in a hurry?" You have a wild idea, and speak before thinking twice.

"I could not be." A small smirk plays on his lips, and his deep brown eyes glint with curiosity piqued. "It depends on the reason."

"Alright, you sit tight for a moment, will you? I'll be right back."

You duck into the back and up the stairs to your loft flat, and in a whirlwind prepare a regular cup of coffee in your single-serving machine. You blaze through the motions, muscle memory from going through your morning routine in a half-asleep haze shining through. You grab whatever mug is closest at hand and stare down the machine while it whirs and grinds, willing the two minutes to pass faster.

You hustle back down the stairs, pausing at the bottom landing to take a deep breath before emerging into the shopfront once more.

"Hope you don't mind storebrand," You lilt and slide the steaming mug over the counter to him, handle pointing towards him. "Be careful please, it's quite hot."

"Ah, it smells good." You cringe as he immediately takes a long sip from the still surely boiling hot beverage, before remembering a gargoyle's temperature tolerance is much different than your own. "I really appreciate it. However…" 

You tilt your head slightly, waiting for Carlyle to finish voicing his concern.

"Is your partner going to be okay with me using this mug?"

"My- wha- huh?" You babble in confusion before realizing that he's turned the mug's design to face you to illustrate his point.

WORLD'S BEST BOYFRIEND, the well-loved mug reads, the hand-glazed font bordered by multiple pink hearts.

Trevor made you that mug years ago, and you can’t bring yourself to throw it out. It used to be your favorite… And even now, after everything, it's still apparently the one you subconsciously reach for.

Your hand finds your face in utter mortification. You barely muster the courage to peek through the crack in your fingers.

"Oh. Oh, gosh. I- That’s-" You stumble over your words further, still flustered when you lower your hand. Then, you settle on keeping it simple instead of going into your own personal tragedy too deeply. "No, I'm single."

"Hmm." Carlyle seems to at least have the sense of mercy to not pry further. 

"W-Would you like cream or sugar?" You swiftly and blatantly change the subject. You can feel that your cheeks and ears are burning up. "Those I definitely have down here…"

"No, I prefer it this way. This is going to sound odd, all things considered, but I'm actually not a fan of sweets."

"Oh? But-" You pointedly glance at the box of cupcakes you just packed.

"I know, I know. It's for the rest of the team." He shrugs, shoving his free hand in his pocket and swirling the coffee in the mug like he's a sommelier. "It's been a difficult case, so I thought everyone could use a treat, then I somehow got roped into pick-up duty as well."

"I see…very kind of you. But why here, then?"

"The ladies are all crazy about this place." He grins. "Though now, I see why. Excellent service."

You can't help but smile at the praise. Thank heavens for Welp.

"So, what more do I owe you for this?" He gestures with the nearly empty mug.

"Oh, nothing! Consider it complimentary." You lean on the counter playfully. "But maybe you could come back sometime? I love a good challenge- and I bet I could find something sweet that you do like."

"Hahah- challenge accepted, then."

>> ✨ MASTERLIST >> ☕ KO-FI

[that-student-that-has-homework]

Heyy, I’ve been reading your wonderful one piece works for a while — and I couldn’t stop wondering how are you actually doing those magnificent headers?

Like… hello? The great quality, with additional 3D-alike details I could catch by my eyes? I got only Ibis Paint X on mobile, since I’m only a young man that literally two months ago went on a life-time ‘adventure’ of living alone in a small apartment.

In short — I got no money to pay for additional graphics/drawing programs, not yet at least

Hello!

Thank you! I'm glad you enjoy my writing - I'm curious to know what's your favorite piece / part? Also I'm so happy you like my headers? Makes it feel worth it to spend time on them! :D

I have excellent news for you, I used a mix of Canva and Photopea. They're both FREE!

I'll be explaining the process for making these two kinda? The full tutorial is below the cut, to be courteous to the other folks, hope you don't mind?

Though I am hearing that Canva has given people some grief. But Photopea is just *chefs kiss*

If you've ever used photoshop, Photopea is essentially a free photoshop, and it even has the automation tools! An absolute lifesaver when you have multiple layers you want to export (but that's for larger projects not this)

I'm going to assume you have basic knowledge of layers in digital drawing programs for this. If anything isn't clear: ask me, I'll clarify!

//-------------------------------------------------

My General Process is:

Search for official art / images

bring it into canva / photopea

crop / arrange images to match the dimensions

select a thematic color that is associated with the character

separate the foreground from the background

mess around and test things until they work

//--------------------------------------------------

Given "Louder than Words" is the latest one I've made, I'll start with the process for it.

Dimensions: 3000 x 1055 px dpi: 96

//-------------------------------------------

Let's Get Crackin'

Alright let's grab some official art so we're not using any fanart without the artist's permission

I try to pick images that feel relevant enough to what I'm trying to make. For example: the image for the Matching banner shows the ASCE tattoo which is super important in that fic

2. Let's arrange them onto a banner where each individual image has the same/similar dimensions to the rest

That's probably part of why you like these. To a certain extent they have similar dimensions, so they have a uniformity that's pleasing to the eye! (It's not perfect because I threw perfectionism to the wind because this is tumblr not my portfolio) Tip: if you have 3 images and only 2 that have similar dimensions, and the 3rd one can't be cropped logically: but the one that's a different aspect ratio in the middle!

3. lets arrange them in such a way that the borders all feel like they're the same/equal width/thickness

you might find that you have to shrink some images for this, that's fine.

ALTERNATIVELY: if you're going with one image crop it so it's just the relevant info and it matches the dimensions (3000 x 1055 px)

We have our base! Now let's add some color, and direct the viewer's eye together!

4. pick out a color that you think matches your character / vibe - that color is going to be your background Given I'm making an Ace banner: orange is the color I'm going with

I went and named my layers for this lol. The numbers represent the opacity, and they aren't important. I just kept changing the opacity until I liked the way things looks. But here's the secret to the 3D feel:

Motionblur (+ moving it about)

Separating the foreground and background and dulling out the background.

I'm going to show you my process so you can see the effects, but first let's give you some quick skills:

//------------------------------------

SKILLS / THINGS I THINK ARE HELPFUL

//------- Select Similar

magic wand -> select something -> right-click -> select similar This works best when you have high contrast images (like manga panels that are black and white). You can select the black or the white areas. Depending on what works better for you. TIP! Invert selections with ctrl + i Say you know that you want to select everything but Ace's face in the second panel. Select his face with the magic wand then ctrl + i, and that's the only thing NOT selected

TIP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Please, please, please, duplicate your original image and work on the duplicate layer. This helps you SO much. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! TIP! Check your selection tolerance! This could be why too little, or too much is being selected.

//------- The Move Tool

Shortcut key: v While the move tool is active, you can nudge the stuff on whatever layer with your arrow keys Shift + arrow key = 10 px move (generally)

//------- Layer Locking

1- Layer Blending Mode (see Overlay vs Multiply vs Normal) for how this can affect results) 2- Opacity: how see through it is / isn't 3- Lock Transparency (it's the little checker board) 4- Lock Layer (looks like a lock) 5- Lock icon that appears when anything on the layer has been locked More on 3 Lock Transparency: You can only paint on / modify what's on that layer. You CANNOT add anything to any area that is already transparent Here's a demo of what you can do with this power:

Here's the original Image - notice how it's just the lineart with a transparent background.

It's powerful: abuse it

//------- Overlay vs Multiply vs Normal

I think seeing this is the best way to visualize how different modes can affect the color.

//--------------------------------

Back to the Tutorial

!!I IMPORTANT NOTE !!

Please play around with the opacity slider to figure out what opacity works best for you on the multiple different layers we're about to make / work with. It's up to your own style to figure this out. Next: please feel free to not follow all of it. Add more layers, add less layers, take the base principles and go wild! :D

5. Separate the lineart from the background and save it as a new layer 6. Duplicate it and set it to overlay, or set it to overlay immediately

7. Duplicate that lineart layer twice and set the blending mode to overlay 8. lock transparency on the top one and change it to be a dark grey 9. Apply motion blur to both:

Main menu bar -> Filter -> Motion Blur I made it so that the grey layer was blurrier than the black layer

10. More them around a little to give it a "3D effect" as you called it.

It creates shadows under the lines - I was aiming for an effect similar to chromatic aberration (chromatic aberration is a valid way to add punch to your stuff too!)

So this is what things look like now - painful, but let's keep going

11. Duplicate the ORIGINAL / BASE lineart layer, that you DID not apply motion blur to -> set the blend mode to multiply (reduce opacity for it to actually take effect)

okay that's less painful here's what the layers look like right now:

let's bring more focus to Ace's face, and push the background farther away:

12. Use the magic wand tool to quickly select large areas of the faces / focal area / foreground and the lasso tool to refine things

TIP! Hold shift + click -> add to selection Hold Alt + click -> subtract from selection

13. On a new layer with blending mode -> lighten, fill that selection to be white

If you look at it, you'll notice that it is ALREADY starting to draw our attention to his face, but the background is kinda aggressive, so let's dim that down

TIP! Right-click on the gradient tool to find the paint-bucket tool

TIP! Sample All Layers: Turning this option off makes it so that you only work with the content on THAT specific layer. Turning it on makes it so that it is working while taking all other layers into consideration.

14. ctrl + click on the "white foreground" layer to select the contents of that specific layer (pink thing is your mouse)

15. ctrl + i to invert selection and ON A NEW LAYER (layer mode -> multiply) fill that with a complementary color

16. I did one last thing where I took the original base (before we separated the lineart) and added it to the very top and played with the opacity to get something less in your face (layer blend mode was set to NORMAL)

And that's it!

More considerations that I take:

I want the banner to be "thin" or not square, so it doesn't take up too much screen real estate on people's devices

I don't want readers having to scroll too much to get to my writing (which is the whole point of the post, let's not waste their time making them look for things)

I want the banner content to be relevant enough?

ie: with Matching: I wanted the ASCE tattoo to be visible. With matching I wanted Ace to not look too happy in some of them.

I'm also trying to avoid spoilers, I hated getting things spoiled, so I'm trying to be careful that the images I pick don't spoil anything really.

Congrats on starting life on your own! I did that whole living by myself thing too! Tip: keep the pantry stocked with lentils, beans, pastas, baking essentials, rice. They really come in a clutch when you're hungry.

[townofcrosshollow]

Using Git for Twine Games

A while back, I somehow managed to copy the contents of one file and overwrite a different file, meaning the entire section of the map was lost for good. I had to reconstruct it from snippets of prose written in separate documents. It sucked. And that motivated me to try something that would stop that problem from ever happening- hosting my project on GitHub!

Git sounds really fancy and hard to understand, but it's really not! So I'm going to walk you through how to use it to back up your files and do much, much more.

This tutorial expects you to have an already set up Tweego folder and VSCode. If you don't know how to get that started, @manonamora-if has an excellent ready-to-use folder with an explanation of how to use it.

What is Git?

In short, git is a kind of version control. Say you're working on a coding project with somebody else, and you need to work on the same file they were working on. But how do you know you're working on the right version of that file? Maybe they forgot to send you the newest version. Or maybe you both have to make changes at the same time. It would take a lot of effort to manually splice together everybody's changes, let alone identify what each of you had changed. That's what git's job is. Git identifies what has changed about a file, notes those changes, and updates the "main" files to match. That way, everything stays consistent, and big files can be updated easily.

Okay, but what benefit does git provide to you, somebody who's just working on a solo project with very little code? Well for one, it would have completely fixed my problem. Instead of overwriting all of my work, git would have shown me that the file had been changed. Then, I could simply click a button to revert the change. Neat! It also means you can keep working on the same project from multiple locations without losing progress. Say you're working on your game on your home computer, but then you want to keep working on your school laptop. All you'd have to do is "push" your changes to save them to your master file, and then "pull" the changes when you get to school. Neat

The Basics of Git

Okay, but what does "push" and "pull" mean? Git's confusing, but the basic terms you'll be encountering don't have to be! Here's some terminology:

Git - This is the program that goes on your computer to manage your files. It does all of the version control.

GitHub/GitLab/BitBucket - These provide servers you can host your git repositories on.

Repositories - This is a fancy word for a folder that's being maintained by git. Every file in a repository is getting analyzed by git for changes.

Local vs Remote - Your local repository is the one hosted on your computer, and it's the one you're editing. The remote one is the one hosted on a site like GitHub.

Stage - When you stage a file, you're getting it ready to commit it.

Commit - A commit is like saving your progress as a new update. You can go back to a commit later if you messed something up.

Push - When you "push" your commits, git will look at your changes, go into the remote repository, and individually change all of those things in the "main" branch.

Pull - Just like pushing, when you pull, you're taking changes from the remote repository and updating your local one to match it.

Under the cut, I'll show you full step-by-step (with photos!) of how to set up your game with GitHub using VSCode!

Setting Up Git With VSCode

Lucky for you, VSCode has built in integration with GitHub, which means you don't have to download any new programs other than git itself. You'll just have to set it up. A note- I'm not sure at what point exactly in this process VSCode prompts you to install git, because I'm not going to install it on another computer just for this tutorial haha. VSCode will provide the installation, just go along with the default settings and you'll be fine.

So first, make a Github account. It's free!

Now, open VSCode. Here's our project! You're going to want to click on that third button down in the side menu, the Source Control tab.

Under source control, you'll see this option. Click it.

Aaaaand it's done! That was easy, right? Now your folder is a git repository. Crazy!

Before you can put all of this up in GitHub, you'll need to push all of your files. Type a brief message (try "Initializing" to feel like a real cool coder), press commit, and VSCode will ask if you want to skip staging and just commit everything. Yes! Yes you do!

Now that all of your "changes" have been committed, let's publish your new repository to GitHub. Click on the new button that says "publish branch." When the popup appears, click "Allow" to give VSCode access to your GitHub account and sign in. Back in VSCode, you'll see this:

You're probably going to want it to be private, otherwise anyone on the internet could see all of your writing! Which is cool if it's a public coding project that people might want to download and use for their own projects, but if you're not a fan of code diving, leave it private.

Using Git To Help You Write

Now that you've got your folder set up as a git repository, it'll change the way VSCode looks. VSCode is using git's info to know where you've made changes, and it'll represent those changes in the UI. Here's what those look like:

If you click on those lines, you'll get to see this fancy new panel that highlights all of your changes:

So let's say we have a scene, and we aren't happy with how it's looking, but we aren't sure if we want to make one change or a different change. Instead of backing up all of your stuff or copy and pasting it to test it, you can just make whatever change you want and click that backwards facing arrow to revert it back if you aren't happy with it. You can do the same for things like CSS- when you've made some good progress and want to save your changes, commit them. Then any more changes you make will be easy to revert back if they don't look right. Groovy!

Now that everything's set up, it's as easy as committing your changes when you're satisfied with them and pushing those commits to back up your work.

Pat yourself on the back! You just learned (the very basics of) how to use git! You absolute genius!

If you have any questions while following this tutorial, feel free to ask! My askbox is always open!

[littledreamling]

Something that's been rotating in my mind like pastas in a microwave lately is : how does Hob's brain, and particularly his memory, works with his elongated life ?

this is prompted by one of your latest reblogs regarding Hob's memory, the fact that's you're actually a student of science, and because I'm pretty sure you wrote or reblogged material for an AU in which Hob became a neurosurgeon instead of a History professor in modern days, which leads him to study people suffering of the sleepy sickness, which in turns leads him to Dream's identity, or something, but I cannot find it again on your blog and maybe I'm mistaken and this sounds completely out of the blue, apologies

Because, correct me if I'm mistaken but our brains aren't fully developed until ~30 years old, which is why it's easier to learn during this period of our lives. But then it retains a considerable plasticity and we may reprogram entire neural pathways for purpose they weren't initially generated to fulfill still (like when someone goes blind and they develop extremely acute hearing or sense of touch because the part of their brain previously alloted to vision has been reprogrammed for hearing/touch instead). Right ?

Which means Hob's brain and memory is functioning just as fine as any 33 years-old's, since he is sparred the decay of his grey cells. But also ... Hob's brain, and memory is, ultimately, finite. There's only so much grey matter his skull can hold !!

He has probably started establishing sorts of "well-memorising" rituals at one point in his life, to make sure not to forget certain precious memories ... and it's probably a non-negligible reason why he got into History too !! He gets to make a living out of churning and reflecting on the past and keeping it vivid.

But there are also parts of his brain, memories and skills that necessarily get overwritten by new memories and skills ? And of course, our brains aren't like hard drives, entire sections of his memory wouldn't suddenly be wiped out. Some memories and skills would simply wither away at the outskirt of his brain, rustying until they get vacuumed into oblivion ... but what do I know about how amnesia work ?? I'm just a Japanese undergraduate and a librarian who writes !!

But combining that with a warped sense of time passing ... Hob used to be excellent on horseback. Of course, he's ridden more horses than any rider throughout his life as a soldat and a bandit, and later as a knight. Sure his title was honorary, and he was no longer a warrior then, but one didn't carve out a niche in England's nobility for themselves, let alone hosted the Queen, without virtosity in horseback fox-hunting.

Then time passes, centuries come and go, and it's been a small eternity since Hob last rode a horse. And he misses it, but he's a busy man, and one does business much more easily inside of a coach than on a horse's back. Plus it's fine, riding a horse is like riding a bike, one simply doesn't forget how to once they've learnt it. Speaking of which, bikes are fantastic !! Such elaborate mechanic would have looked like witchcraft to actually-33-years-old-Hob and yet, it's one about anyone can afford in these days and age ...

Before he realises, centuries have passed without riding a horse. And then Hob finds himself invited to monitor a Renaissance Fair as an historian, and there is jousting on the program, and he somehow finds himself arguing with the knight-wanabees over the inaccuracy of their horses' harnessing, and all they can respond is that historically-accurate harnessing wouldn't be safe for them to ride with, and Hob finds himself oddly riled up by this, and he might not say it, but he thinks loud that "Ah ! Back in my days, people didn't need all of that frill, because we knew how to ride horses," as he climbs on one, intending on demonstrating the ease of today's riders ... and almost breaks his arm in his fall upon a few steps from his mount.

Hob Gadling might know how to ride a bike nowadays, but no longer a horse ...

Uh I might have wandered off a bit here, but my point is, for all the enthusiasm Hob carry with him throughout his immortality, an abundance of oblivion for an abundance of novelty and experiences is a price of which payment he cannot escape.

And that is quite dampening ... but I had to inflict this upon you because I want to hear your thoughts on it Ꮚ•ꈊ•Ꮚ

I’m actually screaming and crying about this, you have no idea. I’m going to try to keep this short because I have about four projects due tomorrow so I can’t devote an hour to pouring my heart and soul into this ask like I want to but this is actually making me go feral!!

First and foremost, I should say that… we don’t really know how memory works in the first place, even in regular humans. I mean yeah, we understand that memories go to short term and then get transported to long term, and there’s a whole lot that goes into that, but it’s kind of a squiggly, imprecise method (and I’m sure there are others who could offer far more insight than me, and I’d love to hear it!) so comparing Hob’s memory to ours is a little difficult, to say the least. But let’s for the moment, assume that his memory works the same way: he can only hold so much information in his brain. You’re absolutely correct about the brain’s plasticity and the fact that Hob would’ve been given his immortality pretty much at the height of his brain’s functioning power (as long as you subscribe to the headcanon that he was ~30-35 at the time of his and Dream’s first meeting) so yeah, he’d have a pretty good memory! But like you said, not infinite. He’s only human, after all, and this is where I blacked out and my angst brain took off in leaps and bounds (sorry @levi1088 for spamming you out of the blue and also making you sad, I’m about to do it again) because thinking about Hob’s memory, about what he’s lived through and lost and forgotten will always make me feel like my ribs are being ripped from my chest, so I’m going to endeavor to make you feel the same way because I’m evil like that

I can’t even begin to fathom all of the things Hob has forgotten over the centuries. Names, places, skills, scents. He always told himself that he’d never forget the sound of a blade being unsheathed or the gasp of air that a man makes when his lungs have been punctured, but he eventually does. When he watches period war movies, he criticizes the sound effects, claiming inaccuracy, but he also can’t remember what it really sounded like, only that it didn’t sound like that. He told himself he’d never forget his sisters’ names, but he forgot them long before he learned his letters (working at a printing press doesn’t necessarily mean he knew the words he was printing, especially because the majority of what he would’ve printed would’ve been in Latin, not English) and with no records, their very existence has disappeared into smoke and grave dirt. Can you imagine the moment when he realized he couldn’t remember his mother’s face? Or Eleanor’s? Or Robyn’s? When he realized he could no longer remember the scent of his childhood home or the sound of his father’s laugh?

His memory isn’t any better than ours! And I’d like to comfort you (and myself) by saying that Dream could conjure up those things in the Dreaming, but he can only draw from memory; once Hob no longer remembers it, it’s gone forever. AND THEN!! The warping of memories!! Every time you remember something, it gets rewritten in your mind, so even if Hob remembered every detail about his life (which we’ve already established that he doesn’t), he probably only thinks he does, because those early memories have been warped beyond belief. And he can’t go back and check because his parents were nobodies, his siblings all died in the plague, his friends died in war. None of them got portraits painted of them, none of them could afford the paper to keep diaries or sketchbooks. There’s absolutely no record of his childhood or home town or family or friends; he’s well and truly the only one left and god, doesn’t that just kill you?

But then (because I’m an incurable optimist and as much as I love angst, I love happy endings too) there’s always a silver lining. Hob is immortal. He’s lost everything. Every single item, every possession, every name, every single person except for one has been lost. He’s had six hundred years to come to terms with the fact that he will inevitably lose everything he currently has and that has to be okay. It has to be, because what other option does he have? He can’t be sentimental with objects because the constant sense of temporariness of every aspect of his life would drive him insane. Delirium would probably take up permanent residence at his flat if he constantly worried about everything he had lost over the course of his long life.

And I have to believe that this applies for memories, too. Hob strikes me as the type to let those kind of things roll off his shoulders like water. There’s nothing he can do about it, so why bother worrying about it? He lives his entire life in a completely transitory state; his memories are the least of his concern (as someone with pretty severe memory problems, this is a mindset that I have been forced to adopt because I, too, would drive myself absolutely insane trying to remember everything I had forgotten. If it’s important, it’ll come back to me, and if it doesn’t, someone will remind me. If neither of those happen, it’s usually none of my concern and 99% of the time, it never comes up again). And like, yeah, it sucks that he can’t remember his mother or his friends or his house, and he mourned those losses when they happened, but he’s constantly replacing those memories with new ones. He’s so invested and intrigued with the world around him and he’s always gaining new experiences; his memories come and go like the tides and he no longer gets upset at the loss of them, or at least, he no longer holds onto that mourning for longer than the emotion warrants; he grieves their absence and then he moves on.

Additionally, his memory might be finite, but the life lessons he’s learned and carried from one lifetime to the next are not. He doesn’t have to remember where he learned how to pick pockets to remember that he knows how to do it, if that makes sense. Some things transcend memory.

This might be a convoluted analogy, but I like to think of memory as a window looking into anroom with a timeline on the opposite wall. Wach person has a window to look through and they can only see the section of the timeline that corresponds to their life. The window can never get bigger, not for anyone. You can only hold a lifetime’s worth of memories. And the same goes for Hob; his window doesn’t stretch or expand any larger than anyone else’s, but it moves when no one else’s does. His window has the ability to slide along the wall, constantly replacing the memories that disappear from view with new ones. We’re all stuck with the lifetime we have, with the memories that we can create in the 70-90 years that we have (if we’re lucky). We all have our window, it’s just that Hob has the ability to shift his window to a new perspective, a new era of time, a new life. And I think he would think that was pretty cool

[syrupspinner]

i just completed Hypnospace Outlaw

i sincerely love how much the sci-fi genre is just explaining how much sci-fi stuff would suck if it was real

the reason you play hypnospace outlaw is the aesthetic and presentation, just so were all on the same page. the reason this game got your attention is because its a passionate parody of web 1.0, and it does an excellent job of that. i can tell this game was made with a deep nostalgia for what made the past special without being blinded from its flaws (like the viruses and general difficulty to navigate).

the only problem is that im 24

well i shouldnt say thats a problem. just because i dont have nostalgia for what theyre throwing back to doesnt mean the game doesnt stand on its own. i didnt grow up with a ps1 or n64 but i still enjoy that specific form of lowpoly modeling, for example. its just unfortunate that i cant have the same hit of nostalgia that people slightly older than me can, yknow? i wish i could enjoy this game as much as them

again, the game was still very enjoyable. the puzzles start out very grounded, introducing you the the world and how it functions very effectively, before ramping it up with more abstract mechanics and compounding techniques needed to find more results. the only problem i found myself stuck on in an unfun way was figuring out how to decrypt sandwich files. its one of those puzzles that make you feel silly for not getting it earlier, but in my defence... who the hell would program something that esoteric

as an aside, i saw people discussing what genre games like this would be. by "games like this" i mean hypnospace outlaw, outer wilds, rain world, animal well, that kinda thing. i dont think applying one genre is effective, but instead its about how they combine the genres of exploration and puzzle. instead of having all the tools to solve a puzzle when youre presented with it, you have to leave and seek out the solution elsewhere. notably, if the game isnt build to accommodate/encourage this, itd be pretty unfun. these games and their open-ended design manage to skillfully mesh both genres together: the exploration is the puzzle

so yeah, i really enjoyed the game! there arent a lot of games where its just fun to explore the world as its presented, and HO does a fantastic job of that even without considering the puzzle design. i love just reading about the characters and their lives in hypnospace. this games greatest strength is just how charming it is, theres really nothing that matches it in that regard

i also found it really inspiring. i love how much personality all the characters fit into their webpages. maybe someday ill move this blog to neocities just so i can evoke something half as impact

oh no this was all a secret advertisement for neocities wasnt it! well, it worked, im not even mad (yes i know about the page builder)

anyway! the game is worth it for the vibes alone, and the puzzles are a really solid foundation that everything is built on. totally worth buying! the only thing is if youre going for completion, please use a guide to find all the pages, some are hidden way too well. totally worth it, though. if you know what the "thanked" achievement is named after, you know it makes it worth it. also, buzz was hilarious, i love pranks on the player

now im going to spoil the ending, stop reading this is you want to not be spoiled about the ending, because im about to spoil it now. after sasuke

oh my GOD dylan merchant is such a schmuck. maybe ive just lost too much sympathy for venture capitalist techbros, but i cannot spare any positive regard for this guy. like, okay, i get hes the bad guy, but outlaw 1.0 tries sooo hard to make you feel bad for him it wraps back around to being infuriating. the thing is that i have no idea if this is intentional? like, was a guy who let a teenager go to jail and think about how his prank killed 5 innocent people plus his crush apologizing decades later (*after* being caught) with an unfinished video game supposed to be a sincere tug of the heartstrings? "sorry i killed zane before he could stop being an annoying twerp" "sorry i killed rodney, his family smelled like walmart" "sorry i killed mavis, i think that was her name. i got nothing else to say about her" "anyway thanks for playing the 'final' version of the game that killed everyone. you have successfully absolved me of my sins and sent me to heaven. remember to subscribe and hit that bell icon" DUDE how emotionally shallow and self aggrandizing do you have to be you are a child murderer my guy