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doormatty3 · 1 year ago

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Pushing Further (Josh Lambert x Reader)

Masterlist Ao3

Summary:

[Josh Lambert x Female Reader] [Josh Lambert x You] There is nothing more stressful than moving day - the campus is packed with freshmen and their parents. And you just want some peace and quiet. However, amidst the tumult, a tall, broad, and handsome man grabs your attention that is until he sends you sprawling to the floor. Annoyed you go on with your life and meet Dalton who you soon befriend. When you find out that the stranger is his father - you're doomed. Josh Lambert is everything you want in a man but there are reasons why you should not give in: He's almost two decades your senior, divorced and most importantly your friend's dad So you go out of your way to avoid him and walk the tightrope between attraction and avoidance. That doesn't make him any less hot though - even more when you discover that the attraction is mutual. OR: And they were friends - except you fucked his dad.

Wordcount: 7,134

Warnings: 18+, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding, semi-public sex, vaginal sex, smut, dirty talk, older man/ younger woman, daddy issues

A/N: There is a criminally small amount of Josh Lambert ffs, so I decided to change that

ALSO: Insidious 5 plot (Josh Lambert) >>>>

You hate move-in day.

The college campus swirls with a kaleidoscope of emotions. Freshmen, wide-eyed and eager, navigate through the labyrinth of unfamiliar buildings, their parents hovering nearby, taking in the scenery, a mix of pride and reluctance in their gaze as they prepare to part with their newly-minted scholars.

The sun bathes the bustling scene in its warm rays, transforming the campus into a vibrant panorama. The old grey stone building looms tall and resolute against the canvas of the sky. It wears the patina of years with a dignified charm, its weathered facade a testament to the countless stories etched into its walls.

As you observe this annual rite of passage, a sense of nostalgia mingles with a tinge of wistfulness. Your own move-in day, with its mix of excitement and trepidation, feels like a distant reverie. Now a senior, the campus teeming with eager newcomers stirs conflicting emotions. The excitement and youthful energy are heartening, yet the multitude of people and the bustling activity feel almost too much, too overwhelming.

You sit at a secluded spot beneath the sprawling canopy of one of the many trees that grace the campus. From this vantage point, you observe the ebb and flow of people, hesitant to venture into the dorms that will surely be crowded.

The leaves above gently rustle in the breeze as you sit, absorbing the sights and sounds of the day.

Your attention is drawn to a cluster of fellow students distributing flyers, unmistakably advertising a fraternity event that you have never attended and will never attend - the frat boys just creep you out. Self-assured and arrogant has never been your type to hang out with.

However, amidst the lively scene, your gaze lingers on a lanky young man strolling by, seemingly impervious to the flyers being thrust into the hands of passersby.

Artist, you think. Everything about him just extrudes an artistic flair and you’re sure that your assumption would be right if you were to ask him.

You watch him stride away from the frat boys and you can’t help but think that he made a good choice by not interacting with them.

Your attention shifts from the bustling crowd to the presence of a man making his way down the path. Intrigued, you furrow your brow, momentarily curious about whose father he is. Your eyes linger on him, drawn by a magnetic quality.

As he walks, you find it hard not to notice his striking appearance. Despite the rough edges, there’s a rugged handsomeness about him. He is tall, with broad shoulders and his short, wispy light brown hair catches the sunlight, adding a subtle sparkle to his presence. A scruffy stubble grazes his face, enhancing that rugged charm.

Your gaze can’t help but follow the flex of his muscles as he carries a considerable amount of stuff for his child. The hot summer day is a blessing, you think, since it prompted him to don a tight polo shirt and shorts. You silently appreciate the view - the way his biceps and triceps tense with each step, and the way the shirt accentuates the breadth of his shoulders and chest.

Silently observing, you witness him engaging in conversation with the fraternity members, taking one of their flyers, presumably for his child. You can see him being a frat boy in his younger years - he certainly has the looks.

As he walks away, the flyer securely in his grasp, your eyes remain fixed on him. The contrast between his mature, composed stature and the frat boys is striking. His steps are deliberate, and everything about his presence seems secure and strong.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips as you watch him and you’re somewhat surprised - even if also glad - that he doesn’t acknowledge your burning gaze since you’re practically undressing him.

Part of you hopes that you’ll see him more often on the campus and that that won’t be the last time your paths cross - maybe you’ll be able to strike up a conversation with him.

Your gaze lingers in the direction where the broad man disappeared and you find yourself momentarily lost. The vibrant energy of those who come after him seems to pale in comparison, they fail to capture your interest and it begins to feel boring.

With a sigh, you stretch your limbs, the pull of your muscles urging you to stand up. The prospect of a quieter atmosphere within the dorms becomes increasingly tempting, and hope that the flow of people there will have dulled.

_____

Rounding the corner and approaching your dorm, you eagerly open the door, hoping for a reprieve from the bustling crowds. However, your optimism is quickly diminished as you find the space still densely packed with a mix of eager freshmen, parents, and the occasional irritated senior, annoyed at the number of people - a hive of activity and a melting pot of an array of voices.

Undeterred, you press forward, determined to make your way to your room despite the persistent throng.

Navigating through the diverse sea of faces you make your way down the corridor. The air is charged with a blend of anticipation, familial warmth, and a touch of exasperation from those who had hoped for a quieter return to their familiar living spaces.

The sounds of conversations, laughter, and occasional sighs create a lively symphony that fills the air, providing a vivid backdrop to the varied emotions playing out in the cramped dormitory corridor.

Turning another corner, your curiosity is piqued, and you slow your pace to observe the activity around you. As you walk past a series of doors, your attention is drawn to the scenes unfolding in each room - freshmen unpacking with enthusiasm and parents offering last-minute advice.

Lost in this observational moment, you’re caught off guard as someone collides with you, sending you sprawling to the floor suddenly. A breath escapes you and you blink disoriented.

In the abrupt stillness that follows, you glance up to see the source of the collision, and to your surprise, it’s the handsome man from earlier. In the fleeting seconds your eyes lock, and you notice the striking shade of blue in his gaze and the sadness that seems to emanate from him.

Rather than offering a hand to help you up, he mumbles a quick apology and resumes his stride without missing a beat. A sense of frustration flares within you - as handsome as he is, his manners are clearly lacking.

Arsehole, you think as. you gather yourself from the floor with a shake of your head.

The brief encounter leaves you with a mix of bewilderment and a lingering sense of irritation as you make your way to your room.

______

Professor Armagan’s voice reverberates through the expansive art studio, commanding the attention of her assembled freshman class as she introduces you.

“Today, I want you to meet one of our seniors—she’s really gifted, and it’s important to me that you get to know more students of mine,“ she declares, her enthusiasm evident in the cadence of her words.

You raise your hand in acknowledgement, a subtle greeting to the newcomers, and take a moment to let your eyes wander across the room. The art studio, a sanctuary of creativity, is filled with eager faces, each potentially harbouring a unique artistic voice.

As your gaze travels through the room, you spot the lanky boy from the first day.

Ha, I knew it, a quiet sense of validation washes over you - your intuition about him being an artist appears spot-on and judging by the strokes on his canvas, a talented one at that.

The lesson unfolds with a straightforward tempo, and your role is mainly confined to sharing insights about the college and providing a glimpse into how art functions in Professor Armagan’s class. The information is delivered efficiently, and you find yourself relieved as the session concludes.

“Hi, I’m Dalton,“ the lanky boy strides up to you, extending a hand in greeting.

You reciprocate with a friendly smile, taking his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Dalton,“

As your eyes fall upon Dalton’s pencil drawing, you can’t help but offer a genuine compliment. “Wow, this is really good. You’ve got some serious talent,“ you remark, appreciating the skill evident in his work.

Dalton’s face lights up with a grateful smile. “Thanks, I appreciate that,“ he replies, the sincerity in his tone confirming your initial impression of him as a genuinely nice individual, and you find yourself thinking that Dalton is the kind of person you could see yourself being friends with.

“You have to work on your disguise though - I could tell from a mile away that you chose the art program and was just wondering whether you made it to her class,“ with a playful grin, you jest to Dalton.

Dalton chuckles at your remark, and there’s a warmth in his response, “Yeah, I guess it’s pretty obvious, huh? Can’t hide the artist in me, I suppose.“

As you both exit the art studio together, the door softly closes behind you, the ambient sounds of the campus filling the air. The sunlight casts a warm glow over the pathway as you begin to make your way through the bustling campus, the occasional laughter and conversations of students blending into the lively background.

Turning to Dalton, you initiate a conversation about his college experience so far.

“So, how are you finding college so far? How’s it treating you?“ you inquire, a casual smile accompanying your words.

Dalton reflects, “It’s been an interesting ride. Meeting new people, navigating through classes, and, of course, diving into the art program. It’s everything I hoped for, honestly.“

The two of you continue to stroll, the campus unfolds around you.

Dalton shares more about his classes and the artistic projects he’s eager to explore, and you reciprocate with your own anecdotes.

Continuing your conversation, you find a natural segue to inquire about Dalton’s residence on campus. “By the way, which dorm are you in?“ you ask curiously with a casual tone.

Dalton smiles, “Oh, I’m in the last one down the path. How about you?“

As he reveals his dormitory, you can’t help but feel a spark of excitement. “No way! Me too,“ you respond, a genuine grin spreading across your face.

Dalton’s eyes light up with joy, and you pick up on the enthusiasm that suggests he might not have a large circle of friends.

He suggests, “We should totally hang out sometime. And you’ve got to meet my roommate, Chris – she’s really cool.“

You quirk an eyebrow and playfully tease Dalton, “Rooming with a girl, huh? The administration must have a wild sense of humour.“

Dalton chuckles, “Yeah, it was a bit of a surprise for both of us. Chris is fine, though. We make it work.“

You share a laugh, the notion of unexpected room assignments becoming a shared source of amusement. “Well, I’m definitely looking forward to meeting this mysterious Chris. Maybe the three of us could grab a coffee or something,“ you suggest, already envisioning potential hangout sessions.

Dalton’s eyes light up with genuine enthusiasm. “That sounds awesome! Chris will love it. She’s been itching to make some new friends around here.“

“How about this? There’s this amazing little coffee shop I’ve been a regular at since my first year here. It’s got this cosy vibe, and I think you and Chris would really enjoy it,“ you suggest, your enthusiasm echoing through your words.

Dalton’s eyes light up even more, his excitement matching yours. “That sounds awesome! I’m in, and I’m sure Chris will love it too.“

As you and Dalton walk through the dormitory halls, he suddenly comes to a stop and points to a door. “This is my room,“ he says with an appreciative smile, gratitude evident in his eyes.

You return the smile and quip, “Well, look at that! I guess I’ve been on the unofficial welcome committee. My room’s just further down the hall.“

Dalton laughs, appreciating the light-hearted exchange. “Thanks for walking with me. Do you wanna stop by tomorrow? I’d introduce you to Chris and we can get that coffee?“

“Absolutely, sounds like a plan,“ you respond. “See you tomorrow, dude,“ you add with a nod and a parting wave, continuing down the hall to your own room.

_____

The next day, you make your way to Dalton and Chris’s room, thankful to do something today. The familiar dormitory halls lead you to their door, and you give a light knock before it swings open.

Dalton greets you with a welcoming smile. “Hey! Glad you could make it. This is Chris,“ he introduces, gesturing towards a short, black girl with braided hair, vibrant clothes, and a warm smile.

“Nice to meet you! Dalton’s mentioned you,“ Chris says and extends her hand, you grab it and shake it.

Upon entering the room, your eyes are immediately drawn to Dalton’s paintings adorning the walls. “These are really nice,“ you remark, genuinely appreciating the artistic talent displayed.

Dalton beams with gratitude. “Thanks,“ he responds, a hint of pride in his voice.

As the three of you settle into conversation, you decide to delve into a bit of small talk. “So, Chris, do you also major in art?“ you inquire, curious about her academic pursuits.

Chris chuckles, her demeanour warm and friendly. “Nope, not at all. I’m actually a math major. Total left brain-right brain dynamic we’ve got going on here,“ she says with a playful twinkle in her eye.

As the conversation flows, a sudden knock interrupts the camaraderie. Chris and Dalton exchange confused glances, both wearing expressions of mild bewilderment. “Were you expecting someone?“ Chris asks, looking at Dalton.

Dalton shakes his head, equally puzzled. “No, I have no idea. Were you?“

“Nah,“ Chris mirrors the headshake.

The room falls into a brief silence as Dalton opens the door, revealing a man standing on the threshold. Dalton’s confusion is palpable as he utters, “Dad?“

A breath hitches in your throat as recognition sets in. It’s him - the handsome man from your first day, the same person who unintentionally sent you sprawling to the floor and didn’t have the decency to help you up. The lingering ache in your hip serves as a constant reminder of that memorable encounter.

“Hey. Sorry for the surprise visit. I was in the area and thought I’d drop by and talk to Dalton,“ he says, his eyes widening a bit as they lock onto yours. Recognition flickers across his face. “I’m Josh, by the way.“

Holding his gaze, you find yourself momentarily captivated, drinking in the details like a starved soul. His blue eyes, once a passing detail, now reveal a depth that draws you in. The slight curl of his hair at the nape of his neck and around his ears adds a touch of casual charm, accentuated by the scruff of his beard that now appears more prominent. Your gaze appreciatively lingers on the nuances, savouring the details.

Your appreciative gaze shifts downward, taking in the way his dark blue, tight dress jacket with rolled-up sleeves complements the form-fitting light blue t-shirt beneath. The fabric spans deliciously over his broad shoulders, chest, and the little tummy he has, accentuating his physique effortlessly. It makes you want to be under him, your bodies pressed together while he thrusts inside you, holding you tightly with his strong body - you’re sure that he’s soft in just the right places while being muscular and powerful.

The spell of fascination is abruptly broken as Chris, standing next to you, coughs purposefully to snap you out of your trance. The sudden interruption startles both you and Josh and you tear your eyes away from him.

You can’t shake the feeling that the attraction is not one-sided. Josh’s lingering gaze and the subtle shift in his expression suggest that he, too, was captivated.

The realization that the attraction might be mutual, even in this unexpected and somewhat inappropriate context, leaves a tinge of discomfort. Josh is not just a stranger; he’s Dalton’s dad, Dalton who is your friend. You silently hope that Dalton didn’t pick up on it.

Meeting Dalton’s gaze, you instantly sense that hope is futile - his raised eyebrow speaks volumes,

Josh clears his throat and his tongue darts out to wet his lips, your eyes involuntarily follow the movement, captivated by the subtle gestures.

For a brief moment, you indulge in the thought of his lips on yours, and his tongue on you. You wonder, if the stubble would scratch you, leaving marks on your skin so you could remember and feel him days later.

“Well, I should get going—I didn’t want to interrupt you,“ Josh says, directing his gaze at you again. “It was nice to meet you.“

As Josh offers a tight-lipped smile and exits the room. Once he’s gone, both Dalton and Chris turn their attention toward you.

“What was that?“ Chris’s inquiry comes with a hint of humour.

“Could you not undress him with your eyes next time - he’s my dad,“ Dalton says to you and you feel your cheeks heating up.

“I’m sorry, man,“ you mumble, a tinge of embarrassment colouring your words, “It isn’t my fault he’s hot.“

_____

The next time you encounter him, you’re on your way to your dorm as Josh is just leaving.

“Hey, Josh,“ you greet him with a bright smile.

He responds with a big, bright, and goofy grin etched on his handsome face. You can’t help but think that he looks good when he smiles.

“Hey, it’s nice to see you again,“ he greets you, his eyes sweeping over your form, lingering longer on the neckline of your tight shirt than is appropriate.

“I’m sorry for running you over when he first met,“ he starts, scratching over the hair on the back of his head, “ Or at least just walking away and not helping you up again.“

You reach out to place a reassuring hand on the skin of his arm. Intending for it to be a featherlight, brief touch, as soon as your fingertips trace over his arm, it feels like electricity is being passed through you.

Josh, in response to the touch, swallows heavily, his Adam’s apple bobbing in a visible display of tension. Instead of pulling away, he surprises both of you by taking your hand in his. Intertwining your fingers, he begins to rub soothing circles over the back of your hand with his thumb.

You notice the size of his hands—big and fitting for a man of his stature.

At that moment, it feels as though time stands still. Both of you just stand there, locked in a gaze, drinking in each other’s presence.

As he moves a bit closer, you become acutely aware of him, and his scent engulfs you like a private cocoon. It’s uniquely him - a blend of cologne and something inherently Josh. The cologne carries a woody fragrance, specifically dry wood, with nuanced undertones of sandalwood and amber.

The sun casts shadows on his face and accentuates the contours of his features. You observe that the short beard framing his face is threaded with salt-and-pepper hair. The interplay of light and shadows makes him more than just attractive—it renders him captivating.

His blue eyes, sparkling in the sunlight, reveal a depth that draws you in. They are akin to fire in water, reflecting a passionate intensity that burns within the warm sun-lit undercurrents of his gaze.

The healthy shine of his hair catches your attention, and you can’t help but notice the vibrancy it adds to his overall appearance. Your fingers itch to push the wayward locks behind his ear again, to feel if it is as soft as it looks.

The enchanting moment is abruptly shattered as someone carelessly bumps into you, jolting you out of the reverie. In the sudden disturbance, Josh releases your hand.

“I-,“ he clears his throat, the remnants of the charged moment still lingering, “should get going.“

There’s a palpable pause, a shared awareness of the disrupted connection. At that moment, you sense that he, too, is affected by the sudden intrusion into the private bubble you unintentionally created. The unspoken understanding between you deepens, and as he looks at you with an intensity that mirrors your own feelings, you find yourself nodding in agreement.

As Josh begins to move away, you’re left standing there, your gaze fixed on him. Your eyes trail along his departing figure, captivated by the sight of his muscular back.

_____

The inappropriate thoughts about Josh weigh heavily on your conscience, creating a turbulent storm of emotions within you that refuses to settle. Part of you acknowledges the relief of not having seen him in quite some time, while another part feels a twinge of sadness - There’s an undeniable sense of loss or longing; you want to see him again.

But you cherish your friendship with Dalton and don’t want to jeopardise it. It feels like you walk on a tightrope between desire and loyalty, especially because you’re fairly certain that this perpetual tension will snap at some point. So you find yourself consciously avoiding Dalton and Chris’s room. The fear of running into his handsome father fuels you, in particular, because he seems to make frequent visits - and the question lingers in the front of your mind: does he purposefully stop by so often, driven by a desire to see you?

Your gaze drifts around your dorm room, and you spot a sketchbook that isn’t yours. A moment of realization hits you like a sudden jolt—shit, that’s Dalton’s. He’s forgotten it again.

With the certainty that both Dalton and Chris are currently in class, you entertain the idea of stopping by to return the forgotten sketchbook. The timing seems opportune—no risk of encountering them, and by extension, no chance of a surprise visit from Josh, Dalton’s father.

The thought forms a plan in your mind, and you decide to seize the moment. The dormitory halls echo with quiet solitude as you make your way to Dalton and Chris’s room.

The door swings open, and to your surprise, the room isn’t as empty as you expected. There, standing in the middle of the room is Josh,

Time seems to slow as you lock eyes with him, and an involuntary thought escapes your mind— Jesus, your memories really didn’t do his handsomeness justice.

You find yourself taking in the details—the way the room frames him, the play of light accentuating the contours of his features, and the way his presence seems to fill the space.

All the subtle nuances of his appearance, from the slightly tousled hair to the hint of scruff on his jaw, draw your attention. His blue eyes, usually a captivating shade, seem to shine darker than normal, adding a layer of intensity to the moment.

“I didn’t expect you here,“ the words escape your mouth, almost breathlessly, and you curse the involuntary reaction you have to Josh.

Instead of responding immediately, he looks you over, his gaze lingering on your form. Then, he opens his mouth and says, “You’ve been avoiding me.“

It’s not a question; it’s a statement, and it holds a truth you can’t deny. You have been avoiding him, but it’s more about not trusting yourself in his presence than anything else.

As you remain silent, Josh takes a step closer, closing the distance between you. His hand lands on the wood of the door, near your head, applying gentle pressure. The muscles in his chest and arms tense as he leans against the door, closing it with a quiet click.

Instead of moving away, he keeps standing there, effectively boxing you in between the door and his body.

He maintains an unbroken gaze on you, his eyes locked onto yours. The close proximity allows you to observe the intricate details of his eyes. They are not uniformly blue; instead, there’s a fascinating interplay of shades. A ring of light blue delicately encircles the pupil, creating a mesmerizing gradient with the darker blue that surrounds it. The hues blend seamlessly, forming a captivating dance of colours within the confines of his gaze.

The fragile silence hangs in the air, and a subtle fear lingers—fear that any spoken word or sudden movement might shatter the enchanting spell woven between you and Josh. In the cocoon of quietude, you choose to remain still, each heartbeat echoing in the confined space, cautious not to disrupt the delicate equilibrium of the moment.

You can’t help but feel lazy arousal starting to pool through your veins, fueled by Josh.

“Tell me to stop,“ Josh speaks, his words almost a whisper, “tell me to walk away.“

The quiet plea hangs in the air, revealing the internal struggle he faces. He’s your friend’s dad, divorced, and almost two decades your senior—valid reasons to resist the magnetic pull drawing you both in. Yet, in this charged moment, those rational arguments seem to lose their significance in the haze of him that clouds your thoughts.

Your eyes flicker to his lips, and as quietly as he had spoken, you finally respond, “Kiss me.“

And so he does.

Josh’s lips descend to yours, capturing you in a kiss that feels both urgent and consuming. His warm hand gently cups your cheek, adding a tender touch to the intensity of the moment. It’s a kiss that feels like an act of hunger as if he’s been starved and you are the only remedy to satiate it.

Your hands find their way to his strong shoulders, instinctively pulling him closer as you reciprocate the kiss. The texture of his lips against yours becomes a tactile language, each brush and press conveying a depth of emotion words might fall short of capturing. You feel his stubble scrape over your skin. The taste of his kiss is a fusion of want and need, a shared desire that resonates between you, eclipsing any reservations that linger in the back of your mind.

Josh breaks the kiss, and both of you are left breathless. “Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,“ he confesses, his voice laden with a mixture of desire and relief.

He starts leaving open-mouthed kisses along your jawline, and you laugh quietly in response. “Well, I have an idea,“ you playfully remark and reminisce of when you first met him - you wanted to do that since then.

“Yeah, tell me,“ Josh smiles, his hand finding its way into your hair, tightening its grip. He is looking directly into your eyes smouldering blue burning into you as he leans down to bite into your bottom lip lightly.

“Josh,“ was all you managed to say in a breathy voice.

His lips move to your jaw, leaving soft kisses and sucking a mark into the soft skin of your neck, letting his teeth nip over the spot before moving on. You let out a moan and dig your fingers into his shoulders, before loosening your hold and roaming his whole back. You feel the strength of his muscles between your hands as well as the heat he emanates.

Not being able to contain yourself, you are desperate for some skin so you lift up the hem of his shirt and slip your hands under it, feeling his skin.

With a groan Josh presses his hips into yours, making you feel the hardness of the erection he is sporting. You grind against it as you feel your heart beating fast in your chest.

Josh pulls back, his eyes dark and glinting with arousal.

He slips his thick fingers under the thin straps of your dress and pulls them over your shoulders, leaving burning pathways in the wake of his touch. At that moment, you’re so glad you decided to wear a dress. And you second that again, when he tucks down the upper part of your dress, exposing your breasts to his nimble fingers and hungry eyes.

Almost instantly his hands find their way to your tits and you groan when he rubs the pad of his thumb over your nipple.

Josh takes his sweet time exploring you and finding out which sound he can wring from you by just his hands touching your chest. Deliberately, he flicks his forefinger against the hardened bud before capturing it between two fingers, rolling and tugging on it.

His lips skate over your collarbones, nibbling and sucking leaving more marks in his wake.

Something shortcircuits in your brain when you notice how his hands span over your ribs, making you feel fragile beneath him. And in that moment you want nothing more than for him to just lift you and impale you on him, manipulate you to his liking until the only thing you can remember is his name.

You hook your fingers in the belt loops of his jeans, pulling his hips against yours, wishing that he wasn’t wearing anything. You feel the hardness of his cock pressed against your belly as you grind down on him.

When his lips and fingers leave your skin you almost whine at the loss of contact but Josh wraps an arm around your back, pulling you flush against his thick frame before covering your mouth with his own again, possessing you.

He presses one of those strong thighs between your legs, pressing it against your clothed cunt, locking you against the wood of the door again. Without a coherent thought, you moan into his mouth as the rough fabric of his jeans rubs over your wet pussy.

Frantic your hands undo the belt and open his jeans, pushing it down, before tugging on his shirt, desperate for more skin. Josh takes pity on your frazzled attempts and takes off his shirt, pulling it over his head as well as letting his jeans fall to the floor with a quiet thud.

His skin is damp, a thin sheen of sweat giving it a dewy glow that catches the light of the room. Your eyes trace over him appreciatively, taking in the details that make him undeniably attractive as he just watches you with dark, hooded eyes.

The rise and fall of his chest, accompanied by a scattering of sparse chest hair, draws your eyes. Your gaze lingers on the muscles that play beneath the softness of his belly. In this moment, you find that he is a perfect harmonious mix between being ripped and soft.

Driven by a need to touch - to feel - him your fingers trace a delicate path across Josh’s chest, shoulders, and belly, exploring the terrain of his skin with a gentle curiosity.

As your fingertips navigate the expanse of his chest, you feel his breath and breathing heart, a subtle rhythm syncing with the beating of your own heart. The transition to his shoulders unveils the sinewy strength that lies beneath, a testament to the physicality that drew you in. Moving lower, your touch encounters the softness of his belly, tracing the trail of hair that leads into his briefs.

Without warning you cup his hard cock that’s straining against the fabric of his underwear, making him groan, a deep sound that reverberates through his chest.

Josh wraps his arms around you, lifting you up as he dips his head to kiss you. He bites your lip, the sharp nip of his teeth making you whimper into his mouth. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your ass as he carries you, prompting you to wrap your legs around his thick middle.

With one fluid movement, he sets you down on the desk, dimly you register the books on the table being swept to the floor. He slots himself between your legs as he tangles his hand in your hair to tilt your head back to force you to meet his gaze.

“If you want to stop - at any point - you tell me,“ Josh’s voice is a quiet, husky murmur, the darkness in his eyes reflecting the pleasure shared between you. His lips, now deliciously pinked from your kisses, hover close.

Wordlessly, you nod. In this moment, he embodies everything you desire and more, a captivating presence that has ensnared your senses. If this is your only chance at tasting him, feeling him, having you - you’ll gladly take it. If not somewhat sad, because you’re sure you will not be able to forget him.

He captures your lips in another short kiss while hitching your dress up higher. Josh’s hand is between your legs now, rubbing one finger over your clothed cunt. You just know that the cotton has to be damp, that he now feels how much you want this - want him.

When he applies more pressure, scraping over your clit you arch your back into his touch. His eyes are on yours, drinking in your every reaction.

Josh repeats the act and you rake your fingers over his back so hard you’re certain to have marked him. It’s making him moan, low, deep and frantic as if he’s enjoying this as much as you. Your entire skin fizzles with electricity upon his reaction.

In one fluid motion, he seats himself beneath your things and yanks your ass off the edge of the desk. His fingers curl around the waistband of your panties and he pulls them down, off your legs.

Just the sight of Josh between your legs edges you closer to an orgasm. His big hands are wrapped around your thighs, keeping you open for him. If you had to describe the look in his eyes you don’t know if another word than feral was fitting.

He makes you want to paint him, to capture this moment for eternity, with his messy hair and dark eyes.

Your head falls back and every thought becomes impossible when he presses a featherlight kiss on your clit, the stubble prickling like electricity. You cry out when he draws a circle around it with his wet tongue.

“You need to be quiet, sweetheart,“ he says, voice low, rough and deep. “Wouldn’t want anyone to come in here, right?“

You can’t do much other than nod - you know that you can try but you also surely know that you will fail.

As soon as Josh presses his palm across your stomach to hold you down and tastes your cunt with a long lick you lose that train of thought again.

He builds you up with a slow and dexterous tongue, determined to make you cum beneath him. Your back arches off the desk, only held down by his strong arm as you whimper.

You feel your cunt clenching and you’re sure that you’re staining the desk with your wetness.

Arousal crashes through your vein and you feel yourself getting closer - and he apparently also does because he hooks his arms around you, to pull you closer to his mouth.

A curse rolls over your tongue when he sinks two of his thick fingers into your cunt, curling them inside your so you spasm around him.

While you know that your orgasm is drawing closer it still hits you like a freight train. The mixture of his fingers and his mouth on your clit brings you over the edge.

You cry out and your back arches off the desk, fire pulsing through you. Josh’s mouth is still on you, licking through your wet cunt, catching every drop. You feel like your muscles are locking up and the fire has extended to your lungs as he continues to work you through it. Only when you whimper against him, overstimulated he pulls back.

Josh’s neck and chin are coated in your wetness, glistening in the light of the room. A blinding smile is etched across his features, reaching his eyes. The pleasure radiating from him is palpable and genuine, he likes how you react to him.

Your fingers instinctively dig into the firm contours of Josh’s shoulders, a desperate longing urging him to rise and meet your lips. In response, his strong arms envelop you, pulling you irresistibly close as your mouths meld together in a fervent kiss. You taste the salty tang of yourself on his tongue.

His hard cock is pressed against your bare cunt and you grind down on him, making him groan into the kiss. Just from feeling him, you know that he’s big and you ache to get your hands on him.

You reach into his briefs, following the trail of hair. Josh’s cock is thick and twitching in your palm as you smear precum over him to jerk him off easier.

God, he’s going to split you in half, make you burn from the stretch as he forces you to accept every thick, hot inch of him.

Driven by need you push his underwear over his hips, mesmerizes as you finally see him naked. His dick stands proud and hard in neatly trimmed pubic hair. You wrap your hand around him again, tracing the pulsing vein on the underside of his cock. Josh jerks his hips into your hand and you wet your lips as you clench around nothing.

It’s almost surreal, the realization that this handsome and gorgeous man is as captivated by you as you are by him and you itch to return the favour and take him into your mouth to see what sounds you can elicit from him.

But when you show signs of slipping from the desk he stops you with a long-fingered hand on your thigh.

“You can return the favour next time, we have to be quick,“ Josh’s voice is husky and dark as his eyes are on you intently.

Next time? Fuck, yes, you really hope that there will be a next time because you don’t think you can get enough of him.

His arms wrap around you again to claim your mouth before lifting you up from the desk. The dig of his fingers into your skin lingers are you just hope that they will bruise. He walks both of you over to a bed in the room, laying you down on your back.

Josh is a solid form above you, chest heaving as he braces his weight on his elbows. He nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck, before licking a stripe along the length of your pulse.

The feeling of his weight pressing you into the bed with his bare chest on yours is indescribable. The soft swell of his stomach against yours is heavenly s you claw into his shoulders and back to pull him further on you,

“Fuck me, please,“ your voice wrecked and hoarse as you buck against him, feeling his hard dick press against you.

He pushes his cock against your cunt, nudging your clit with every stroke, just slicking himself with your wetness.

You whimper when you feel the tip of his broad dick slide into you, keeping it buried inside you, “Josh, please .“

Josh takes pity on you. He leans forwards and his eyes are on yours as he fills you with short and shallow thrusts, inching his cock further and further inside you. Your eyes fall closed at the overwhelming feeling of him in your cunt and he stops again.

Your eyes fly open when his hand finds its way around your throat, wordlessly telling you to keep your gaze locked on him. The slow drag of his dick elicits a high-pitched whine from you.

When his hips are flush against yours, he stills, giving you time to get used to him.

“Just like that…. You’re doing so well,“ his voice is low as he praises you.

The combination of the barely contained edge in his voice and the praise causes you to clench around him, making Josh groan. You’re drunk off him, off how you feel every ridge, every vein against the wall of your cunt.

When he pulls back and only leaves the tip inside you again, you whine. That is soon replaced by a loud moan as he slams his whole length into you.

He feels impossibly deep in your cunt, like he’s carving himself inside with every slap, stroke and thrust of his hips. There is nothing you can do but lay there and take it.

With every thrust, he almost growls into your ear as he possesses you. The slap of his balls against you and the wet squelch of your cunt is loud in the room as he continues to wreck you.

The head of his cock drags over that spot that makes you see stars and you twitch and jerk against him, completely overwhelmed by him.

You hiss when he reaches between you to press the pad of his thumb against your sensitive clit. He flicks it against it before starting to rub small circles that make you quiver under him and clench around him.

Josh’s face is the epitome of concentration as he drives his dick inside you again and again, his brow furrowed as he fucks the both of you towards your high.

You scream when you come. Blinding pleasure shoots through your veins, expanding from inside you and engulfing you. His lips come down to kiss you, capturing you in a feverish and feral kiss. Your teeth click together as he devours you and continues to slam into you.

With a load groan, he pushes into you as deep as possible, clutching you tightly as his hips jerk and he spills inside you.

He kisses you, hard and short while he keeps his hips flush with yours as he rocks them, milking himself dry.

It feels almost soft when he pushes your damp hair from your face and cups your cheek as you catch your breath. The kiss you share is lazy and soft, your hands comb through his hair lightly. You wrap your arms around him tightly, holding him close and savouring the feeling of his body on yours.

The post-orgasmic bliss disperses suddenly when you feel him soften inside you, his cum leaking onto the bed.

“Shit, Josh,“ panic is evident in your voice, “Get up.“

The realisation hits you, that Josh just ruined you in the room of his son - on his desk and bed. You know that you can’t pretend that this never happened, not when you know how perfect he feels inside you or how he looks when he comes.

His quiet laugh irritates you at first but your eyes flutter closed again when he presses his lips against yours.

“It will be fine,“ Josh’s blue eyes shine bright as he traces your lips with his thumb, “Let’s get cleaned up first. And then I’d like to take you out for some food.“

“Yeah… yeah,“ you start, a smile on your features, “I’d like that.“

#patrick wilson #patrick wilson x reader #patrick wilson smut #the conjuring #ed warren #insidious #fanfiction #josh lambert #insidious smut #josh lambert x reader #josh lambert smut #orm marius #aquaman #insidious fanfiction #insidious the red door #aquaman the lost kingdom #aquaman and the lost kingdom

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activesplooger · 5 months ago

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ʜᴇʟᴘ ᴍᴇ | ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ | ᴠᴏx x ᴀꜱꜱɪꜱᴛᴀɴᴛ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Notes: (MDNI) don't be afraid to give me feedback on this one! (grammar, criticism, wtvr u notice!). idk wtf im doing but it took a long time and like 200 redo's. enjoy!!!

Masterpost!

Years later... The Vee's empire grew exponentially and are now the three top overlords in hell. As they grew, they upgraded and relocated to a new gaudy building called the "Vee Tower" which's big enough for all 3 members to reside and do their business. Vox now had a similar, but still new, upgrade to his head. His flat-screen face glows blue and has red almond-shaped eyes. The left eyelid of his is black, like his eyebrows, while his right eyelid is a bright teal, like his teeth. He wears a navy blue and teal striped blazer with matching navy slacks. A grand ruby bowtie tied around his neck, just above the red and black dress shirt he now wore. And to top it all off, he wore a top hat and a charismatic smile.

You still worked for Vox, however, your job description changed over the next few years. You went from being introduced as “This is Y/N, my friend and assistant!” to “This is an employee of mine, she won’t be a bother.”. It was agitating that he started to distance himself from you. I mean, you save his fucking life and let him weep in your arms like a child and this is the thanks you get?!

Vox had also acquired a reputation being a friendly, charismatic, entrepreneur. What a load of bullshit. His media persona was all a facade, a scam to get people to buy his products and/or work for him. You feel bad for the newer employees who deal with Vox's wrath. At least for you, you could cling to the old version of him and have some sort of positive outlook on your boss. The new staff members didn't have any outlook on their boss besides terror and apprehension. They would simply get charmed into a job and then see how Vox's personality does a fucking 180, turning into a complete jackass as soon as their soul was his. Your boss is cold to all his employees, abusing his power over them just for a power trip, a reminder of where they stand in this company. If an employee made one mistake, they'd immediately called to Vox's office for the shakedown of their life. Fucking terrifying.

The whole company shifted into a mess of moral corruption. All of VoxTech’s advertisements were schemes to hypnotize you into craving their products. Manipulation is a key tactic at VoxTech. If people watch any of the programs controlled by the company, they’ll likely hear the phrase ‘Trust us’ more often than not. And in turn, If they hear it enough, they’ll start to believe it. That’s what lured people in, making VoxTech and trust synonymous with each other until ultimately, they buy their shit. Pretty subtle tactic compared to the others. Other ways included Vox straight-up hypnotizing people with his powers. Yet another astounding example of the great morals exemplified by your boss!

Some part of you wished you never helped him that day... you hated yourself for thinking that. In spite of how shitty he is, you missed him. Not the fake media version, or the shitty boss version, the old him. The real Vox. You'd find yourself reminiscing on the late work nights you had with him. He'd order takeout, and you'd help him with his work for hours on end until you'd fall asleep at your desk from fatigue. You never failed to wake up with a crick in your neck from the cramped position, but you always had a familiar coat swaddled around your shoulders. It was the little moments with him that meant a lot. Back when he wasn't so hostile. It was starting to get on your nerves. Seeing your boss- no- seeing your old friend become a jaded prick all because of some excessively red deer fucker?! You knew Alastor hurt him, and yeah, it's understandable to be a little messed up after it... But didn't he really have to take it out on everyone else?! 'Why couldn't he just be honest and talk about what happened?! Why the fuck did he forbid you from speaking about it?!'. These questions rang in your head for years. But you could never ask him... Could you? You definitely weren’t a pushover, but you also weren’t a dumbass. As much as you wish it weren’t true, Vox had the upper hand and a mean temper. However, at this point, you were at the end of your rope. You needed answers, just... maybe not now. Soon. Maybe? Fuck! No matter how much you refused to admit it, he terrified you. You knew he could end you in an instant, he made that very clear when he nearly choked you to death. By now the bruises faded, obviously, but the emotional scars were very much there... You don't forget nor forgive what Vox did to you. So much was left unsaid that day and remains unsaid, you still can't really process it all. You tried to make excuses for what happened, something to console you and give you some sort of reason for everything. The blame always fell on Alastor, which, you felt was true to at least some degree. Your theories aren't enough to soothe your troubled thoughts. It still nagged at you, it always did. If there was some way for you to obliviate this, you would done it have a long time ago.

And the cherry on top of it all is the fact that you have to see him every day and pretend like nothing ever happened. Your workplace serves as a constant reminder of what happened, you couldn't possibly get yourself to stop thinking about it. Every fiber of your being just wanted you to call him out and pry into every detail of what happened with Alastor- But you held back... Part of you felt he would hurt you... again... As much as you want answers, being hurt and possibly killed over it definitely isn't worth it.

Your heels clicked on the black flooring as you walked to Vox's office. Vox had previously emailed you to bring him some paperwork for some new employees who were recently hired. You carried the heavy stack of documents in your hands, your arms begging for relief. Couldn’t these have been digital like everything else? You could’ve sworn he did this just to make things harder for you. Prick. The path to his desk was long and narrow, with sharks swimming around beside it. A large circular platform that held Vox’s desk and various monitors accompanied by heaps of cords and cables ended the path. From a distance, you can see your boss berating another employee. The worker cowered on the ground beside the desk as Vox loomed over him, a scowl etched across his face. You increase your pace to his desk in an attempt to shorten the eyesore in front of you. "Let me get this straight," The TV demon inches closer "You want to waste M҉Y̴ time M҉Ɏ money, MɎ-". "I-I just want some time off, Mr. Vox," the trembling staff member interrupts "I-It's my wife and I's anniversary I-I just need a couple hours-". A teal blue collar takes shape around the worker's neck, you couldn't believe the sight before you. Rage and pent-up strain filled your core, it killed you to see him doing this to someone else. Right in front of you no less. Your breathing becomes shallow, the memory of Vox choking you haunting your brain as you see another employee going through what you did. Should you stop it? Would that only make things worse? Fuck- 'Getoutgetoutgetoutgetout'. That phrase repeats in your head like a mantra, you need to get the fuck out of there. You couldn't stand being there any longer.

Large teal claws grasp at the end of the leash attached to the collar, pulling the chain closer as Vox speaks. "ɎØ҉U҉ ŁƗSŦɆN ĦɆɌɆ ɎØ҉U҉ F҉U҉ȻꝀƗNǤ-". The slam of papers cuts off Vox, he whips his head to the sound only to find you walking out of the office in a huff. Tears welled up in your eyes. 'Getoutgetoutgetoutgetout'. Pushing the doors open you run out, tears falling down your cheeks as you struggle to catch your breath. You turn the corner and slump against the nearest wall, burying your head in your knees and unsteady sobbing.

After you left, Vox just stares at the door you stormed through. The chain vanishes from his grip, and his hands fall to his side as longing and regret cross his features. Your boss's mind was so preoccupied with you leaving that he didn't notice the employee scurrying out the door. Once he realized that he let the worker off the hook, he didn't call him back. No. He let him go. Vox had bigger things to deal with. You.

Whilst you lay there, slumped against the wall, you feel something drape over your shoulders. But, when you lift your head, you don't see anyone, only a blue zap darting up to a security camera. You furrow your eyebrows and turn your head to see what was draped over your back. Your eyes are met with a navy blue and teal striped blazer comfortably enveloping your shoulders. "...Vox?" --

For a few hours, you clutched onto the jacket as you sobbed, but, eventually, you had to suck it up and work. And return the jacket. Fuck. That's gonna be awkward... 'I can't just keep it, can I?' you thought as you grabbed the jacket and made your way to his office, bracing yourself for the uncomfortable conversation ahead.

You quietly make your way over to Vox's desk, his eyes fixed on the monitors in front of him, not noticing you. "Sir?". "Gah!" Vox springs up out of his chair and nearly falls out of it, "Y/N! What the fuck?!". "Sorry sorry!" you apologize, "I didn't mean to startle you, Sir.". An awkward grin spreads across your face as you hold out the jacket to him "I came to return-" the jacket gets snatched out of your hands "-this". Vox slides the jacket over his black and red dress shirt, "Finally!" he exclaims. You stand there awkwardly after he ripped the blazer out of your hands while Vox just got back to work on his computer. "Can I help you?" Vox questioned with a condescending look on his face. "Hm? Oh! No no, I just wanted to thank you, so- Thank you." A soft smile crossed your features, hoping that this would spark a sincere discussion. Rolling his eyes, he responded with an annoyed tone, "Well, don't. Just accept the gesture and move on, we don't. need. to talk about it."

A scoff escapes your lips, "Typical." you mutter.

“What was that?” Vox eyes bored into yours as he got up to fully face you, his tall stature towering over you.

Normally, you’d back down from a situation like this. You knew that Vox could overpower you in an instant. But something in you just snapped, you couldn't take it any longer. Any fears or doubts you had suddenly disappeared. You just can't take it any longer.

“You heard me” you retort, standing up as straight as possible to try and match his height. Red vexed eyes narrowed at you, staring deeply into your eyes, "If you had any brain in that head of yours you'd back off, Y/N." he barked. The skin over your knuckles pulls taught as you balled your hands into fists, "If you had any brain in that flat head of yours you'd understand why I'm fed up with your shit!" you lashed out, "I swear if I wasn't soul-bound I'd leave your TV ass in an instant!" Vox's crimson eyes widened, he seemed genuinely surprised at your exposure of him, "Excuse me? I've given you ɆVɆɌɎŦĦƗNǤ! You'd be blundering around Hell if I hadn't hired you!" Your eyes practically roll out of your head. "You haven't given me anything besides a daily fucking migraine!" "I will not take this, I'm your superior, Y/N!" your boss blustered, "Or did you forget? Perhaps I should give you a reminder-". The all too familiar teal blue leash starts to materialize in his hands causing a knee-jerk reaction out of you. Your hands instinctively grab the half-embodied chain and yank it to the side.

SNAP!

The two of you stand there, watching in disbelief as the teal links slowly disappear. You're not sure how you managed to stop the soul-leash from fully forming, but you did. Finally prying your eyes off the now absent chain, you look up at Vox. He was still looking down like a deer in the headlights, looking vulnerable and powerless. The sight of him reminds you of the way he looked when he desperately clung to you after his falling out with Alastor. You hadn't seen him like this since then. For the first time in years, he wasn't in control of something. The overlord's voice faltered as he mumbled, "How did-". "I don't know," you responded abruptly. ... Red gleaming eyes lifted to meet yours, "You want to talk? Fine. You've convinced me," he slumps back into his chair, his elbow popping up his head as he looked at you with an exasperated look, "Talk."

to be continued! hope u liked this chapterr its the longest of the two. this one took me long as fuck sorry lol i havent had a lot of free time. lmk if u want to be apart of the tag list :) also leave me some feedback in the replies or the ask me anything tab iyw!

COMFORT FROM THE ANGST COMING SOON!

-- TAG LIST:

@lovelyemily, @preppyfellaa

#reader x vox #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #vox #vox the tv demon #the vees #vox fanfiction #hazbin fanfic #hazbin x reader #slow burn #angst #fluff #vox angst #vox fluff #vox hazbin hotel #help me

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another-day · 4 months ago

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time for another lovely EPISODE IN REVIEW!!! and boy, do we have a lot to discuss for this one

!!!SPOILERS FOR II EPISODE 16!!!

oh my gosh

that episode was insane, i’m still reeling from it, but let’s start from the beginning

i remember seeing a post somewhere where someone was saying 3gs would most likely have a very ‘army general’ type personality, and i think that still holds, just not to the degree i intially thought

he’s someone who focuses on motivation and praise to not only please but get people to follow through. this is not in the way of manipulation, just in order to get what needs to be done, done. expanding on his personality like this was so interesting, especially interspersing his moments of fear with his moments of joy because he hadn’t seen other people in years. it really goes to show how cobs can negatively affect other characters than mephone 4.

trophy has really grown as a character in the sense that he can now see the fundamental flaws in the persona of knife, though i do feel he’s still heavily guided in this by his own values. he has this firm belief that knife is similar if not the exact same as him; angry and violent. he breaks down all of the cracks in knife’s facade, but incorrectly so, which was interesting.

alongside this, knife is shown to still be perceived incorrectly to how wishes to be by many of the contestants. considering he’s trying to make such an effort to change and become a good person only for trophy to treat him like this is clearly dishesrtening to him. as much as he likes to build up his whole tough guy persona, in this episode and the last, we’ve seen that the words of others, especially those he considers allies, can really affect him. granted, trophy is no ally of his, but it still has an impact on him to be so shamelessly called out, even if a lot of it is assumption.

i love that they make everyone’s attempts to comfort suitcase feel so condescending in order to emphasise her confusion and disarray in terms of the situation. this feels like a circus, where suitcase is realising she’s a clown for being fooled. i love her reaction to realising nickel and balloon are friends because she has that underlying anger, yes, but more than anything else she’s confused and upset. soooo cool.

i nearly screamed but it was two in the morning when i was watching this so i did not.

but oh my gosh, the idea of “deleting” a character is horrifying. as taco put it, seeing “the life drain out of him�� must’ve been horrifying for her. this, oj’s, and nickel’s deletion are only amped up by this prospect of having people around to see the life drain out of someone they were once friends with.

also why did it have to be pickle. literally what did he do.

also also, now we know what happened to toilet i guess.

forshadowing cobs being able to see wherever they go, alongside how everything of theirs in under control, even if not by cobs.

cobs is meant to parallel mephone 4 in this scene. his advertisment is very “brainwash”-y, and it emphasises what a hold he used to have on people and the control he once held through his creations. similarly so, through the reveal at the end, WHICH I’LL GET TO, we see that mephone similarly has control over all of the contestants, whether direct or otherwise. so very peculiar really.

depicting the death scenes like this was brilliant. a persuing entity, sounded by alarms that only the person who is to be killed can hear is a horrifying concept, and something so horrifying from an outsider perspective.

imagine this from paper’s perspective: you’re arguing with your best friend about the amount of tasks you’ve been given for so little credit, and you finally admit everything that’s been bothering you. instead of the reassurance you usually receive, your friend stands there in shock before asking “do you hear that?” you hear nothing. the fear on his face grows and he backs against the door, crying for something you can’t see to ‘stop’. you’re confused, but before you can question it, he’s dead, spilled. any semblance of life in him as disappeared, and everyone is terrified.

this was so masterfully executed all the times it happened; taco’s incoherency when she was found with pickle, the hotel’s reaction when oj spills, and baseball’s silence and shock as he re-enters after nickel’s death. it sets up a tone of horror, and shows just how unaware everyone truly is. soooooo very cool.

it was so cool seeing the purgatory crew again because i really missed these goofy guys. but it really gets you thinking about what role they’re going to play.

unlike bow, all of the “deleted” contestants have had their melife icons completely removed, so that begs the question; will they be turned into ghosts at purgatory mansion? bow states in the episode that it took her a while to appear in the mansion, so it gets you thinking if deletion counts as a perma-death, and those killed will be turned to ghosts.

knife’s very impersonal handling of this situation versus suitcase’s gentle assurance and questioning really brings out the difference between these two.

this scene is meant to make knife seem foolish for wanting to rush by all this, but that’s not what knife intends to look like, again bringing back this idea of misunderstanding his actions. knife doesn’t like focusing on what’s around him when he’s been given a clear objective, getting information to find cobs in this case. alongside this, he doesn’t have the same understanding of what 3gs has been through as suitcase, yet he tries, to a degree, to understand this individual. when knife isn’t given the information he needs, he looks for his own means of finding it, and moves ahead.

suitcase on the other hand is shown to want to take it slower. unlike knife, she’s more invested in the story than the lesson or outcome. this is something normally detrimental to someone in a finale, but due to their working together, knife doesn’t really get too far ahead of her. she wants to understand motivations for actions so that she can figure out how to respond, whereas knife just wants to, for lack of a better phrase, cut to the the chase. very interesting.

now, the titular reveal of the episode, “the reality of the situation”, if you will.

despite how of guard i was caught, this makes perfect sense.

though i don’t really like season three, cabby has a scene where she freaks out when questioned about her parents. i initially thought this had something to do with her memory issues, but this explanation makes much more sense. bot knew about theur parents because their parents actually exist, cabby’s did not.

no character ever talks about their past, nor their parents, nor their motivation to join the show. it all quite literally starts from the first episode, and picks up from there. that is why mephone can regenerate them. that is why when mephone dies they can’t be regenerated, because as their creator, he was the only one capable of REcreating them. its an incredible reveal, and a very well working one.

all in all, this episode was phenomenal. the chracter work and development and storyline were all so well done and i totally adore it. episode 15 was very character focused and took a step away from the plot. this episode on the other hand took the plot and bolted with it, scattering all slrts of bombshells on the way.

i love this episode because it shows unity and disharmony and everything really feels like its coming together and i’m so excited for the next episode.

till next time lovelies!!!

#inanimate insanity #ii ep 16 #ii episode 16 #i don’t really like using the ii spoilers tag #but wow this episode was amazing #ii 16 #inanimate insanity 16

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zeroible · 2 months ago

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Outsiders Week Day One - How Ponyboy got his Bouncy Ball

It all started when Dally went to get more cigarettes.

Johnny and I tagged along because we had nothing better to do, and frankly we also needed a weed.

“Can y'all get any slower? C’mon man hurry up!” Dally called.

We were headed to the Rexall Drugstore. Dally, Johnny, and I usually hit it up because we never got caught using the five finger discount. That and it was one of the only corner stores in the East Side.

Gravel crunched underneath my Chucks and stray dogs barked in the distance. The smell of cigarette smoke and a slight chill wafted through the air.

Autumn was starting to set in. Soon I would have to convince Johnny to sleep at our house instead of at that old lot. Speaking of Johnny, he was kicking a pebble down the street. We were kind of dragging our feet, and this was getting Dally real worked up.

“I oughta leave you two slowpokes behind,” Dally spat.

There was no real venom behind his voice, but the comment made Johnny snap out of his daze real quick.

“Wait up, Dal!” he called, jogging to catch up. I followed close behind.

The facade of the building came into view. “REXALL STORE” was written on the front in real big red lettering. The paint was peeling and there were always signs that advertised sales in the glass display windows. We had arrived.

“Alright we’re here to lift some cigarettes. Make sure no one sees ya. I don't wanna be put in the cooler again, got it?” said Dally.

Johnny nodded profusely.

“Got it,” I mumbled.

“Great,” Dally grunted.

He pushed open the door, and a little bell jingled overhead. Dally slowly headed up towards the front, while Johnny and I wandered around. It was tough to be inconspicuous because the store was so small. We were eyeing up the penny candy when something caught my eye. It was a bouncy ball. A bright orange bouncy ball. It was like that thing was calling my name. Johnny and I stared at it for a good second. I was about to grab the ball when the owner started making a fuss.

“Hey, get back here greaser!” the owner shouted.

He was angrily waving around a newspaper as Dally bolted out the door. I started to panic. I looked at Johnny, and his eyes were real wide.

“Shoot! We gotta bounce!”

I started to run, and almost tripped over my own two feet. Johnny followed close behind. Even though he was small, he was as quick as a jackrabbit. I don’t know how long the owner of the store followed us until he gave up, but we stopped running about two blocks away just to be safe.

“So much for not getting caught,” I wheezed.

I was on the track team, but my lungs weren’t too good. I guess it's from all the smoking I do.

“Shut your trap, Pony!” Dally snapped. He looked all sour. “No one’s getting a weed now. We came here for nothin!”

Maybe Dally was right. I started to get all glum.

Then, Johnny pulled the bouncy ball I was eyeing out of his jeans pocket. I let out a surprised laugh. I couldn’t believe it! We were getting chased by the store owner and Johnny somehow swiped the ball in the process. He dropped it into my palm. I turned the ball over in my hands and smiled. The rubber shined in the sunlight. I bounced it up and down and laughed again.

“Thanks Johnny. You’re a real buddy,” I smiled, and put my arm around him.

“Yeah … no problem,” Johnny stuttered. A little blush creeped up on the back of his neck.

We walked back, and I bounced the ball the entire way home.

#outsiders week #outsiders week 2024 #ponyboy curtis #johnny cade #dallas winston #the outsiders fanfiction #zeroible’s writing #the outsiders

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bonesxbows · 6 months ago

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Act Naturally - Chapter 1 (Cooper Howard X Reader)

Masterlist

While exploring an old section of Hollywood, the two of you stumble upon an old advertisement for a cowboy movie. But the man on the poster looks suspiciously a lot like Cooper, even down to the same smile. But it couldn't possibly be him...right?

(WARNINGS) - anger issues - negative self talk (from Cooper not you)

I feel like I dragged this on for way longer than it needed to be BUT it's a done thing now and tbh I'm pretty happy with it. I fucking adore soft Cooper moments and idc if I have to write them all myself

Also! This idea came from @land-of-evergreens-and-dye so full credit to them for letting me stew on this prompt

Hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Reblogs and comments much appreciated!

Banners by @strangergraphics

The two of you had found yourselves in an old section of Hollywood. It had been so long since Cooper had told you his reason for bringing you here that you’d forgotten what his motivation for this excursion was. Although it didn’t really matter to you, you’d follow him anywhere whether he wanted you to tag along or not. There was no separating you two. Not anymore.

Most of the buildings had been boring to scavenge through, if you could even find a way inside at all. Not much was left of the boulevard besides dusty sidewalks and rusting billboards. But one building in particular piqued your interest. It had a larger facade than all the rest where small billboard-like signs hung above the wide double doors. Broken and busted bulb lights framed the signs and the rows of black lettering were missing far too many letters to be able to read it clearly. What letters you could make out only baffled you more than the strange-looking building did.

‘Co - How - Starr - in - Th - M - Fr - Dea - Horse’

“Horse? What’s a horse?” you asked out loud, more to yourself than to him. He usually never listened to your mid-exploring ramblings, though he never did tell you to stop. You turned around to find him staring up at the old sign too, although his brow was creased and a scowl was stuck on his face. You placed a hand on his shoulder and he turned to you, his expression softening as his eyes shifted to looking at you instead.

“You wanna check inside there, don’ you?” He asked.

You nodded and gave him a small smile. “Can we? Please? I’ve never seen any place like it before.”

“Hm. ‘Spose we can. But make it quick alright?” He checked his pistol’s ammunition levels and flipped the barrel back into place once he was satisfied. You led the way forward, pushing the swinging doors inward as Cooper was right behind you, pistol in hand and trigger finger ready.

He was a little disappointed when the place appeared to be empty. But the feeling didn’t last, he couldn’t stay upset as he watched you scurry around the place, your eyes wide with fascination. The interior was even more astonishing to you than the exterior had been. Rows of folding booth-like chairs covered the majority of the floor, their fabric exterior faded and torn, and in the back of the building was a wooden stage. Ragged old curtains framed the blank wall behind the stage where its faded white paint chipped and peeled off the plaster. There wasn’t much hiding between the rows of chairs besides dust and sand but you still kept your hopes high that the rest of the building would hold something worthwhile.

“What is this place? Some kind of shooting gallery?” you asked, your wasteland-born intelligence of pre-war places was lacking, but fortunately for you, Cooper liked you enough to fill you in on what knowledge you didn't have.

He chuckled at your observation. He supposed a shooting gallery was just about the closest thing you could get to a theater these days. “Not ‘xactly, sweetheart. It was used for movies, picture shows, that kinda thing. A place where folks could feign ignorance ‘bout the end of the world fast approachin’ on their heels.”

“Movies? Like the kind on those busted-up televisions?” you continued to explore around as you talked. He followed you, keeping an eye out for anything out of the ordinary that could be dangerous while you focused on the useful and exciting things you could find.

“Mmhm. Just like those. Never endin’ loops of fairytale stories kept alive by people long gone by now.” he explained, and you ended the conversation after that. His voice was strained and scruffy, meaning he was either remembering something he wanted to forget or he was getting agitated. Either way, you knew it was in your best interest to stop asking questions.

Things got progressively more interesting when you discovered the back rooms of the building. The first one had been large, with dusty velvet ropes leading to a counter filled with food machines and nuka-cola dispensers, you’d come back here to scavenge all the food you could carry with you on your way out, but the hallways and storage rooms were what really piqued your attention.

Posters lined the wooden walls of the hallways, the plaster that had once surrounded them now nothing more than dust on the ground. The paper was old, torn, and extremely faded, even with the lack of sunlight in the place. The color was all but gone from the paper, but you could still make out the words if you squinted hard enough.

“Cooper Howard Starring in The Man From Dead Horse.” The letters matched up with the ones from outside but yet you were still baffled on what exactly a horse was. The poster had no other information to help clarify, although you found it interesting that the man on the paper supposedly shared your cowboy’s name.

“Huh.” You exclaimed as you studied the pictures.

“What?” Cooper called after you, pulling his attention only slightly away from the containers he was looting around the place, looking for spare ammo or anything else that was useful.

“Nothing. Just something about these posters. Are these about those movies you were talking about?” you asked, which had him turning around to examine the poster along with you. The only response he gave you was a short grunt, which you knew translated to a yes. You shifted your eyes back to the paper on the wall. Most of the color may have been gone but you could still make out a blue shirt on a man with a white cowboy hat on top of his head. He stood in a pose with his revolver in the air and his other hand on his hip. He wore a smirk on his face that felt familiar and something in the back of your mind itched like you had seen this all before…somewhere. But you couldn't pinpoint the memory.

When you turned back around Cooper was already gone down the hallway so you hurried to follow him, tearing your eyes from the poster but keeping your mind on the nagging feeling it left you with. Maybe if you turned the picture over in your head enough times the memory you were looking for would click, or so you hoped.

His attitude had significantly changed after you found that poster. He became more on edge and that gruff exterior he had when you had first met him was back. He rushed through the rest of the building, seemingly not caring if you were behind him or not. By the time you caught up with him, he was shoving his way back out through the swinging front doors. You could see the finger on his pistol’s trigger starting to twitch. You followed him outside and down the road a way until he stopped in front of the first billboard he saw.

Like everything else in the wasteland, the colors were gone and the picture was faded, but you could clearly tell it had been an advertisement for Vault-Tec before the bombs. Cooper didn’t hesitate to unload every round in his revolver through the billboard. Pieces of wood and metal went flying and you instinctively covered your face, listening to the bullet casings and wood chips hit the concrete around you. He eventually ran out of bullets, although you could still hear him clicking the trigger. Once the gun sounded empty you lowered your arms again, examining the now hole-riddled Vault Boy on the billboard. Cooper’s face still held a nasty scowl.

“You got a personal vendetta with Vault-Tec I don't know about or something? What just happened?” you asked. If you were anyone else he would have filled you with lead just for asking a question right then and there. He was currently too angry to deal with stupidity. But he would never purposefully hurt you, that was one line he refused to cross in his mind. But unknowingly to you your words only fueled his anger more.

“Shut it. Let’s go. I’m sick of this place.” he snapped, his usual drawl and accent missing and replaced by venom in his words. He quickened his pace out of the block of streets and you followed him, but you kept your distance to a minimum of a few feet at least for the remainder of the trek.

It had been a few hours since Cooper’s outburst and the two of you had set up camp for the night inside of an old diner. He had seemed to calm down a little but he had set himself up in the corner of a booth with his hat pulled down over his eyes and his feet kicked up on the table in front of him. Which left you alone with your thoughts in front of his makeshift campfire. You watched the sun sink below the horizon as you replayed the earlier events of the day over and over in your head, still trying to connect the dots. You stared at Cooper, his supposedly sleeping form leaning against the worn material of the diner booth, hoping that if you focused on him hard enough you could will the connection in your mind to click.

And then the realization hit you like a lightning bolt, your eyes pulling all of the pieces together in front of you as you stared at his hat and the rough skin poking out from underneath it.

You sprang up from your seat on the ground, sliding yourself into the booth on the other side of the table in front of him. He didn't seem to notice until you reached over and yanked his cowboy hat off of his head with one swift motion. His eyes shot open and immediately landed on you.

“Can’t a ghoul get some shut-eye ‘round here without you botherin’ him?” he scoffed, pulling himself up into a sitting position and turning to face you across the table. You didn’t respond and instead placed his hat on the table in front of you, staring at him with full intent. He was unbothered underneath your intense gaze, either he was used to being stared at or knew you weren’t much of a threat to him. “I got somethin’ in my teeth or is this a new hobby of yours I don’ know about?” he asked, your silence was irking him more than your constant staring.

You let your eyes do all the work and your imagination filled in the blanks, pulling both images in your head together; the man from the poster and the man sitting in front of you. His dirty blue shirt peaking out from underneath his duster confirmed your suspicion.

“You’re him.” was all you said as the realization set in.

“Pardon?”

“You're him! From the poster earlier! That's why he looked so familiar!” your excitement was getting hard to contain. You had known Cooper was from before the bombs but you hadn’t known he was THAT Cooper Howard.

“Darlin’, I have no idea what you’re on about. You best forget ‘bout that whole theater ‘fore you go and stir up trouble.” he told you, folding his arms in front of him on the table as his brow darkened his eyes.

“What’s the big deal, Coop? Why didn’t you tell me? Is that why you rushed out of there so quickly?” you spoke quickly, the questions flooding out of your mouth faster than you had intended.

“Hmph. ‘What’s the big deal?’ The ‘big deal’ is that man is dead. Has been for over 200 years. I ain’t keen on bringin’ him back neither. His optimism and gullibility got him killed and that was the end of that. I’m done rememberin’ the sorry excuse I got for a past. Reminiscing don’ keep you alive for long.” his western accent was tangled together with poison as he spat out his words. But his scary looks didn’t work on you anymore.

“Maybe, but you’re still him, Coop. You’ve adapted to the wasteland but you’re still you. Roughed up and scarred a little, sure, but who isn’t?” you told him, doing your best to keep your voice soft to combat his spitefulness.

“A little? Sweetheart, I’m a damn monster, everyone out ‘ere thinks so. Whatever was left of good ol’ Cooper Howard died when this here skin started fallin’ off. I’m done bein’ nice in a world that does nothin’ but kicks you when you’re down.”

“I don’t think you're a monster.”

It was one sentence, just a few words, but it made him pause. His scowl vanished for a few seconds and was replaced by a look of confusion. There was a small smile tugging at his lips too, if you were quick enough to notice it before it was gone. He sighed and leaned back against the booth.

“Well then that’s one hell of a lapse of judgment on your part sweetheart.” he hooked his hands together and put them behind his head, cradling the back of his neck as he closed his eyes again and leaned further into the booth. But you weren't done with the conversation just yet.

You got up, grabbed his hat off of the table, and shifted yourself into the booth he was sitting in. You looked at him and then looked down at his hat in your hands. A relic from over two centuries ago, covered in sand and caked in dirt. But still a working and functioning cowboy hat. It protected its wearer from the harsh sun and there was a sense of safety woven somewhere in between the fibers. Broken and beaten and even dirtied beyond repair, it was still a hat. And Cooper was still a person.

You climbed on top of the table, being careful not to accidentally kick him with your feet as you positioned yourself in front of him and placed a leg on either side of his body. You placed his hat in its rightful place on top of his head, making him open his eyes again when he felt your touch. He looked up at you curiously, fully not expecting you to be on the table in front of him. You reached down and grabbed both of the lapels of his duster, balling the fabric up in your fists as you pulled him forward and smashed your lips into his. You were quick with your movements, something you had learned from being around Cooper so much recently, which left little to no time for him to react or protest against your sudden affection.

Although he didn't seem to mind. His hands found their way to your hips almost automatically and he slipped them under your shirt, grabbing at your soft skin roughly. Tomorrow morning you would have bruises all over your hips in the shape of his fingertips, but it happened so often now that the purples and blues were a permanent part of you. You had started this impromptu makeout session but he was determined to finish it. His tongue worked fervidly like he was mapping the constellations in the night sky across the inside of your mouth. He never once gave you the chance to take the lead and he was as quick as a viper to wrangle back control when you tried to take it yourself. At some point he had shifted his hands underneath you and scooped you off the table, sliding you right into his lap while still keeping a strong grip on you, never once slowing down with his tongue. Your legs were forced to wrap around him, your bodies now flush against each other in the booth.

It wasn’t long after he had pulled you closer that you had to pull away, panting and taking gulps of air. You finally let go of his jacket as you leaned back against the table, feeling the metal edge digging into your back as you did so.

“You know for a so-called ‘monster’ you sure know how to make someone feel breathless.” You told him as you admired the way he was smirking at you. Ironically it was the exact same smirk from that old poster of him, although you noticed he had shifted from that old-school charming look to now one that held an aura of danger around him.

“Hm. Well, now I’ve never been the type to pass up an opportunity when it’s handed to me. ‘Specially if it ends with somethin’ pretty sittin’ in my lap.” his grip on your hips was still ironclad as his eyes raked over you. His stare felt similar to a hunter stalking its prey. You knew what he was doing, trying to convince himself he was right by acting like a predator, but you knew the truth underneath the facade. You had seen firsthand how he had cared for you and looked after you even when he stood to gain nothing in return.

“Whether the old Cooper is dead or not doesn’t change the fact that I love this, right here, right now. Whatever led to you being my cowboy, I wouldn’t change a thing.” you ran your fingers up his chest as you spoke, fiddling your way underneath the collar of his cowboy costume to run your fingertips along the raised edges of his scarred skin. He sat back and let you touch him, not making any move to try and stop you. He’d let you do anything your little heart desired. He was your cowboy, he knew that, and yet two hundred years ago he would have never imagined meeting someone like you. He’d be damned if he would let anything happen to you, you were the only good thing he had left in this fucked up world. He refused to let anything else be taken from him.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” he mumbled as he brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, relishing in the way the soft cartilage felt against his marred fingertips. He ran the very tip of his finger against the edge of your ear, earning a tilt of your head as a response to the sensation.

“Cooper?” you asked, making his eyes flick to yours. He noticed you had pulled your hand out from under his shirt and instead, you had placed it on top of his chest, mindlessly fumbling with the ancient fringe attached to the front.

“Hm?”

“I still have one question,” you told him, knitting your brows together in curiosity.

“I’m listenin’.” he had been so enraptured by your affection that he had no idea what to anticipate, especially when your face had turned so serious.

“What even is a horse, anyway?”

It took him a great deal of effort to stifle his laughter.

#my writings #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard #the ghoul x reader #fallout the ghoul #the ghoul #fallout tv series #fallout tv #fallout prime #fallout tv fanfic #cooper howard fanfiction #Cooper howard fanfic

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hunnysnoops · 6 months ago

Text

˗ˋ𝕎𝕙𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝕋𝕖𝕖𝕥𝕙 𝕋𝕖𝕖𝕟𝕤ˊ˗

Chapter Nine: Take Me Out

Kyle Broflovski x fem reader

So if you’re lonely, you know I’m here waiting for you and if you leave here, you’ll leave me broken. Shattered I lie.

Also available on Ao3 and Wattpad!

Premise: Over the course of days and eventually weeks you grow closer with Kyle as feelings begin to shift.

Warnings: crude language and humour

MASTERLIST

.˙꩜°˖:*࿔ ☼ ࿔*:˖°꩜˙.

June 29

You and Kyle rush through the park, the world around you blurring as your feet pound against the pavement. The sun filters through the canopy of leaves overhead, casting dappled shadows that dance along the path. You feel the wind in your hair and the exhilaration of the run in your chest, your breaths coming fast but steady.

Recently, you had been looking forward to your runs with Kyle. You had always hated doing it with others, either too slow, stopping too often, or talking too much but there was a sweet spot with Kyle that you didn't mind in the slightest.

There are several children playing soccer to your left, and you can hear their enthusiastic yells as they play. A couple walks their corgi to your right, the dog is so obscenely fat that his stomach almost scrapes the ground though he seems happy.

You match his stride by the pond, where the water reflects the clear blue sky and the swarms of ducks gliding across its surface. Kyle slows down, and you equal his pace, both of you breathing heavily but smiling wide. "You're getting faster."

You laugh, the sound light and relaxed. "Maybe you're getting slower," you tease back. He rolls his eyes, but there's a twinkle in them that shows he enjoys the banter.

"Can you ever just take a compliment?"

"Uh, nope," You grin turning for the exit of the park. Your lungs burned in the perfect kind of way.

The energy shifts instantly as you break away from the still park and enter town, the quiet rustle of leaves replaced by the hum of human life. Cars honk, people chat as they pass by, and the air is filled with the scent of food from nearby cafes and food trucks. Hanging in the air is the strong smell of liquor from a smashed bottle of tequila that crunches beneath your sneakers.

Kyle is still ahead, his pace unwavering as he navigates through the crowd. You follow close behind, weaving through pedestrians and occasionally bumping shoulders. The buildings loom tall around you, their glass facades reflecting the afternoon sun.

As you turn a corner, something catches your eye. You come to an abrupt stop, causing Kyle to glance back, curious. There, plastered on a wall among a collage of posters and flyers, is an advertisement for an upcoming concert. The bold, colourful design grabs your attention, but it's the picture of the band that really makes you pause. The heading reads 'Suburban Wasteland' one of the hidden gems you listened to almost on a regular. They sang to your edgy little middle school self who went through an emo phase and claimed you would be that way forever.

The lead singer stands front and center, his eyes smouldering and his messy hair perfectly tousled. He's cute, undeniably so, and you find yourself staring at the poster, your heart beating a little faster for reasons other than the run. "Oh my god," You mutter.

Kyle halts to a stop and walks to your side, staring at the poster. His eyebrows knit together as he takes in what he's seeing "What?"

You hadn't heard him, expression softening as you focused in on the tour dates. "Look!" You point at one of the dates, eyes lighting up "They're coming to South Park!"

"You actually listen to these guys?" He looks at the four men on the poster

"Yes!" You grab his arm and shake it, swaying his body in doing so. You were almost screaming the pure excitement that was running through you like lightning causing passersby to cast you judgmental glares. You weren't sure you had been so thrilled about something since you started high school. "They're here in July, we should go!"

"Is he wearing eyeliner?" Kyle narrowed his eyes at the poster. At first glance, they looked like some corny screamo boyband from the early 2000s, brought to life by ripped skinny jeans and deep side parts.

"He's so hot," You mutter, hands still gripped onto Kyle's arm without even noticing how tightly you were holding him.

"That's the kinda guy you're into?" He abruptly swerves his head to look at you. His eyes widen for a brief moment before they narrow in at you, his lips downturned in a slight frown.

Your hands drip from where they rest on his arms "Yeah, I guess." Your near shaking with elation at the thought of the band you played on loop daily coming to your little bumpkin town. "Do you wanna go with me?"

He rubs the back of his neck "Don't you want to go with Red or something?"

"Red's going to Alaska at the end of July."

"Why is Red going to Alaska in July?"

"Doesn't matter," You answer "They're really cool, I think you'll actually like their songs-

"I'm sure they're fine. But I'm not really into that type of stuff?"

“What do you mean that type of stuff?"

"Like angry thrashers pushing each other around and breaking necks in a mosh pit," He says, sweat still glistening on his brow, only accentuated by the blaring sun overhead.

"None of my friends like this thing, please?" Your eyes go wide, silently pleading with him.

He bites the inside of his cheek for a second, staring you down, his thoughts bouncing back and forth like a game of ping pong "I don't really like it either."

“I know you don’t really listen to that genre but-

“I’m not going,” He says, firm.

You give up, rolling your eyes. Your shoulders slump a little, disappointment washing over you. Taking one last longing look at the poster before resuming your pace, you resume your run, pushing aside the lingering let down "You're boring," You call back to Kyle "And slow."

.˙꩜°˖:*࿔ ☼ ࿔*:˖°꩜˙.

July 4

As you sit at the back of the dimly lit restaurant, the clatter of plates and the murmur of the last few lingering customers fade into the background. The cold, metallic touch of cutlery presses against your fingers as you roll knife after fork into napkins, your movements mechanical and practiced.

You were nearing the end of your shift though there were still bins of cutlery left for you to roll into little place sets before you could go home. This wasn't exactly how you wanted to spend your fourth of July, especially when all your friends were out and about, living it up while you developed blisters on your feet from countless hours jetting around a restaurant.

The fourth of July seemed like a good cash grab to make good tips but you were proved wrong by the amount of rowdy tourists who talked a big game but tipped you very little if anything at all. You had ended the night with less than you came in with, the tips were so poor you had to use your own pocket money to tip out the house, bartender, and kitchen.

There was the same awful 80s playlist reverberating through the speakers. It was the same 60 songs over and over again, you knew them so well you could recite every lyric and the more you heard them, the more you hated them. You were almost tempted to take two steak knives and shove them into your ears.

Some shifts were so bad that you just needed to sit in silence, this was one of them. The fourth of July was one of your favourite holidays and your evil manager had coerced you into missing it. The worst part for you was the fact that you didn't get to see any of the fireworks, you just heard them faintly outside along with the sounds of people actually enjoying their night.

You wore your little black dress in the hopes of racking up more tips but instead, you had another server knock their customer's drinks onto you, drenching you in the smell of red wine and ceasers. There were little bits of the ceaser spice still visible on your dress while you continued rolling cutlery and biting the inside of your cheek to avoid screaming.

Outside, the sky is dark, with only a faint glow from distant fireworks that you can't quite see. You missed them again this year, the bursts of colour and the laughter of friends and family. The fourth of July has come and gone while you served tables, refilled water jugs, and plastered on a tired smile.

You think of the sparklers you loved as a child, the barbecue smells, and the warmth of being surrounded by your family. Tonight, the warmth comes only from the overhead lights the persistent hum of the kitchen appliances and the cursing coming from the remaining staff. It didn't help this overwhelming feeling that your dad dropped you off on your way to work, meaning you didn't have your car or a ride home.

Checking your phone only made you feel worse. No new messages. The majority of your friends were at Clyde's party while you hummed along to old rock n' roll songs you've grown accustomed to hate. His party was long over, you had seen through Snapchat stories that the cops showed up. It was nearing twelve am, it was almost the fifth and you had wasted your day.

You weren't sure you could hold your tears back for another minute until your co-worker poked her head into the backroom "Your boyfriends here," Brooke says, walking in and grabbing her phone off the table that had cutlery sprawled out over top.

"I don't have a boyfriend," You say, furrowing your eyebrows.

"I don't care," She says while tapping around on her phone "Someone's here for you."

Quickly, you tie off your last napkin roll and poke your head out of the staff room door to see Kyle awkwardly standing by the host stand. You bite back a smile, diving for your locker and snatching your bag from it. You hurriedly throw your hoodie on over your dress and spritz some body spray in an attempt to mask the smell of liquor soaked into your dress.

"Wait, you didn't clock out," Brooke looks up from her phone, watching you as you walk out of the staff room.

"You know what really hasn't clocked out?" You ask and continue without waiting for an answer "Racism, bullying, soap brows, maybe you should get on that first."

You walk down the corridor towards the front door, tugging your skirt down and pushing hair away from your face as you approach Kyle. He looks up from his phone and spots you.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, a smile tugging at your lips despite your tiredness.

"Your dad told me he dropped you off today, I'm taking you home."

"Oh," You keep a smile on your face despite the urge to let it drop.

As the two of you leave the restaurant and step into the dry heat, he shoves his hands into his pockets "How was work?"

"Fucking shitty," You answer, feeling no urge to sugarcoat "Just a bunch of asshole tourists who smell like cavities."

"What does a cavity smell like?"

"Like plaque build-up and sour breath," You answer, wrinkling your nose at the thought alone. "Uh, how was Clydes?"

Kyle shrugs "Fine, I guess, nothing special."

"You didn't drink?"

"Nah," He opens the door to his car, flicking the light on and waiting for you to climb into the passenger seat. "I left early, actually."

"What? Why?" You shut the door as you get in, dropping your bag to the floor of the car "I wanted to go so bad."

"Just felt like I could've been doing something better with my night," As you and Kyle settle into the car, the familiar scent of his aftershave mingles with the cool night air. The engine hums to life, and the car glides out of the parking lot, leaving behind the warm glow and the remnants of another awful shift.

You worried if he could smell the liquor on you or the steak sauce but he gave no indication, eyes focused on the road as he drove. "Were the fireworks cool at least?"

"Yeah, they were."

The streets are mostly quiet now, a subtle contrast to the earlier hustle and bustle of Fourth of July celebrations and drunk partygoers, roaming the streets decked out in patriotic accessories from the dollar tree. Streetlights cast elongated shadows, flickering as you pass beneath them. The rhythmic click of the turn signal is a comforting sound, a steady beat that matches your slowly calming heartbeat as your eyelids begin to grow heavy.

You notice the little details as you drive: the way the trees sway gently in the wind, their leaves rustling like a whisper; the soft glow of porch lights in the distance, each one a silent witness to the night's festivities, air running through them like whispers. You pass a park where sparklers flicker in the hands of teenagers, their laughter carries through the now-hushing night.

Kyle glances at you, a smile playing on his lips as he sees you taking it all in. He doesn't rush, allowing you to soak up every moment. The radio plays softly, a nostalgic tune that seems to fit the sleepy mood perfectly. You hum along absentmindedly, despite the disappointment you were coming to terms with it all.

"Where are you going?" You ask as Kyle turns onto a narrow, gravel path leading up a small hill. The car bumps along the uneven road, and your eyebrows furrow at the sound of animals rustling mingling with the crunch of gravel under the tires. "Please don't kidnap me, I'm too tired to fist fight but I do have a corkscrew in my bag," You say, waiting a beat and then filling the silence "Fine, you got me, I stole the corkscrew from my manager." That was true. You were so angry and fed up that you went into her purse and stole the corkscrew her husband gave her for her anniversary, it even had her initials carved into it. You figured she drank enough and you were doing her a favour.

"I'm not kidnapping you, Jesus," His eyes are steady on the beaten road "Just wait." He looks at you for a second "And give that corkscrew back."

"I dunno, sounds like something a kidnapper would say," You tap your fingers on the dashboard. ��And the really Kyle would never tell me to give something stolen back.”

“Yes, he would.” He pulls up to a small hill overlooking the town, yanking the keys out of the ignition. Wordlessly, Kyle gets out of the car and gestures for you to follow him. You decide against the idea of him kidnapping you and trail him to a grassy spot that overlooks the town.

Kyle looks down at his watch before looking back up at the sky. He stands beside you, close enough that you can feel his warmth. The inky black sky is punctuated by the sudden, brilliant explosions of light. Like a gigantic chrysanthemum, a flash of red blooms, each flower trailing shimmering flames as it dies. Then there's a silvery waterfall that shimmers as if it's trapped in midair. With each fireworks being more spectacular than the last, you watch, transfixed, as the colours change and intensify.

The air smells faintly of smoke and summer, it takes you right back to the last Fourth of July you spent at Bebe's house, watching the show from the roof of her house and downing Dr. Pepper. The fireworks paint the sky with vibrant hues- fiery oranges, deep blues, radiant greens- each of which leaves a brief afterimage against the night sky.

You glance at Kyle, his face illuminated by the bursts of light. His eyes are wide with wonder, and there's a content smile on his lips. The reflection of the fireworks dances in his eyes like a mirror.

The grand finale begins, and the sky erupts in a riot of colour and sound. Rapid-fire bursts fill the air, overlapping in a dazzling display that takes your breath away. The booms are louder, the lights brighter, and for a few moments, the sky is swallowed whole with chaos and beauty.

As the last firework fades, leaving trails of smoke that slowly dissipate into the night, a peaceful silence settles over the hilltop. The minute passes over and so does the holiday, the last fireworks of the night and you had a front-row seat. The stars, previously outshone, now reclaim their place in the sky, twinkling softly. Kyle turns to face you "Worth it?"

"Could've been better," You tease, sarcasm hanging from your tone. You know for sure this is one memory you will be forever clinging to.

.˙꩜°˖:*࿔ ☼ ࿔*:˖°꩜˙.

July 9

Both yours and Kyle's family gathered in your living room for game night, which felt long overdue. The teams were you and Kyle, Weston and Ike, Your mother and Sheila, your father and Gerald. There was hardly even competition between the four groups, you and Kyle were sweeping them.

"Whose turn is it?" Your mom asks looking around the room.

"Weston and Ike," You answer, pushing your brother off the couch and taking his spot, pulling your knees to your chest and yanking a throw blanket overtop.

Ike sits on the floor and leans against the armchair his brothers sitting on, watching as Weston digs around into the popcorn bowl filled with prompts. He pulls a slip of paper out and groans when he reads it "Bruh," He draws out "I don't even know this one."

"Just pick another one," Your dad tells him, he's nursing a glass of wine and standing behind the couch like a vulture.

"Dude," Weston crumples up the slip of paper and chooses a new one "I dunno this one either."

"Just try your best," Sheila tells him.

Weston holds his arms out and begins to enthusiastically flail them. "Shake?" Ike asks, face utterly perplexed as your brother lets out another groan and then begins to convulse his body. "Earthquake?" At Ike's second guess, your brother pauses, runs his hands down his face then begins to violently shake again.

"Seizure?" Your dad asks, eyebrows drawing in at the sight of his son "What is this?"

Your brother clenches his fist, taking a deep breath in then he mimes juggling, but his hands flail wildly, and it's hard to tell if he's juggling invisible balls or trying to swat away imaginary flies. His exaggerated movements have everyone squinting and guessing wildly. "Stroke?" Ike asks, mouth slightly agape while he tries to decode your brother's rapid movements.

Weston shakes his head vigorously and switches tactics. He starts hopping in place, then drops to all fours, pretending to be an animal of some sort, but it's not clear which one. He growls, then stands up and begins doing it deep lunges back and forth, switching legs.

“Furry?" Ike asks "Gym? Exercise?"

"Bruh, no," He then stands still and makes a grand sweeping gesture with his arms, as if presenting something spectacular.

"Circus?" Ike guesses again to which Weston shakes his head.

Weston balls his hand up into a fist and cracks it through the air like he's whipping something. Everyone in the room awkwardly glances at one another, waiting for it to end.

"Cat woman? Batman?" Just for a moment, Ike thinks he is close and then Weston shakes his head once again. Weston starts jumping in place and moving his hands in tight circles like he's skipping rope. Your eyes shift to Kyle, both of you too confused to laugh "I give up!" Ike throws his hands up in defeat "You're awful at this."

"It's the Great Gatsby, bruh," Weston exasperated like it was obvious what he was trying to portray.

"What was great about that?" Your mom asks, only half joking.

"I'm gonna lie," You say "That was really good." The second the parents look away your brother sticks up his middle finger for the briefest moment before wedging himself between you and your mom on the couch. You stand up walk to the spot in front of the TV and pull out the slip.

You hold up three fingers on each hand, looking at Kyle "Six words?” He asks and you nod. You hold out one finger to symbolize the first word, Kyle's deep in focus as he watches you. You begin to draw out an infinity symbol in the air with your finger. "Infinity? Forever? Always?" His eyebrows draw in deep and you can see the gears turning in his mind "Eternal!"

Holding up a quick thumbs up, you move on to the fifth word, pretending that you're spraying the air with cleaner and wiping it off.

"Clean? Maid? Tidy? Spray? Wash? Scrub?"

You shake your head, continuing to do the motion. After thirty more seconds of him not getting it, you move on to the sixth word and start pointing at your head, tapping it and eventually patting it with the palm of your hand.

"Brain? Head?" He stares at you trying to piece together the other clues and muttering to himself "Mind?" He asks and you nod enthusiastically. He slaps his knee, shooting to stand up "Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!"

"Yes!" You exclaim, immediately rushing over to give him a high five. "Eat it shrimps!" You shout at both of your brothers "Being illiterate isn't so funny now, is it?"

"I miss when they were screaming at each other," Weston mutters to Ike.

.˙꩜°˖:*࿔ ☼ ࿔*:˖°꩜˙.

July 13

You and Kyle hurried into the dimly lit theatre, the screen already glowing with the opening credits as you scanned for empty seats. The hushed murmurs of the audience and the faint sound of dialogue filled the air, punctuated by the occasional burst of chatter from those already settled in.

"Over there," Kyle whispered, pointing to a row near the middle of the theatre. You nodded and followed him, trying to tread lightly as you squeezed past knees and feet in the dim light. Each step felt like an intrusion into the quiet atmosphere of the theatre.

As you reached your row, you realized it was already almost full. A couple gave you a disapproving look as you attempted to slide past them, their eyes narrowing in annoyance. Kyle muttered a quick apology, but you could feel the tension in the air as you squeezed into your seats.

Trying to settle in quietly, you fumbled with your jacket and bag, the soft rustling seeming to echo loudly in the stillness. You exchanged a sheepish glance with Kyle, both of you acutely aware of the eyes on you from nearby patrons who were less than pleased with your tardy arrival.

You didn't expect to find yourself so caught up in the movie, it was an incredibly corny action film and kept finding yourself making faces at the cheesy bots which was almost the entire thing. Kyle kept stifling sniggers whenever you would mock the movie.

"He's right behind me, isn't he?" The lead protagonist turns around to see his enemy behind him. He pulls a large rifle from his trenchcoat and the two enact in an overly acted fight scene.

"Jeez, he's dressed like someone's imaginary friend," You utter under your breath.

"Sh!" You hear from behind you. You turn to see a large man, his greasy hair tied into a ponytail and a stringy beard that made its way down his neck. You mouth a sorry and look back at the screen.

The movie got worse the longer you watched, they had managed to pull out every single cliche and implement it into a plot with stiff dialogue and flat characters. Your boredom only grew, the only thing entertaining was a little whisper passed between you and Kyle.

However, every time you leaned over to share a quick remark with Kyle, you felt a sharp "Shh!" from the man seated directly behind you. His voice was low but firm, cutting through the air like a disapproving whisper.

Startled, you glanced back, catching a glimpse of his stern expression and raised finger before turning back to the screen, cheeks tinged with embarrassment. Kyle stifled a chuckle beside you, clearly amused by the unexpected scolding.

During another action scene, Kyle ducks his head into his elbow and sneezes "You know, if you're sick, just stay home," The man from behind you speaks again, his jaw clenched tight in irritation.

"You know, if you reek of body order, just stay home," You retort.

"Excuse me?" He says.

"Yeah, excuse you."

"Calm down," Kyle puts one hand on your shoulder to steady you then looks at the man "We're sorry."

"Oh, of course. The boyfriend steps in to play peacemaker," he sneered. "Put a damn muzzle on your girlfriend," The man says to Kyle. He turns his attention back to the movie but you've already turned around, knees on the seat while you hang over the back and glare at the man.

"Put a muzzle on yourself, that way you might not look like you ate the ham burglar." You whisper-shout.

"Don't talk to her like that, man," Kyle adds, also turning around to face him.

The man's face grows red "You better watch-

"Sh!" You say, watching the man look stunned. Silence stretches between the three of you and when the man opens his mouth to speak you do it again "Sh!"

"Okay-

"Shhhh," You draw out putting a finger over your mouth. "How many pubes did you have to steal from motel shower drains until you had enough to glue on your chin?" You point at his scruffy neck-beard, staring him dead in the eyes.

"Are you done?" The man asks, huffing.

"Yeah, sure," You snap, turning back around, sinking into the chair and trying to focus on the movie despite the grimace-shaped man behind you.

"Stupid bitch," He mumbled.

Kyle's entire demeanour changed in an instant. He turned around, his face red with anger. "What did you just say?" His body tense, muscles visibly tightened.

"Leave them alone," Another man from the row above says "They're just kids."

"Y'know what man? I'd be pissed off if I looked like that too," You seethe, eyes narrowing at the guy behind you.

"Whore," He said in a mocking tone, a proud smile on his face as he did so.

Before Kyle could react, you reached forward to grab the drink sitting in his cupholder and hurled it at the man. The liquid splashed all over him, drenching his face and clothes. The theatre erupted in gasps and murmurs as the man sat there, stunned and dripping. Not one person was still paying attention to the movie.

"What the hell?" the man yelled, wiping his face with his sleeve. His shock quickly turned to rage, and he lunged forward, raising his hand to hit you.

Kyle was quick to grab his wrist, holding his arm midair before it could land on you. Other moviegoers scrambled out of their seats, some trying to pull the man away while others called for security. You could see the fear consume the man's face as Kyle held tightly.

Within moments, the usher returned with a security guard, their faces stern and ready to intervene. You hadn't seen them come in when you bent over the back of the chair, one hand pointed at the man accusatorily while you screamed at him. "Yeah, try to hit me, biggie!"

The security rushed over to you, trying to put space between you and the man. When you refused to cease, he grabbed the back of your shirt to pull you away, his free hand was held out in front of Kyle, he balanced on one foot while his other was in the air in front of the man.

"Stop," He said, trying not to lose his balance "Out, now, all of you, out!"

A manager rushes into the scene, a blue button down and a name tag that reads Hailey. The large man lands a solid slap across your face and you retaliate by throwing a right hook. "No, no!" Hailey shouts, frantically trying to keep you all apart while the man grips your hair and pulls it with what little force he can muster, you grab hold of his wispy neck beard, pulling it until hair rips out. "Stop!"

Tensions only continue to escalate rapidly. After the man tries to wrap his hands around your neck Kyle hits him, this time everyone freezes as the sound of Kyle's fist connecting with the man's cheekbone sounds through the theatre.

The security guard comes up behind you, grabbing you by your waist and pulling you off the chair. He continues to drag you out while you yell "You smell like a yeast infection, wash your damn rolls!"

Kyle looks at the man and then at you, following you out of the theatre and into the lobby. The manager comes out with the man walking behind her, shamefully, he drips Diet Coke onto the floor. "Stand against the wall," Hailey says and you oblige like you're getting your mug shot taken.

She snaps a picture of each one of your faces "Banned," She says "For life!"

"For life?" The man asks, his voice rising.

"Yes!" Hailey says, gesturing to the wall behind the concession where there were several pictures of people taped up for everyone to see, above each of their profiles was a piece of printer paper, the words 'banned 4 eva' written in red Sharpie "Or do you want me to call the police?"

"No, I'm cool with being banned," You answer first "Not sure I can speak with Jabba the Hutt though."

Kyle's eyes never left the man's as he reluctantly stepped back, his chest still heaving with anger. "Let's go," he said, turning to you and grabbing your hand.

As Kyle trudges to the exit and you follow behind, hand in hand, you stick a middle finger up behind you as you push through the doors and into the daylight. "What a fucking asshole," His jaw was tightly clenched, the muscles visibly twitching with the effort to contain his anger.

.˙꩜°˖:*࿔ ☼ ࿔*:˖°꩜˙.

July 19

Tolkien sets up his phone on a nearby table, adjusting angles and checking lighting, while Kyle starts brainstorming ideas. You and Red find yourselves sitting by the sparkling blue waters of Tolkien's pool, feet dangling in while you watch the pair.

"What about this one?" Kyle asks, playing an audio.

Tolkien bites his lip for a moment, deep in thought before he shakes his head "Nah, trends over."

You and Red exchange amused glances, she huffs on a blue raspberry ice vape, occasionally giving you a hit. Her hair is tied up into a ponytail, an old Mötley Crüe shirt thrown over her blue bikini.

"Let's do this one," Kyle huddles next to Tolkien showing him a video on his phone. The audio replays several times before the two of them begin to practice, going through the motions in little segments to remember until they have it down.

Tolkien takes the lead, attempting to mimic the choreography he just watched, his movements almost too precise. He kicks off with a series of dramatic arm waves and hip sways, trying to sync his steps with the beat of the short song.

You lean onto Red, burying your head into her collarbone while you laugh. "That's it, boys, you've made it to the big leagues," She calls out between giggles.

"Can we get less input from the fog machine over there?" Tolkien turns around before walking back to his phone and restarting the video. You lift yourself off Red to watch Tolkien start from the beginning; he moves almost exactly the way he did before like it was a formula.

Tolkien dances his part and then Kyle comes into the frame and they begin a synchronized dance routine, exaggerated and goofy, their attempts at coordination often ending in laughter and playful nudges.

It was nice being friends with Kyle even though it was difficult for you to admit. You liked being able to hang out in a group with him and not trying to murder each other even though the thought still passed through your head on occasion. Both of you promised that you wouldn't tell a soul about the movie theatre fiasco and would swear up and down that your pictures weren't posted up next to crackheads.

When Kyle starts doing his bit of the dance you can't hold back your cackling, clutching your stomach while you brace yourself on Red who herself is shaking from laughter. The boys ignore you but you keep laughing to the point you need to stand up and walk over to the side of Tolkien's house to brace yourself against the wall.

Tolkien finally manages to nail a sequence, and Kyle lets out a triumphant cheer, their joy infectious despite the cringe you and Red felt watching them film TikTok's, they seemed unbothered. "You won't be laughing when I get famous," Tolkien says to you, Kyle's standing next to him watching the video they just finished filming.

"I'm sure it'll be super unfunny then," You say in a mocking tone.

"Yeah, whatever, nice lungs," He says, briefly looking up from his phone.

"Woah, woah, woah," you put a hand out "Where did all of this hostility come from?"

"Where do you think?"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," You get the last of your giggles out, straightening up. "Tolkien, show me how to do one of those dances," you suggested with a playful grin.

"Seriously?" Both Kyle and Tolkien say in unison.

"Yeah," You walk over, biting your lip to stop yourself from laughing "Show me."

"Uh, okay," Tolkien says, his expression softening "Which one do you want to do?"

"I dunno," You answer, leaning over his shoulder while he scrolls through his saved folder.

He began to break down the steps of a popular dance trend, his movements fluid and precise. His enthusiasm was infectious, and soon you found yourself mimicking his steps, albeit with a hint of hesitation. "Okay, so it's like this," Tolkien explained patiently, demonstrating the footwork and hand gestures slowly. "And then you add a little spin here..."

Kyle leaned casually against the poolside, a faint smile playing on his lips as he watched you. The way you focused intently on learning the steps but couldn't move without laughing- it all captivated his attention. He admired your willingness to throw yourself into the dance, your laughter mingling with Tolkien's as you both enjoyed the moment.

"You look so ridiculous right now," Red said, holding her phone up to film you and Tolkien while you danced

"It's kinda fun!" You admit, eyes on Tolkien while you mirror his motions.

"I told you!" Tolkien says, a bright smile on his face. You followed along, stumbling at first but gradually finding your rhythm. Tolkien's encouragement spurred you on, his gentle corrections and cheerful demeanour made the learning process enjoyable.

You were beginning to think you might've been too critical over Kyle's constant filming of TikToks, while you didn't understand how someone could make a career off it you could confess that you were enjoying yourself despite feeling more than stupid.

"We should film one and I'll post it," He props his phone up on a lawn chair, setting up the timer.

"What?" You ask but the timers already nearing it's end and Tolkien is in his place. The music started, and you launched into the routine. He was by far more comfortable than you but you still tried your best.

Your arms swung out to the side in unison, followed by a sharp clap above your head. The song itself was sped up and incredibly annoying, you had a feeling it would be stuck in your head in the following days and you would regret playing it on a loop while you did the choreography. You glanced over at Kyle, catching his eye with a smile.

Just as the music reached a crescendo, Tolkien swept you off your feet, spinning you around in a dramatic flourish. Your laughter echoed across the poolside, an elated sound that filled the air as Tolkien's unexpected move took you by surprise.

The spin was exhilarating, and your laughter bubbled up uncontrollably, your legs kicking playfully in the air as you struggled to regain your balance. Tolkien caught up in the moment and the infectious joy of the scene, couldn't contain his laughter either. As he tried to set you down gently, the combination of laughter and the slick poolside caused both of you to lose footing.

While Tolkien sprawled out on the ground, you tumbled backwards into the deep end of the pool. Red was laughing even harder, the camera still trained on you, she wasn't sure if your cartoonishly dramatic fall was funnier or Tolkien's face plant.

"Are you okay?" Kyle asked, unable to bite back the smile on his face as you resurfaced. You pushed your hair away from your face and wiped chlorine water from your eyes.

"Yeah," You laugh wading over to the edge of the pool where Kyle was standing. "Help me up," You held your hand out.

"You're gonna pull me in," he says, inching backwards just the slightest.

"No, I won't," You said like his accusation was incredulous "I swear," You outstretch your hand even further.

"I don't trust you."

"Why not?" You smiled, feeling a flutter of warmth in your chest at his attention. "Just be cool," you replied, reaching out to grasp his hand.

At last, he gave in and as his fingers wrapped around yours, a jolt of electricity seemed to pass between you. The warmth of his hand was a stark contrast to the cool water, grounding you in the moment. Kyle's grip was firm and steady as he carefully pulled you up, his strength evident as he helped you find your footing.

The air grew thick with unspoken tension. Water droplets glistened on your skin, catching the last rays of sunlight, and Kyle's gaze softened as he took in the sight of you. The playful banter from earlier seemed to fade, replaced by a deeper, more intense awareness of each other.

As you stepped out of the pool, you stumbled slightly, your wet feet slipping on the smooth surface. Kyle reacted instantly, his arm wrapping around your waist to steady you. The closeness sent a shiver through you, your heart racing as you looked up into his eyes, which were now only inches away.

"Are you good?" Kyle asked, his voice low and filled with a mix of concern and something more, something that made your pulse quicken.

You nodded, unable to find your voice for a moment. The way he held you, his touch gentle, made it hard to focus on anything else. "Yup, fine," you pry yourself away from him.

Neither of you moved immediately, the moment stretching out as the world around you seemed to blur. Kyle's eyes flickered to your lips for a brief second before meeting your gaze again, his expression hesitant.

The moment was broken by the distant sound of Tolkien and Red's laughter as they rewatched the video, reminding you both of where you were. Kyle takes a step back "I can't believe you actually didn't pull me in."

"Yeah, I would never do something like that," You say, casually walking past Kyle and shoving him into the pool as you do so.

.˙꩜°˖:*࿔ ☼ ࿔*:˖°꩜˙.

July 25

The sun had long set, leaving the kitchen bathed in the warm, soft glow of overhead lights. Your family and Kyle's had come together for a shared meal, full of far too much wine consumption and brain-rotten jokes made by your little brothers.

As the adults moved to the living room for more conversation and the younger kids dashed outside to play, you and Kyle volunteered to handle the dishes. You both stepped into the kitchen, where the soft light illuminated the scene of culinary aftermath: plates smeared with the last bits of sauce, glasses smudged with fingerprints and lipstick, and serving dishes still holding crumbs of the evening's feast. Even a disgusting concoction your brother had made, water mixed with white wine, rootbeer, ketchup, and relish. He had dared Ike to drink it and then drank it himself when Ike chickened out.

Kyle rolled up his sleeves with a mock-serious expression. "Good god," He mutters at the sheer amount of dishes.

"Get to work, ginger."

The sound of running water and the clinking of dishes filled the space, creating a rhythm as you and Kyle fell into an easy routine. He washed, you dried, and the banter flowed as naturally as the water from the faucet.

"So, how does this thing work again?" Kyle asked, holding up a sponge as if it were a foreign object.

"Just like that," you replied, mimicking his exaggerated movements with the dishtowel. "It's a highly specialized technique, you see."

Kyle chuckled, passing you a clean plate to dry. "Ah, I see. Years of training."

As you dried the dishes, you couldn't help but notice the way his muscles flexed beneath his rolled-up sleeves, his hands moving efficiently through the soapy water. There was something undeniably attractive about the way he approached even a mundane task like washing dishes.

You thought back to those massive sleepovers where all of your friends would pile into one bedroom and talk about everyone and everything. How they gushed about how cute Kyle was and you always went quiet, wrinkling your nose like the name alone was poison.

"Achoo," Kyle feigned a sneeze, taking water from his hands and flicking it onto you. He kept his eyes down on the sink like he hadn't done anything. You retaliated by whipping the wet dish towel at Kyle a little harder than intended, there was an audible snap when you hit him and your eyes widened. "Jeez, are you trying to take me out?"

"Obviously," You deadpan "That's been the plan for the last seventeen years."

The dishes didn't seem to let up, pan after pan, utensils piling higher than mountains. While your brothers played video games and your parents laughed obnoxiously in the living room, you were still stuck on dishes until your fingers wrinkled to prunes.

The entire time Kyle kept skittishly glancing at you and then glancing away while you pretended not to notice. He didn't know when was the right time to ask you or if you'd even want to hear him out.

Kyle leaned casually against the counter, a hint of nervousness in his eyes. He cleared his throat, drawing your attention from the last few utensils you were drying. "Hey, I've got something for you," he said, his voice holding a note of anticipation.

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Oh? What is it?" You wiped your hands on a cloth to dry them before settling them on your hips.

Kyle reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out an envelope, holding it out towards you. You took it, your fingers brushing against his, sending a small thrill through you. Carefully, you opened the envelope, revealing two concert tickets inside. Your heart skipped a beat as you read 'Suburban Wasteland' printed at the top above the seating and date information "I don't know if you still want to go with me. I was kinda a dick about it so you can give the other ticket to Bebe or something and I won't-

Without thinking, you let out a joyful scream and began jumping up and down, the sheer exhilaration bubbling over. Face lighting up as you looked down at the tickets, re-reading them over and over again. "Oh my fucking god!"

He wasn't sure he had ever seen you so happy, not even when your soccer team placed first in regionals or when your parents took you on vacation. Despite his own indifference towards the band, seeing you so elated made it all worth it for him."You like it?"

"Yes!" You jumped around in a little circle, hands holding the tickets shaking as you looked back up at him "I thought you didn't want to go?"

"I listened to their stuff and I changed my mind," He said nonchalantly. That was only half true. He felt bad watching you go through the month, trying to find someone who would go with you and being turned down every single time.

"Eeeek!" You shout again, jaw almost sore from the uncontrollable smile. Kyle thought that in seconds you would be bouncing off the walls. In a very impulsive moment for you, you throw your arms around him in a spontaneous hug. It's the first time you've ever hugged Kyle, and the warmth of your body against yours sends a shiver down his spine.

His frame is taller and more solid than you expected, and you find yourself nestled against his collarbone, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against you.

For a split second, neither of you move. His arms hesitate before tentatively wrapping around your back, his hands lightly resting on your waist. You can sense his surprise, his body slightly tensed with uncertainty, yet there's a warmth in the way he holds you. Your own hands, holding the tickets, press against his shoulders, and you feel the firmness of his muscles beneath his shirt.

"Stop fighting!" Your mom rushes into the kitchen at the sound of your shrieking, panic across her face which quickly turns into confusion as she sees you clinging to Kyle.

You break away from him, clearing your throat awkwardly as you stare at your mom, trying to still yourself. You quickly gather yourself, smoothing down your clothes and clutching the concert tickets a little tighter. "Can I pay you to pretend that never happened?"

A/N: So excited for the next chapter 😽

#south park #south park x reader #south park x y/n #kyle broflovski #kyle south park #kyle broflovski x reader #south park kyle #sp kyle #kyle broflovski fluff #tolkien black #tolkien south park #red south park #red mcarthur

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toxintouch · 2 months ago

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I heard it was angst time. CW: MC Death. About the level of graphic (gore/violence) description that is in the source material imo. Be cautious and prioritize taking care of yourself if you are unsure, please. ♡

Mhin can’t find you.

When you don't appear at the scheduled time to discuss the headway you’ve each made individually regarding your mutual goal, they walk away from your agreed-upon rendezvous point with an annoyed huff.

When the next night passes and you still don’t show, they become even more incensed.

It’s not until they head to the Wet Wick and Leander asks them if they’ve seen you that they become concerned.

They look everywhere.

Leander places posters on the corner streets alongside his usual advertisements and soon your likeness is plastered across Lowtown. Large letters reading: “REWARD” peer down at Mhin reproachfully at every turn as they fruitlessly go about their own search when they can spare the time during their day to day fight for survival.

Something nags at the back of their mind.

Guilt, they think. Self-loathing. They should have tried to find you that night.

As the days turn into weeks, they give up on Leander’s methods and start asking their own questions.

They do it under the guise of collecting another bounty, but the genuine, thankful relief they get from Leander, the sorrowful look they receive from Kuras–they're know they're wearing a shallow facade at best.

It leaves a raw taste in their mouth to do so, but they even ask Vere, knowing the fleabag has keen senses which they do not.

Their stomach drops when Vere laughs. A harsh, cruel thing that has them brandishing their dagger, keen to gut him like a fish where he stands. He reads their rage easily, assuring them that he’s innocent, that he had nothing to do with your disappearance.

Which is what a Monster would say–but then–

Vere would be at his most honest while gloating, wouldn’t he? If the truth is a twist of the knife.

He tells them to check their own closet for skeletons. Tells them to check for Monsters underneath their own bed.

The adrenaline hits them immediately. They start to sweat and shake and feel nauseous. For their body, the realization is instantaneous. In their mind, it comes more slowly. Like walking through a dream.

They try to reach back in their memory. Try to tug at that nagging thing.

Unspool it until they can determine where the emptiness begins, ends, anything in between.

And then they find it. They don’t remember it, but they find it.

In one of their many hidden shelters. The one closest to your rendezvous point–a small lacuna in the side of a crumbling building, a nest built into the flesh.

Spooling trails of entrails and ruined bandages. Viscera and bones and gore. Scavengers have gotten to you and contaminated the scene but–

The wounds are unmistakable. Familiar to them, by now.

The soft parts of you that have been picked at and eaten.

The sinking feeling in their gut expands. This type of scene doesn’t make Mhin sick anymore but they wish it would. Wish they could retch and rid themself of this emptiness. Wish they could expel the vision of you–

The remains of you, laid out before them.

There’s something almost graceful about your corpse. As if you’ve been drawn out of a fairy tale, your gruesome demise told as a parable for children.

They try to remember transforming. Killing you.

Your last words, if you could make any around the blood gurgling from between your lips like a fountain.

Maybe in the future your fairy tale will have a moral to it. A reason. Your death will be more than senseless, another body added to the pile.

For now Mhin will have to live without that closure.

The grief drips off of them like blood off of black feathers. It can't permeate their defenses, advantages granted to them by an evolution that was not of their own volition. They can already feel their mind warping around their memories of you, dulling them lest they tear themself apart, fall down while climbing up the tower to meet you and dash themselves upon the rocks, sink into the water below and drown beneath the torrent. A younger version of them would chase after the memories, cling to the waning thought of you.

The person they are now lets it happen.

They turn their back, leaving the empty echos behind.

Bad Ending : "Reward"

#i was sick for most of October but I too was thinking about...#Bad End Bingo #aka scary times for my fav and most wonderful time of the year >:3 #touchstarved game fanfic #I hope this is :)#touchstarved fanfic #ask to tag #cw: main character death #cw: described gore #it is not my intention to be in the tag too often but I realized that if I just RB with this the read more system for the CW wouldn't work #and I wanted to be safer than sorry #toxintouch writing #BANNERS ARE FOR ANYONE TO USE IF THEY LIKE i just kinda had them for other things IF YA KNOWWW MORE PPL WANNA SHARE THEIR ANGST (✿◕‿◕)#so uhhh my apologies for posting so much is what i'm saying lol #mhin touchstarved #touchstarved mhin

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hanibalistic · 2 years ago

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THE MASQUERADE | HAN JISUNG.

genre | (in general of the universe) fluff, angst, romance, friendship, magic au

synopsis | jisung decided to respond to a letter advertisement offering him a job at a coffee shop. it was a very old-fashioned way to apply for a part-time job, but he thought there would be no harm in taking a chance!

word count | 9.9k+

warning | none

universe | the cosmic shops / here is the discord link to its world-building server if you are interested in knowing more :)

note | world building i miss you.

Jisung had no idea how much louder his world would become when he stepped into the coffee shop.

With nothing but multiple rehearsed speeches prepared and a nearly empty bag that stored only his tablet for note-taking, he let the door behind him close gently while fixating his eyes on the environment of, hopefully, his future workplace. A deep sigh left the confines of his chest as the familiar operating noise of the coffee machine hit his ear.

He put in his two week notice for his previous barista job a month ago. He had no expectations for maintaining any friendly work relationships, and he did not. He had gone to work and gone home on every shift. His silence was not kept. That would be impossible. But the continuous ‘How are you today?’ chain with his co-workers was not exactly material for making friends.

His charming side left after he got hired the day of his interview; part of him knew the manager was desperate for workers, and he understood why. The pay was dog shit, the hours were horrendous, and some customers hit the nail on the head with being the group of people most undeserving of anything good in life. Besides those, let’s all the honest, being a barista is not a worthy enough relevant experience for the future careers any student would want to pursue.

The joke of his life writes itself. He quit the last barista job because of its dead-end path and the poor work environment just to end up interviewing for another one. This job listing was nowhere on credible search engines or semi-sketchy recruiting websites. He found it in an advertisement letter addressed directly to him that was sent to his home.

He applied though, because the joke of his life writes itself.

The shop smelt of coffee beans and stunk of natural wood. Instead of a modern, popular beige color scheme, the structure maintained an overall old-fashioned brown tone, with vintage furniture and little to no alternative vibrant colors. Customers lined up before a long wooden counter with no openings; on top sat multiple steam machines shoving out coffee heat, either waiting or already being used.

The accent wall attached to the one behind the cashier counter was made out of auburn red bricks and cement instead of ancient wood. Slapped in the middle of the brick wall was a fireplace with an ominous key cabinet stuck in the middle just above it. Jisung squinted at the fireplace, feeling compelled to wipe his glasses with the hem of his sweater. He swore he saw some colored dust on the logs.

You made a mental note to swipe the fireplace after humorously following Jisung’s gaze toward it. You had already rung up all the customers’ orders this morning before he could snap out of his trance. Determined to startle him a little to make up for the dull morning, you waited by the side of the counter with your arms folded and leaned against the edge. It took Jisung a while, but eventually, he turned his head away from the brick wall and jumped when he noticed your stare.

“Good morning,” you greeted.

“Good morning,” he returned politely with a casual bow. He cleared his throat of his nervousness; it was still there. He just pushed it behind a well-crafted facade of confidence. “I am here for the interview.”

You raised a brow with intrigue. That was a surprising turn of events. By a turn of event, you meant any deviation from the usual barista routine. Either way! You were usually on top of everything; the cleanliness of the shop, stocking ingredients, tending to request letters, and remembering information communicated to you by the Entities. You cannot for the life of you remember ever hearing about the shop receiving new hires. You have been working alone for three and a half years. If there were such news, you would remember!

Jisung pursed his lips patiently when you raised a finger, signaling him to give you a moment. In the meantime, he stood on his spot and recounted everything that had led him up to this point—the advertisement letter, replying to the advertisement by mailing a response letter (which was weird to him), getting an irregularly quick decision back that told him to come to this location for an interview. He made sure he double-checked the location before coming here. He could not have been wrong, could he?

His eyes followed you as you moved toward the back, where the wall of tiny drawers was. Sniffing to get the nervous itch out of his nose, he reached a hand up to pinch the tip. He wasn’t sure why he felt out of place. When you pulled open one of the drawers to peek inside and closed it shortly after, he realized that those were not decorations. He was sure the ones on the top of the ceiling would be, though.

You touched your hand to the empty spaces between each row to find a spot that could get you what you needed—the phone booth. When you did, you banged the space with your fist twice and stepped back. A ground shiver happened, startling Jisung. One of the drawer rows was separated from the wall with visible lines. Then, like a revolving door, it turned to the side and revealed a small accent brick wall with a rotary dial phone on top of an antique table.

You picked up the phone and dialed a number. Jisung has no idea what happened.

His best guess was that it was a deliberate design choice, but that assumption was quickly defeated with two counters he thought too quickly of.

One, corporate design choices are almost always made to maintain the old or garner new consumers. He knew that much as someone who has always been heavily involved in the inner workings of the mainstream music industry. He had a phase where he pretended being independent was better. With the fabricated authenticity people much value today, it still is better. But everything takes money, including breaking into the industry or just making an album in general, so he did care about corporate to an extent.

Even though he had never heard of this coffee shop before and had no idea how closely related to the Starbucks level corporate it was, there was no way the store structure was not crafted with the goal of inviting more customers. Except the changing telephone booth was shown when there were no customers around. It was just a function of the architecture that an employer could use, which to him made no sense. What can a cool feature be worth if the money spenders never see it?

Two, that kind of architecture must have cost a fortune to build. But Jisung had just heard of this coffee shop when he was offered to apply for a job here. When he was doing some research online before accepting the offer, he found no information about it either (and why did he apply to this job again? Because the joke writes itself!). A coffee shop as secretive as this one could either be two things: a soon-to-be vacant spot or a top secret hideout for extremely wealthy people. Considering its mundane location—just across the street from a plaza with McDonald’s and Pizza Hut—Jisung settled with the first thing.

Funnily enough, he would not put it past people who could wipe their snot with dollar bills to be bored enough with their life that they decided it would be fun to open a coffee shop just down a regular street. To fit more into the ordinary atmosphere, they have decided to hire only one employee and pay them the most undeserving salary too! It was anything to live like poor people without actually doing it!

Jisung shook his head off the millions of assumptions popping up. He was thinking too deeply about this. All he had to care about was getting the job, or not getting it. He planned to figure it out as he played along.

“I don’t know, Hyunjin. He doesn’t look too fine to me.” You spoke into the receiver while stealing glances at Jisung. “He looks zoned out, almost. All I’ve shown him is the turning walls, though.”

The other end laughed heartily with a joke you would have understood once, but you giggled with him nonetheless. Afterward, Hyunjin confirmed that he, too, got himself a visitor at the shop without prior notice. You heaved a relieved sigh, knowing that you made no mistake, even though it was unlikely that you would have to prepare anything extravagant to introduce a newcomer into the extraordinary world of the cosmic shops. All you would need were patience and a way of explaining things, both of which you possessed.

After you hang up, you knocked on an empty space on the wall again to turn it back to the drawer row. Your hands flew to rub against your apron to clean off the cement feel, and then you smoothed it out of habit. Looking up from the ground, you caught Jisung’s eyes and smiled at him. He returned it with a much lower intensity, likely because he was still confused about the sudden wall change. You headed to the side of the cashier counter and kicked harshly against it once. An entryway opened up for you, and you walked out from behind the register.

Jisung tried his best to hold back the furrow of his brows. As confusing as everything had been, he was still making an impression that would get him hired. But he swore on God that there was no visible entryway when he walked in through the door, which gave him direct sight of the side of the long counter table. And, of course, he swore on God because he did not believe in such things, so there would be no real repercussions if he made a mistake in his swear. You did walk out from behind it. He was not taking any chances.

“Sorry for the wait. I was not aware that we would be getting new hires,” you said as you held out your hand.

He immediately reached out and gave you a firm handshake. “No worries! My name is Han Jisung!”

“[Name],” you returned. “You are a little early, Jisung. You came during rush hour.”

“The letter I received told me to come at this time, though,” he informed, motioning at his bag as if he had the letter with him and could bring it out for evidence if you doubted him.

You hummed in acknowledgment. The letter could only have one sender: the Entity in charge of the coffee shop. Since the Entity also has access to the shop’s customer walk-in hours, if it specifically instructed Jisung to arrive at the time of serving, it could only mean that the Entity has a strong desire for Jisung to become a barista at the shop. It was a chance for him to catch you working, after all. If the Entity was unsure of its choice, it would have arranged for him to arrive when the shop was empty instead.

“I see.” You acknowledged to yourself before making eye contact with Jisung again. “You caught me at a terrible time, unfortunately. I just rang up all the customers’ orders, but I haven’t made them their drinks yet.”

Jisung smiled with uncertainty. He knew you were the only employee working at the front, but he didn’t think you were also going to be the person to interview him. He assumed someone of a higher position must be lazing around at the back and was charged to consider his application. Were you the only person here? Were you the manager who sent him the reply letter? What about the time clash? What kind of lousy management was this? This was even worse than what he had to deal with last time!

Maybe he shouldn’t work here!

You ran a hand through your hair as you turned your head to the side. Your lips pursed and smacked inaudibly as your mind riddled with thoughts about what you should do. When you looked at Jisung again, you politely smiled at him. It was a pretty smile. At least he thought it was pretty.

Maybe he should work here.

“Would you like to come to the back to help, or would you want to just wait around while I finish with this batch of drinks?” you asked, pointing behind your shoulder at the register. He didn’t look confused, but you added anyway. “You were already hired when the response letter was sent to you. You didn’t come here for an interview, I reckon. You came here for an explanation, which will help you determine whether you want to work here.”

Jisung breathed out an unsteady laugh. “Oh, I’m just looking for a part-time job while I work through university. I am fine with anything… even though I quit my last job, so clearly I wasn’t fine with anything…” The last part was mostly silent. After beating himself up enough, he perked up and nodded surely. “I think I will work here and see for myself. I’m sure you guys don’t have any policy I haven’t seen before!”

You giggled humorously at his response. How clueless, how cute. “This is not an ordinary coffee shop, Jisung.”

“You guys sell coffee, no?” he questioned.

“Hmm…,” you hummed, mirroring his questioning pitch, “we sell more than that.”

“Oh, is this one of those–“ Jisung snapped his fingers to conjure up the right words. He probably shouldn’t be talking to you so casually, but he could not help himself. You were the one who started speaking informally. You were only influencing him. “Marketing schemes? Where you guys say you’re selling coffee and something cheesy, like a homey environment?” He used air quotes, which, again, he probably should not be in his position. He just could not help it!

You scoffed. “No, but I’m glad you think this place is homey.”

“Actually, that was just an example. In fact, I think this place can use a bit more feeling of domesticity,” Jisung said, seemingly building up his confidence with each word he spoke. He rubbed his hands together as if he was in deep thought, and then he made a noise when he finally settled with an example to his suggestion. “Maybe somebody like me? I’m friendly, and all the neighborhood grandmas tell me I am adorable, like a stuff-cheeked squirrel.”

You could not see why the Entity wanted him unless it has a slowly revealing secret of choosing personality over actual competence. It would be harsh to judge Jisung so quickly, which you knew. His ridiculousness was overshadowing any specks of natural assumption in people you have that he could be very competent at this job. Not that this job requires much real effort on a daily basis, but when it does come a time that effort is needed, absolutely nobody could slack behind, or the result would surely be bloody.

Jisung responded to your judgemental eyes with a blushed smile. You sighed inwardly—he was cute, though.

“Would you help me, Jisung?” you asked again; you would just have to explain on the way. He got the feeling you were asking him to get on board. Expectant eyes stared up at him, and a smile plastered on a cutely tilted head. “Please?”

Oh, he should definitely work here.

Jisung loved to pride himself as a fast learner, and he was!

He wasn’t smart, but he was clever and quick-witted. Thanks to all the years of him being a curious and rebellious child growing up and having adults around him who cared deeply for him, he often had to weasel his way out of lectures and punishments. The point stood as he grew older, with his teachers, co-workers, and (some) managers, with multiple variations of him easily escaping problems. He absorbed his surroundings and people and knew how to manipulate them.

Just not this time. Mostly because he was confused with what he was absorbing.

After agreeing to help you with the orders, Jisung anticipated being told the steps to make several cups of coffee—the easier ones, at least, like the Espressos and Americanos. But you had him on customer duty instead, which was intriguing at most. He had just realized nobody was waiting around the area for their order when you mentioned it. When he asked about it, you told him it was because the process of making a drink was better off staying confidential, which was, again, intriguing at most.

He had worked as a barista for so long and seen so few variations to making the same caffeinated drinks that he could hardly believe there was anything special about the menu of this particular shop. Besides, customers were usually not perceptive enough to stalk the process of a barista making their coffee, let alone steal the recipe or complain about it. He had seen some before, but they were a rare breed of people!

He begrudgingly agreed to serve the customers, even he was unsure why he was being defensive about the task. That invited even more interesting rules you gave him.

Firstly, he was told not to introduce himself or make unnecessary conversations. Initially, Jisung thought it was a work ethic issue—chatting with a customer for too long will delay the working pace! He understood that and did not care much about talking to the customers anyway. Except you added clarification that he did not ask for, which was that you guys did not need any rare but possible (and unnecessary) mishaps in memory erasure when the customers leave.

Secondly, as he watched you make the drinks in hopes of getting a glimpse of the process, he learned one of two things: the tiny boxes behind him held lumps of dust of different colors, and you mixed them into the drink. The first thing you did for every cup was add the dust that looked like craft shop dust glitters. Nothing about it looked edible to Jisung. Everything about it looked like the materials pre-schoolers will slap on a Mother’s Day card. When he asked about it, you said they were personality dust, and it would do him nicely not to inhale nor taste them.

Lastly, there was nothing on the cups. There were no labels, no names, and no order abbreviations. There were only patterns. Each coffee cup has a unique design; chalk stripe, pinstripe, checkers, plaid, and whatnot. You informed him that every customer has a charm bracelet made of patterned pearls around their wrist. The patterns on the cups reflect the ones on the bracelet identically, so all he needed to do was to obverse and hand the drinks out. No calling names, no asking about anything. Just serve the drinks and leave.

These were a set of exceptional rules. Bizarre ones! Most of what he was cautioned not to do was against the customer service etiquette he has spent years honing, and the way the customers behaved was also out of normality. Everything so far has made him a point that said working here would be easier than usual but also unfamiliar. Extraordinarily unfamiliar.

“How are you doing, Jisung?” you asked after you collected all the leftover bracelets from the trinket plate left just by the back exit of the shop. Customers were instructed to drop them off when they leave. “You seem unwell.”

“That’s harsh. I don’t think I look that worn out,” Jisung muttered.

“Not worn out,” you said as you approached the fireplace and reached for the key cabinet. You hung the bracelets on their respective slots within the cabinet before closing it. You turned back to Jisung, your expression monotonous. “Just confused.”

“I am confused,” he replied as he crossed his arms. He regarded with you faint distaste. It was a misplaced judgment of how he felt about everything he had learned about this coffee shop so far. “You guys have interesting rules here.”

“This is not an ordinary coffee shop.”

“Yeah, okay–” He pursed his lips shut and heaved a deep breath. Whoever was behind this marketing scheme to be different and unique has got to quit it because authentic things can only stay authentic for a maximum of two months before becoming annoying. And this whole extraordinary concept you were selling him was getting on his nerves. “That is not remotely true about anything these days.”

“What is? Extra ordinem?”

“What is that?”

“Latin.”

“Oh, my sincere apologies. Public school didn’t exactly teach me a dead language,” he said with a few nods of false acknowledgment. “Is that a requirement? Do I need to be fluent in an obscure language to work here? Something like Sanskrit?”

“Oh, I know Sanskrit.”

“Of course you do.” It came out as a defeated whisper. Jisung rubbed his eyes and thought using humor as a defense mechanism against whatever he felt would do well. “Actually, let’s switch the roles for a bit. I want to talk to your manager about something.”

“You can’t do that until you have officially signed the contract to work here,” you hummed, giving him a brief glare for his snarky remark as you turned away from him to head to the counter. “Which I am just getting to before you interrupted me, by the way.”

You kicked the counter once and walked through the space. You moved toward where you last brought out the dial phone, Jisung recognized, and you repeated the action you did to turn the wall around. You knocked on the space between the drawer rows twice. He counted how this operation unfolded: two knocks, the ground shakes, and the wall turns. But, instead of a dial phone, what came about this time was a podium with a comically oversized leather notebook.

Dust filled the nearby air when you closed the notebook. It was as heavy as you expected; you have never had to take it off the podium. Holding it to your chest, you turned around, noticed the steam machine, and paused with a forgetful gasp. You had to key in the code for the teleportor. Shifting to the side, you put the notebook on the counter before going to the steam machine.

There was a sequence to what to push, what degree to turn the dials, and when to pull on its handles. Jisung noticed it through some obscure form of rhythmic measure he could hear from how you handled the steam machine. The steam machine whistled with an airy heat, like the starting of a steam locomotive. When you were done, the fireplace ignited with a burning flame. The flame blew out as abruptly as it started, startling Jisung for the second time.

He stared at the fireplace with big, jittery eyes. But the way you slowly pulled the notebook back to your chest and left from behind the counter did not go unnoticed. You made your way near the fireplace and turned around, beckoning him over to you. Jisung furrowed his brows and fidgeted with his legs as if debating if he wanted to move anywhere near a self-igniting fireplace.

“Let’s stop stalling,” you urged just a beat before he jogged over to you, causing him to scoff in irritation.

“I wouldn’t stall so much if you would give me a thorough explanation of what is happening around here,” he retorted. “I don’t want to participate in any unsafe work environment charges.”

“You won’t have to if you don’t sue us.” You pointed into the fireplace, mostly giving him dull eyes and ignoring his comments about everything he came across. “Crawl through the tunnel.”

“Wow! You are just full of surprises!” Jisung clapped his hands loudly. His smile looked delirious. “Did you not hear what I said about unsafe workplace environment?”

You rolled your eyes. There should be nowhere more notorious than where you work when it comes to unsafe workplace environments. If Jisung were worried about safety—first of all, the Entity would have never set eyes on him in the first place. It must have been that he has another quality so overwhelmingly beneficial to this service chain that the Entity decided to take a risk and recruited him. Secondly, if Jisung were worried about safety, you genuinely would not recommend him signing any contracts today. If anything, he should make his way out now.

But you must explain everything for him to make an informed decision, so it was through the tunnel willingly or—you pursed your lips together—a slight change of plans.

“Fine,” you sighed with a dramatic shoulder slump. “All subtly is gone.”

You clicked the heel of your right shoe against the ground, scraping it more than landing it. Then, with much effort, you slapped your hands twice. The ground rumbled, but this time the floor began to spiral in addition to the Earthquake. Sounds of rusty gears reverberated off the walls like a stereotypical factory, moving something out of sight. Most things stayed in place, not at all bothered by the shaking.

Jisung went on his tip-toes in response to the spinning floor, but he soon realized that while the ground under his feet was moving, he was not. He gawked at you in disbelief when he saw that you were only patiently standing off the side, waiting for a result he wasn’t sure about. Then he had a thought that perhaps you were used to this. But the only reason he could fathom this being a common occurrence was that the design of this coffee shop has got to be phenomenal, and he had already rejected that assumption a while ago.

A pair of single vinyl sofas and a tall, round coffee table rolled into the room. When they were set in place near where Jisung was standing—the back of the sofa nudged his hip—the ground stopped shaking. Jisung whipped his head from the sofa to you. For some reason, he decided not to run for the door. Something told him that if this was the level of abnormality the coffee shop could produce, the door leading outside must not be outside.

Not to say he came to that conclusion because he did not believe in magic. Rather, he believed in a well-practiced production team and the greatness of technology. With a full head of modern, sensible options to choose from, Jisung decided this must be the second coming of The Truman Show. Or something like that, at least. He wondered if he would get compensated for this. Maybe he would sue, just not for poor workplace environment.

“Sit down, Jisung,” you asked after you set the notebook on the table. You picked a sofa and rested yourself atop it, waiting for him to do the same but choosing not to stall anymore. “This must all be confusing to you–“

“Is this a variety show prank?” He cut you off with a twirling finger pointing at the ceiling. When you bewilderedly gave him no response, he sucked in a notable breath and leaned back against the chair. He crossed his legs and shrugged, almost smugly, as if it was a huge accomplishment to bust your little broadcasting scheme. “I have to say; this is all very well done. But I think I’ve acted like an idiot enough for thirty minutes' worth of content, so please ask the editing team to blur my face, or else I will sue.”

“You can’t sue us,” you said, with deadpan eyes and a deadpan tone. This really has dragged on long enough. “We don’t exist anywhere on the government registry.”

“What? You guys are independent?”

“Technically,” you nodded, “we work for the higher-ups.”

He smirked questioningly. “So, the government?”

“Think high as in literally.”

He furrowed his brows, his smile depleting seconds longer because he was thinking deeply about this. “Like…” he grumbled, “Gods?”

“There you go. It’s not that hard.” You clapped your hands softly in a mocking mannerism. “Not directly, though. We work for Entities, who work for Gods.”

He opened his mouth, debating what he should say. If growing up in a religious school has taught him anything, it was that God is not real. It could be a gross case of misplacing his hatred for the school system, and in general, the school itself that made him come to the conclusion. But he has generally never broken out of that realm of thought, and he didn’t think he ever would in the future. Today was not going to be the day his belief got questioned.

“I am not religious,” he informed.

“Sure. That means nothing to me, and I reckon it means nothing to them too.” You shrugged dismissively. “You don’t have to believe in them. You just have to abide by them.”

He tilted his head in unwilling agreement. If anybody here should know about abiding by values they do not believe in, out of fear or shame or any outrageous emotions, it should be he who the less-than-gracious societal standards have touched. He has been doing that since he began his studies at the religious primary school, after all.

He could humor this.

“Okay,” he said and crossed his fingers. “What do you have for me?”

“A thorough explanation,” you replied. “And a fair warning to please listen very carefully to what I say in the next few minutes because I hate to repeat tedious information. Once you sign the contract, you cannot terminate it unless of exceptional circumstances.”

Well, somebody should really sue this place.

Jisung was not religious.

You were not asking him to be.

It felt like you were, though. Either that or you thought he was stupid. Not just out of a strange dislike but genuinely. Both of which left a bad taste in his mouth. But this was going too far and too specific into detail that it was out of place to settle it all with scamming as a solution. If this wasn’t a scam, then this must be a cult. A cult that believed in specific cosmic energy. But not even the internet tarot readers would go as far as to renovate an entire shop to sell a belief! There was no way.

That left him one last, unwilling option: this must be real.

From the Goddess’s sacrifice in a war from a time he couldn’t begin to date back, to the creation of this coffee shop and a chain of other shops under the same magical premise, to the powerful beings with no forms that were basically in the position of a branch manager—this whole shebang must be real. And he, Han Jisung, who does not have a fulfilling life mapped before him, was somehow selected to serve here.

On second thought, the most outrageous thing you have said so far was that he, of all people, was chosen.

“What was the war about?”

“The war is inconsequential,” you replied with a brief smile, finding it hilarious that the war was what he decided to ask about first.

“Didn’t a lot of people die from the war?” he questioned with an incredulous but still righteous-sounding whisper. “That is why the Goddess died, wasn’t it?”

“But did you die in the war?” you asked rhetorically before you shrugged. “You didn’t. Then it shouldn’t matter.”

“It’s history. A tragic one at that,” he argued while maintaining his previously low tone. “War is war. A massacre is a massacre.” He eyed you carefully, trying to access you more than you were letting on for him to see. You looked like a human, but he was still in the unknown about what you were. He wanted to know. He wanted to find an excuse behind that seemingly apathetic demeanor.

“Yet you can learn nothing from it, and you can do nothing to prevent it if it happens again,” you said with a raised brow. You had not meant for the mood to dampen, but you would take no attitude from any boy with a false sense of heroism today. “What is history worth if it’s just a story?”

Folktales, fairy tales, and fables. Raconteurs do not tell lessons from pure imagination. Everything children have ever read was real somewhere within this vast universe. They were all history—Cinderella’s dream coming to an end, the flock of sheep that died because of a boy’s deceptive mischief, and Thumbelina’s home being turned into a fuming factory. The original story is always history, and the subsequent renditions are the result of creativity, which was still one of the greatest gift a God has ever given mankind.

Yet they were not important. You learn from stories, and you never execute their morals. Why? Just because they were contained in colorful spines and spoken through a soft mother’s mouth?

“I did not mean to say the war is unimportant in the foundation it set for the world to be where it is now,” you added. “But neither were you there at that time, nor have you been working in the structural manifestation of its consequences long enough to care, have you?”

“It’s worth it because I care,” Jisung said after a moment of silence. He looked determined; the answer did not come out of spite. “You told me what happened, and I am in the know now, so I care. I don’t have to have experienced it.”

History matters because story matters. Stories of humanity, stories of humans, stories of people; they all matter. He was born in this generation because people cared enough about each other to keep each other alive and going. There were old stories about strangers he had never met because someone once loved them so much that they could not contain their legacy in memories alone. History matters because story matters because love matters.

You debated against telling him the little impact his care has on the world. Taking a mental step back, you slumped against the sofa and nodded in agreement to seal the conversation. What mattered now was to get the hiring orientation over with.

“Do you have any more questions for me?”

Jisung flashed his determined eyes at you, a result of his previously one-sided agitating conversation. He quickly bounced from the brewing distaste onto his usual humorous demeanor. He cleared his throat and mimicked the motion of rolling open a very long scroll. The scroll would obviously be full of questions, but much different than the performative ones he would ask at an actual job interview.

“What is the compensation for working here?” He wiggled his brows at you with a smile.

“Anything reasonable and within the limits of what an Entity can or is allowed to do. The kick is that it doesn’t have to be money,” you said with a snap of your finger. “One of my colleagues asked for a five hours extension on one of the nights last month to study for an exam.”

“Cool. Have the manager know my first paycheck will be at least five thousand dollars,” he hummed. “Next question! Do I get to do all those house tricks you did?”

“You would have to,” you replied with a shake of your head, unsure why he even asked the question. “Additional to the tricks, you will also be granted special abilities.”

“I was getting to that!” He closed the imaginative scroll in his hands. For a moment, his expression flattened with seriousness. This part was important to him because of his excitement to obtain superpowers (a childhood dream of his, one could say) and his curiosity to understand the need for him to have them. “We need those abilities because of unforeseen attacks, right?”

“Yes.” You nodded.

“Do you know why they happen?” he questioned.

Those were not detailed in books. Being an avid reader, you have concluded that one requirement of understanding the books in The Repository is comprehension skills. Books of Life describe actions and events but do not discuss emotions and thought processes. Why did this person do this? Why did this person choose a particular someone? The books do not detail the reason, just the action. Reasons can only be found in a reader’s interpretation.

To answer Jisung, you have no idea. You could only guess, and you had developed an elaborate assumption long ago. You just have no wish to indulge Jisung in it today.

“Why do people do anything?” you countered.

Jisung sighed. His best guess was for power. It seemed to always lead back to that.

“The Entities have a protective barrier around all the cosmic shops to prevent attacks, so we are mostly safe. But the barriers are essentially useless if faced by a creature whose power is on par with them.”

Jisung deduced the rest by himself. He has read enough comic books and watched enough movies to understand what you meant. If any creature is to barge into the store, there is a very high likelihood that the creature would be of the same caliber as an Entity. Hostility paired with high power—he did not need a demonstration from celestial beings to predict the chaos that particular duo could cause. It was already happening on Earth.

“Has anyone ever died from an attack?” he asked.

“Not that I know of. Heavily injured? Yes. Died? Not sure.” You shook your head. “We don’t talk about it. If you really want to know, you best consult the librarian.”

“A librarian, like from the… you know,” he waved his hand as if gesturing at a God standing behind him, “non-human library? Is there one?”

“Yes. It’s called The Repository. It is the only all-knowing thing in this universe.” You laughed briefly at his thoughtful expression. Then you began to hum. “I think our current librarian is a human boy, though. The previous librarian stepped down and is now practicing alchemy in the tower instead. He is an owl.”

“Does the owl talk?”

“He does.”

“Do you think he will let me record him if I ask politely?” Jisung joked, but some degree of his voice showed that he was seriously anticipating agreement from you. This was all new to him, but the excitement of welcoming a magical world into his existence simply could not be contained with disbelief alone.

You snorted at the idea. The owl was but an old man in animal form. There was not one menacing bone in its body. “He loves flattery, so that might be the way to go.”

He grinned. He didn’t actually plan to videotape the talking alchemist owl. Come to think of it, how fascinating it would be to get a taste of alchemy finally? Let alone meeting a sentient owl that has enough intelligence to practice it. That would be cool. It sounded fake; Jisung still had lingering doubts about everything. Reacting so calmly and floating with the process like this was extraordinary of him.

A timid corner of him wanted to be part of something greater, something magical, something untouched by regularity. Because throughout his life, he has been underwhelming. Nothing valuable comes from a boy pursuing a creative future that would bring him nowhere because he was both unlucky and simply not good enough. That was it for him—a mistake made during freshman year in college that would soon dictate the rest of his life.

Unless he chooses to be a barista at an otherworldly coffee shop.

“So…” Jisung muttered with his eyes on his hands. He played with his calloused fingers, fading wounds on his skin from guitar strings reminding him how his life could be more significant. He slowly peeked at you when he finished his sentence, “When do I start work?”

You clenched your fists together. Jisung wanted to work here. That signaled the end of an era of you working alone, facing monsters alone, and being alone. A spark of excitement ignited within you like you hadn’t heard good news in a while. You contained it professionally and sealed the vault with a thankful smile. He was taken back by the sincerity of it, and a sudden blush crept onto his cheeks.

He knew this from the moment he saw you; time hasn’t altered his opinion. You were very pretty to him.

“They will send you the work schedule after you sign the contract and get your gift from the tree,” you informed as you touched the leather notebook on the table. You opened the spine to reveal two pieces of paper stuck to the back. They were employee profiles. You turned the book around and pointed at Jisung’s profile sheet. “Check your details and give me your hand.”

Jisung schemed through the information. He never checked them once throughout his life, not at the doctor’s office, not when he was applying to university, and not even when he was renewing his passport at the government center. The odds that there would be an error is too low. Nodding and humming in mindless agreement, Jisung paid more attention to the profile structure than the information printed on top, and he gave you his hand.

You huffed at his carelessness but said nothing. Taking the first page of the notebook between your fingers, you guided Jisung’s thumb to the slit of the parchment paper and swiftly nicked his skin with it. He winded with a strangled yell, surprised and obviously pained. Retracting his hand, he held his thumb and squeezed to numb the pain. He panicked when more blood trickled out, and his next instinct was to get it away from his clothes.

“What the fuck?” he accused.

“You need to sign the contract. I already told you,” you replied with a point to the end of his profile sheet. “You also need the blood for the tree.”

“This is a lawsuit waiting to happen!” he hollered as he stamped his thumb to the paper, leaving a print. Unlike his expectations, nothing happened. It was just a bloody thumbprint.

You ignored him as you shut the notebook. Standing up, you briefly gestured for him to follow you before shuffling on your way. You quickly ran behind the register counter to return the log book where it belonged, then you approached the fireplace and pointed at it for another attempt. This one would be smoother, you believed.

“Crawl through the tunnel,” you demanded.

Jisung scoffed, and one side of his lips quirked with unwilling smugness. He kicked his feet and glared at you as if telling you he was going to do it anyway, so you should have asked him nicely. You rolled your eyes as he knelt before the pit. He grimaced when his hands touched the burnt wood, but he continued through and squeezed his small shoulders through the fireplace. You followed behind him closely.

It did not take long for you both to come out the other side. Jisung could already see the brightness from inside the tunnel, but his eyes still needed a short adjustment period when his head popped out through the hole of a tree. He forced his body out of the hole and carefully stood up, his eyes still squeezed shut to accommodate the sudden sunlight. You did the same but with more familiarity and dusted your apron like you always did after crawling through the tunnel.

Jisung rubbed his eyes harshly a few times and blinked to process. The wind picked up behind him as his sight welcomed a never-ending meadow, something like a fairy-tale garden or an enchanted forest. Flowers grew on all grassy surfaces, with tender trees lodged far and between. A curved walking trial could be seen leading up to what seemed to be the biggest tree he could find in the area, and when he squinted, he could find a picnic table with several chairs around it.

“Come on. We need to get to the tree,” you urged with a tap on his shoulder.

Jisung followed behind you. There was a pattern in his steps; he admired the scenery, and sometimes he would stop to check something out before hustling to catch up with your pace. He wanted you to give him time to take everything in, or maybe even more to explore this place, but he supposed work will always be work. He would have more time here when he began his work.

“Where is this?” He asked after his third time catching up to you.

“This is the Glory Garden,” you replied. “Do you remember the drawers behind us on the wall? We get the personality dust we store there primarily from this place.”

He kept a confused smile on his face. “Personality dust?”

“Yeah, that is what we sell,” you said casually. “I planned to tell you once you start training.”

“You guys sell personality dust?”

“No, we sell personalities.”

He stopped in his tracks with a head tilt, squinting at you. First of all, like almost everything that has happened, that sounded fake. Second of all, that was a significant part of the coffee shop operation that you have conveniently left out of the explanation. He wasn’t sure if the sale aspect of this business was anything important to mention, but should you not have told him anyway? Third of all, selling personalities? Give him a break!

“You can’t sell personalities,” he laughed.

You turned around to face him. There was not one ounce of argumentative gleam in your eyes, only exhaustion and perhaps a mildly irritated speck. With a face like his, it was a waste for him to be so upsettingly redundant.

“This is where you draw the line?” you asked. “You just crawled into a fireplace, through a tunnel in the fireplace, and out to a meadow that doesn’t exist on Earth. But this is where you choose to use your critical thinking skills?”

He furrowed his brows. That felt like a personal attack on his intelligence. “I don’t like your tone.”

“Start liking it then,” you retorted quickly before spinning on your heels and walking away. You added with a wave of your hand, though, just for some self-entertainment. “You can do it. You’re smart.”

Jisung snorted in disbelief as he watched your back. He pointed accusingly after you, faint curses flowing from his lips like a waterfall. But there was a smile on his face. Running a hand through his hair, Jisung licked the corner of his mouth and pulled his lips into a grin because he secretly liked it. He wasn’t sure what he liked; the subtle distaste you two have for each other? Your irritation with him and his utter lack of trust in you? The kind of light-hearted rivalry he read so much about in comic books? Perhaps. Or it could be his crush on you making the judgment.

He chased after you, jogging along the only walking path in the meadow. You soon led him to a flower bed filled with variations; sunflowers, tulips, peonies, lilies, and many more he could not recognize. But the most intriguing about the flower bed was that all of them were abnormally tall and squeezed closely together. It seemed the further the bed went, the higher the flowers were, starting from his waist and going over his head.

There was an opening in the middle of two overhead roses. You had to push them apart to open the path up ahead. The more Jisung saw it, the more this flower bed felt like a trap. A human catching device of sorts, he was imagining. Something the fantasy people created to catch intruders who did not have the purest of hearts!

“Stupid… stupid… stupid…”

“The flowers can read your thoughts,” you told him without looking back. “They’re calling you stupid.”

“I would make a problematic joke, but I’m walking inside you guys right now–” Jisung pursed his lips when he processed what he said. He shook his hand before his mouth to forgo his poor word choices mentally and also his horrible thoughts of cutting this whole flower bed down with a construction truck. He hasn’t learned how not to think whatever he wants to yet. “Please don’t kill me.”

The flowers continued with their one-word insult until the end of the path. Coming out from the other side was the beginning or the end of a cave with heavy moss vines hanging over it like a door. Jisung peeked through the gaps as he walked out of the cave, and his brows raised. He turned to look behind his shoulder; all he could see was darkness.

This place felt hollow. It was under the same sun, but the ancient trees forced the lights to dim with no gaps between their leaves and branches. Sounds of cicadas filled the forest, mixing with the gentle swings of wind against the surface of all the plants in this place. Everything was quiet and old, and humid. This was the type of place people go to for peace of mind or to end their lives. There must be a lake here somewhere that somebody has jumped and drowned in. A refugee, a God, a girl and a boy.

“Do you see that tree there?” you asked gently as you pointed upward.

Jisung trailed after the direction and faced up. He could see it, but seeing only parts of a colossal log hidden behind the fog was weird. “That is where we’re going.”

“That is where we’re going,” you repeated in confirmation.

You two walked. Jisung tested himself on his memorization to find out he was quite directionally challenged. Still, he pushed back against the defeating thought with the excuse that not only was this forest enormous, but he was also still in a state of shock, and this was only his first time here. He should redo the test when he has done enough exploration. He reckoned he would do much better.

After a few minutes of non-stop walking, you finally stopped. Before you both was a wall of thick fog, Jisung could not begin to try and see into it. You rubbed your hands together to combat the sudden cold created by the mist. Then you turned halfway around to alert for his attention. You reached your hand out to him, waiting.

“Take my hand,” you said. “You’ll get lost in there.”

“Is that true, or are you flirting with me?” he said with a loud chuckle.

“My friend almost died in there.”

Jisung’s hand flew into yours with a solemn nod. He apologized under his breath, not quite meeting your eyes after the foolery he unknowingly pulled. You found his reaction amusing, mostly because you were lying.

The fog never kills; it only loses people. You remembered the first time you arrived at this place with Hyunjin. You two came across each other at the flower bed path leading to the forest—called The Green Hallow, you later learned—and decided to walk together for company. After heading into the fog, you two separated and became increasingly lost as you attempted to find each other. Once you two did, Hyunjin grabbed your hand and did not let go until you both reached the other side.

You did the same with Jisung. His hand was soft in yours as you walked straight ahead without changing the angle of your steps. Keep straight, do not falter, and go through the fog. Coming out the other side was The Oak Fort—a sanctuary separated from the rest of the forest, protected by the power of the most ancient oak tree in the universe. This place was different from the forest; quieter but with tranquility, and there were gentle sounds of wind chimes in the air.

Jisung looked above and noticed the twisting branches poking out below the clouds, circling the fort like a dome. The most ancient tree, the wisest tree, the most powerful tree. You let go of his hand, and he reacted by staring at the sudden cold that hit his palm. He threw off the feeling and followed you. He stepped across the narrow stream of water near where the tree's root submerged into the ground and met you in the middle.

“Touch the tree with your palm. Make sure your blood gets on it," you instructed before taking a few steps back to give him privacy.

His helpless eyes lingered on you, and part of him relaxed when you smiled encouragingly at him. He looked back at the tree and heaved a deep sigh. He thought he was hallucinating blood spots on the wood; marks left behind by previous workers. This was what he wanted. This was what he agreed to! He had already signed the contract, so he couldn’t get out of it even if he wanted to now. Press his palm, and his life changes forever, for better or for worse.

Biting his lower lip slightly, he abruptly flatted his palm against the tree branch.

You watched with anticipation what would happen. From your experience, when you and Hyunjin received your respective gifts, the tree produced a different reaction. You both deduced that whatever happens during the process reflects the gift that the tree grants. That assumption was later confirmed by your research on the oak tree in the library. Looking forward, though, there didn’t seem to be much happening.

Jisung looked up with confusion. A sudden recoil of dread salivated in his mouth then—could this be rejection? Was the tree refusing him a position at the shop? Could the tree even make a decision like that? Well, of course, it can! It is the most ancient tree ever! It must have been through countless wars and seen numerous generations! It could probably even fish out the fact that he sucked! If anything has a say in who could work in a store made out of pure magical bullshit, it would be the tree!

Jisung abruptly choked on thin air, grasping for oxygen. His body struggled against sudden immobility. He was too busy arguing with his head. Even if he wasn’t, this was all too sudden for him to properly react anyway. Your wide eyes fixed on Jisung, unclear of the usual violence you were seeing until you took a risky step forward and squinted your eyes. They were barely visible but wrapped tightly around his limbs, and his throat was spider silk.

But they were not soft. They were cold and threatening, like metal wires thin enough to cut your head off cleanly. After a moment, they began to burn at his skin like splatters of boiled water he could not avoid. It hurt. The burning hurt. And he could barely breathe. Unbeknownst to Jisung, the spider silk glowed a faint golden color as it submerged into his skin, giving his vein the natural magic the tree had taken out of itself. That was where the burning came from; not the submersion but the magic.

The magic was where the pain came from.

When the gifting process was done, Jisung dropped harshly to the ground and sobbed out the fear. “What the fuck! What the fucking was that–fucking shit–what–“ He got thrown into a coughing fit simultaneously as he sucked in as much oxygen as he could. “Fuck you! What was that? That sucked balls!”

“Do you curse this much regularly?” you muttered as you helped him up.

“Fuck you, I thought I was going to die,” he retaliated tearfully while accepting your help. The redness on his face slowly faded as reality returned to him. “Damn it. I thought it was going to be butterflies and rainbows.”

“With magic? Never,” you giggled. “Magic always comes with a price, especially when people who normally wouldn’t have it use it. We all went through the same thing when we got our abilities, and we all have to look after the possible consequences of using them.”

Jisung eyed you with narrowed eyes. That made him feel better. He thought he was, embarrassingly, the odd one out; the only one who got his bones and pipes knocked out of him by a tree. An ancient magical tree, but still a damn tree nonetheless! Sighing audibly, he asked, “What was yours like?”

You hummed. “I was suffocating until the tree was done. Not gasping for air, suffocating. No air in or out of me at all.”

“That sounds better than what happened to me,” Jisung scowled.

You rolled your eyes. It was not a competition, but if you had to pick a person—or a pair of people who got it the worst? “I think the two working at the music store got it the worst, actually,” you mentioned with a grimace. “One of them was bleeding by the end of it, everywhere. The other one got a tree branch shoved down his throat.”

Chan and Changbin began working for the cosmic stores after you. You were not there during their gifting process, but you were there in The Repository when Changbin barged through the doors with a heavily wounded Chan on his back, looking for help. One of the creatures that emerged from the fog after the gifting process led them through the hidden cave in the middle of the oak tree. That directly led them to the library tower.

The alchemist owl was the one who tended to them. You remembered it giving Changbin a cup of dark green goo to drink, instructing that it would be needed to get the wood residues out of his body. You made friends with him as you gave him a tour of the library; it was just to help him swallow down the disgusting drink, really.

“That’s a lawsuit,” Jisung mused under his breath to combat the disgusted itch clambering at his throat by simply imagining what you just told him. He rubbed the base of his neck after he caught a glimpse of your deadpan, and he smiled. “It’s not funny anymore, huh?”

“It never was.”

“Oh.” He rolled his eyes and whistled. “Harsh.” He liked it. “So, what now?”

“You’re done. Now you go back to Earth and wait for your schedule,” you said. “Oh! Before I forget–this should go without saying, but no using any of your abilities outside of,” you waved your arms about, “this setting. Unless you are coming for work, then you are allowed to use magic to get any door to lead here.”

“The superpowers work outside of,” he mimicked the waves of your arms, “this setting?”

“Yes,” you sighed in defeat. You could not tell if he was mocking you or trying to make a serious joke. “Please don’t use it outside of… this setting….”

Jisung hummed in agreement. There was a lower chance of him attempting to use magic on Earth if you never even told him he could in the first place. Besides, who would believe him? Nothing is what meets the eye these days, even if they are real. He wouldn’t, though. He would listen to you.

“Okay.” A small smile peeked at the corner of your lips. “Welcome to The Masquerade, by the way. That is our shop’s name. Masks, personalities, you know.”

“Haha…” Jisung let out a wiggle of laughter that died down quickly. Not because he felt awkward but because he was deep in thought. It took him a short moment to speak. “A Masquerade, a mask parade.”

You blinked with pity. Jisung pursed his lips together and forced a grin on his face.

It would be a tough crowd from now on.

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blmed · 8 months ago

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LOCATION. JOHANN'S PRIMARY OFFICE. Eugen-Leopold Platz 1, berlin.

Johann works in undisclosed subsidiary security company from Switzerland &. the company's headquarter is located in Eugen-Leopold Platz 1, outside of hackescher markt, berlin. it is one of most recognizable buildings amongst of commercials buildings on the corner of the market as it was meant to be built for an advertisement company by its completion in 2011, however after four years of operation, the advertisement company had gone bankrupt &. the security company chose its new headquarter place in berlin.

Designed by Hermann Schultz, this 8,800 m² building was an actualization of the previous company's vision: Orchestra of Ideas. The building was designed to mimic a modern orchestra house &. its interwoven instrumental imagery. The work surfaces are arranged around the central stage, with an atrium connecting all of the floors &. work spaces. the ground floor has reception, lobby, restaurant &. urban space. the company chose this building as a perfect cover-up of security services dealings that go through the company; an orchestra of safety.

As general counsel of the company, Johann's office is located on the sixth floor of this eight stories building. The whole floor is floor is for the legal department. the office is a combination of closed but transparent office cells with open areas that create a spatial continuum that enables informal encounters &. concentrated work at the same time.

Upon walking from the escalator / lift, the visitor will be welcomed by the front office where johann's secretary resides &. a guest meeting room as an extension of the front office. within the front office, there's a modern designed sofa for the visitor to sit whilst waiting for the meeting. because of the transparent window/door that divide the front room &. the meeting room, a person can see the meeting takes place.

furthermore, when a person walks through the lobby on the left side of the front office, soon they will be welcomed by a bigger meeting room, of which people call it as a conference room. within this place, it can hold about twenty to twenty five people thus accommodating larger discussions / meetings than the front office. on the right side of the conference room, there's a couple of paralegals &. legal assistants offices. the senior legal counsels &. legal counsels offices are the left side as an extension from the press conference room which eventually make a box shaped floor.

johann's office is situated between the conference room &. legal counsels' offices. upon walking to his office, a person will be welcomed by modern abstract painting that matches the modern facade of the building alongside of several black &. white industrial photographs captured by johann's friends. there's also modern black sofa in between before johann's personal desk. johann's personal desk is a modern oak table with dark green deskmat &. trinkets such as steel globe, industrial desk lamp, personal photos on the corner of the desk &. a laptop that he carries than using computer. behind the desk, there's a small storage that keeps documents &. books he reads &. a safe box beside of it. there's not much that can describe his personality, however he keeps personal photos such as a picture of him &. his mother on his first day as a law student, a picture of him &. his cousin, nina, &. pictures of nina's triplets as well as one of triplets' drawing he keeps as a reminder of the family he barely connects despite being in germany.

johann continuously goes back & forth between his office in bern, new york, london, &. others however he sees the berlin office as his primary office.

#* meta. berlin office.#* graphics. berlin office.#* locations. berlin office.

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vintagelasvegas · 3 years ago

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Apache Hotel / Horseshoe Club / Binion’s Gambling Hall

Apache Hotel, Fremont & 2nd, right around the time of opening in March 1932. No signs on the building. Photo by Larry Ullom.

Apache hotel and various clubs:

‘05: Property bought by W.R. Thomas, begins building a hotel in ‘10, abandons the project, leaving exposed open basement through the 20s.

‘31: P.O. Silvagni buys the property, begins building. A.L. Worswick, architect.

‘32: Apache Hotel opens 3/19/32. Hotel leased to R.R. Russell for 15 years. Silvagni opens a series of clubs in the basement in ‘32-34 - Apache Indian Village, Kiva Club, and ‘Pache Club. Apache Casino, a separate business, opens on the ground floor in Oct. by Pop Houskey, T. Thebo.

‘41: New Western Casino on the ground floor in Jul.; closed Spring ‘42.

‘42: Forester Jewelers on the ground floor (10/1/42-7/28/44).

‘45: S.S. Rex Club on the ground floor, opened 3/3/45. Partners include T. Cornero, Silvagni, W. Alderman. Sign by Nevada Outdoor Advertising. City orders partners including owner/landlord Silvagni out in Jun; G. McAfee licensed to take over the club in Jul.

‘46: S.S. Rex Club sold to M. Bernstein in Feb; M. Sedway as manager; casino becomes Eldorado Club in Aug, Sedway continues as manager.

‘47: Apache Hotel rooftop sign installed (c. late ‘47). Arthur Rozen, Ed Moss take over management at Eldorado Club.

‘50: Eldorado closed in Dec. The club reopened as Clover Club circa Jan.-Feb ‘51 with Eldorado sign in place. Eldorado sign removed from marquee by May ‘51.

Horseshoe club:

‘51: Horseshoe Club opens on the ground floor 8/14/51.

‘52: “Benny Binion” name added to the Horseshoe sign c. May, after Binion is licensed.

‘53: Binion loses license in Dec after federal conviction; casino under control of new partners J. Brown, W. Dorsett, “Doby Doc” Caudill; Binion name removed from the sign in late ‘53 or early ‘54.

‘54: Apache Hotel Annex expansion on 2nd St with Horseshoe Club on the ground floor, alley separates the main building and annex. Million dollar display introduced to Horseshoe Club.

‘58: Horseshoe Club leases Apache Hotel. Rooftop sign removed, and the Apache name retired until 2019. Brown’s stake sold to E. Levinson & Fremont Hotel partners, Levinson as president of Horseshoe.

‘59: Million dollar display removed, currency belonging to Joe W. Brown estate.

‘60: Jack Binion, age 22, approved as 2 ½ owner of Horseshoe

‘61: Neon facade installed on the building and expansion onto former Boulder Club property.

‘62: Parking garage addition, McAllister & Wagner, architect.

‘64: Binion family becomes sole shareholders of the Horseshoe. Main building and annex joined, removing the alley at unknown date in mid-late 60s.

‘69: Million dollar display re-introduced.

‘70: World Series of Poker begins.

‘88: Horseshoe buys The Mint in Jun; expands into the club in Jul; “Mint” lettering immediately removed from the signs; signs entirely replaced throughout Fall ‘88-early ‘89. Benny Binion statue sculpted by Deborah Copenhaver, at Casino Center & Ogden, unveiled in Nov.

‘98: Becky Binion Behnen sole owner of Horseshoe.

‘99: Million dollar display sold, removed.

‘04: Horseshoe closed after cash seizure, 1/9/2004. Sold to Harrah’s. Harrah’s retains Horseshoe brand and World Series of Poker, sells remaining assets to MTR Gaming.

Binion’s Gambling Hall:

‘05: Hotel-casino rebranded Binion’s Gambling Hall & Hotel in Mar.

‘08: Casino and hotel lease sold to TLC Gaming.

‘09: Hotels closed (former Mint tower and Apache).

‘19: Older hotel reopens as Apache Hotel.

Photos from the collection at Nevada State Museum, Las Vegas. Sources include: D. Swanson. Blood aces: the wild ride of Benny Binion, the gangster who created Vegas poker. Viking, 2014.

Below: circa 1932, view on 2nd Street, main hotel entrance.

#1932 #Apache Hotel #Horseshoe Club

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scbrvght · 7 months ago

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. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ( starter call ) - I've been just seriously feeling supernatural au so ♡ for a starter for one of my muses with a supernatural verse listed below ! I used to have this whole au sn!verse option so we can use that or take things in another direction. will shoot you a message to clarify muses and things ! ♡

I've always had this lil sn!verse set in like a dark academia university for sn kind of thing... think wednesday or the witch school sabrina went to in caos vibes. I used to advertise this verse a lot more years ago & I miss it n' feel super musey for it.

if you're interested in supernatural things outside this setting I'm totally okay with that too !!

st. cuorem's university

hidden deep in a misty forest in oregon, st. cruorem’s university serves as a sanctuary of arcane knowledge and supernatural prowess. outwardly, it masquerades as an elite private school for the wealthy, but beneath this facade lies a realm steeped in dark academia and ancient secrets. its sprawling campus, a blend of gothic architecture and enchanted landscapes, boasts ivy-clad stone buildings, towering spires, and grand archways adorned with intricate carvings of mythical beings. the grounds, perpetually shrouded in twilight, hum with magical energy and the scent of pine. inside, dimly lit corridors resonate with the whispers of centuries-old incantations and the soft rustling of ancient tomes. flickering candlelight casts elongated shadows on walls adorned with portraits of past luminaries, their eyes seemingly alive with hidden knowledge. the library, an expansive labyrinth of texts, houses volumes from alchemical treatises to forbidden grimoires. the student body is a diverse assembly of supernatural beings, from vampires and witches to werewolves and more enigmatic creatures, each honing their unique abilities. rigorous training occurs in hidden chambers and expansive, enchanted arenas where students practice spellcasting, combat, and mastery of their inherent powers. st. cruorem’s is not just a school; it’s a who's who of the supernatural world. the social hierarchy here is fierce and competitive, with the elite vying for prominence in a world where power is everything. ancient lineages of vampire royalty, demon nobles, and other powerful entities create an environment of intense rivalry and elitism. secret societies and ancient orders vie for influence, their clandestine gatherings adding to the campus's air of mystery. for those who see beyond its facade, st. cruorem’s is a proving ground where alliances are forged, rivalries ignited, and the future leaders of the supernatural world are shaped.

participating muses

alice winsor ( fc: emily alyn lind ) - vampire royal

estella pierce ( fc: sabrina carpenter ) - succubus

cooper vincent ( fc: rudy pankow ) - succubus

xavier bloom ( fc: benjamin wadsworth ) - demon bastard son

nova lin ( fc: chase sui wonders ) - hellhound

serena anders ( fc: madelyn cline ) - witch

isabelle brooks ( fc: josephine langford ) - siren

monroe tate ( fc: madison bailey ) - werewolf

finley acosta ( fc: evan mock ) - vampire royal

ezra jones ( fc: felix mallard ) - werewolf

logan calloway ( fc: katie douglas ) - reaper

reid calloway ( fc: drew starkey ) - reaper

camron calloway ( fc: jeremy allen white ) - reaper

tinsleigh howe ( fc: kristine froseth ) - witch

elias howe ( fc: barry keoghan ) - warlock

arlo zimmerman ( fc: sean kaufman ) - werewolf

colby alira ( fc: thomas weatherall ) - vampire

lunara polat ( fc: derya pinar ak ) - cupid

max ortiz ( fc: gabriel guevara ) - warlock

elodie moreno ( fc: nicole wallace ) - witch

kalen asher ( fc: jonathan daviss ) - warlock

river st. james ( fc: nicholas galitzine ) - vampire

dane amato ( fc: simone baldasseroni ) - demon prince

#❪ᵒᵒᶜ❫ 𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐒 ⁞ shut up pazi.#starter call #sn!au #!!!!!!!#i am once again ... asking for sn bbs

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lactating · 4 months ago

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;3 > You mosey about for a moment or two, get your bearing on the general layout and practical escape routes of said pride festival. This festival, like all before it, tends to be heavily gated and lined with chain link fence (as to why you had to perform your acrobatic maneuver to enter, you simply are ideologically opposed to buying a ticket to enter something that by all rights should be yours to enter). The whole of the event is laid out around a central Plastia bureaucracy building, with frivolities and trivialities abounding on its (predictably) plastic facade. The whole of the building appears to be laid out like a twin pair of hands, pressed together and pointed upwards in a manner reminiscent of prayer. Different from prayer, however, is the seven rings adorning the right index, left index, right middle, left middle, right ring, right pinky, and left pinky. [13] These host a perpetually rotating selection of garish advertisements, for companies whose name you do not let enter your long or short term recall.

Like a clock instead divided into eight sections, the whole of the festival is laid out in octagonal slices, with slices two and four garnering the most of your interest. The remaining six slices host a number of either bitterly hopeful or clinically disinterested artists, transsexuals, and various strange accoutrements for whomever had the gumption to fill out an increasingly growing list of forms and papers in order to be able to stand in the hot sun of a July day and hawk their wares to various people with varying labels, alphabet wise. It's not that you're bitter about this, really, it's more so that you see it as a clever way to slowly dissipate potential energy in the form of (literal) kinetic energy, which, okay, maybe you're a little bitter about the parade, and maybe you're a little bitter about the festival. The members, alphabet wise, do always boost your MORALE a little bit, seeing various people like you in various stages of undress. You'd wonder why you're the only person who is going to do what you are about to do, and then you remember that you're the wizard and that you have special knowledge.

#64: >

#60: >

#63 #blogging

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katy-l1988 · 10 months ago

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Chapter V: The Vee’s

The light filtered through the half-open curtains of the living room, painting the wooden floor with reddish tones and filling the space with a warm glow. In the spacious armchair, Carmilla was reclined, a worried expression on her face. Her eyes reflected a mixture of discomfort and determination as she tried to stay calm in the face of the symptoms plaguing her. With a deep sigh, she took the tea Rosie had carefully prepared for her. The steaming cup rested between her trembling hands, emitting a comforting aroma that filled the room with its soothing fragrance. She clung to the hope that it would all be worth it in the end, that she wouldn't make the same mistakes this time.

Rosie watched Carmilla with tenderness, aware of all the dilemmas she faced, especially the challenges of the present moment. She had known Carmilla for centuries, and now she felt deeply concerned for the well-being of her dear friend. They had been through a lot together, although not everyone knew it, and Rosie had always been an unwavering pillar of support for Carmilla after Zestial.

"And how's everything going with Velvette?" Rosie asked softly, breaking the silence that had enveloped the room.

Carmilla let out a heavy sigh at Rosie's question, feeling the weight of concern accumulating on her shoulders. It was difficult to put into words the complexity of her feelings regarding Velvette, her daughter who now seemed distant and indifferent towards her.

"Ugh, that girl…she wants nothing to do with me," Carmilla confessed wearily, revealing the sadness she felt for the rift that had formed between them. "No! Now that I'm very old and it's unfair for her…"

"Wait, you...old?" Rosie continued with a chuckle, finding the situation somewhat ironic, considering that Carmilla was much older than her, and yet she looked just as radiant as ever. "Well, maybe in centuries…but not in spirit!"

Her comment elicited a soft laugh from Carmilla, who couldn't help but chuckle as she tossed a pillow at Rosie in a playful gesture.

"Oh, you hush too!" Carmilla replied amidst laughter, enjoying that moment of lightness amidst her worries. "When you wrinkle up like a raisin, I'll be the one laughing."

"Don't worry, it'll be a long time before that happens," Rosie replied with a playful smile, showing confidence in her youth and vitality. "Ah, I just hope that young lady comes to her senses."

Meanwhile, Velvette had accompanied her father to a new building near the city, with two giant luminous Vs at the top. Araziel had told her he was going to discuss business with Vox, seeking to have the charismatic individual advertise their services. Vox, known for his ability to capture attention and his extravagant style, was a true showman. Always up-to-date on the latest trends and technologies, he had a magnetic personality that attracted many, including Velvette, who had been a fan of his shows since she was young.

On the other hand, Valentino, though less known to Velvette, was not unnoticed. With a smile always on his face, he exuded confidence and self-assurance. However, behind that facade of calmness lurked a volatile and manipulative character. With a life full of luxuries and surrounded by girls, he seemed like a carefree playboy, but in reality, he was someone with an explosive temper prone to resorting to violence to maintain control over others.

Although Velvette admired Vox, she couldn't help but feel cautious towards Valentino, whose unpredictable behavior aroused her distrust. Her mother had warned Velvette about him on more than one occasion. With a tone of concern in her voice, she had told her how that man dragged young people like her into a world of danger and bad decisions. Valentino approached Velvette with a radiant smile, his presence exuding confidence and a hint of arrogance that didn't go unnoticed. His eyes locked onto her with an intensity that made her feel uncomfortable, as if he were peering into her soul in search of secrets.

"You must be Araziel and Carmilla's offspring?" Valentino asked with a soft but suggestive tone.

Velvette nodded cautiously, not breaking eye contact with him. There was something in the way he looked at her that sent shivers down her spine, as if he were baring her soul with just a glance.

"I'm Velvette," she replied coldly, revealing little about herself.

Valentino smiled smugly, as if enjoying having her full attention.

"I must say, you have your mother's beauty, although not…her attributes."

Valentino's words made Velvette involuntarily tense. Though she tried to remain firm, she couldn't help but feel uncomfortable about the inappropriate comment regarding her mother. Carmilla could be many things, but she didn't deserve to be the subject of lascivious comments from a demon like him.

"You should have more respect for my mother," Velvette replied firmly, her voice trembling slightly with suppressed emotion.

At that moment, Velvette watched as her father and Vox emerged from the office, engrossed in animated conversation. Araziel seemed to be in good spirits, which was a good sign. The atmosphere filled with the buzz of the city and the tinkling of cars passing by on the nearby street, creating a dynamic and vibrant atmosphere.

"Valentino, I hope you haven't scared off the lady," Vox turned towards her with a charming smile, his eyes sparkling with curiosity as he observed her.

Velvette felt momentarily overwhelmed by the attention she was receiving from Vox, but she forced herself to maintain composure. With her head held high, she looked at Vox, trying to show him that she wasn't easily intimidated.

"Don't worry, it's hard to be afraid of a skinny little punk," Velvette growled with disdain, baring her fangs.

"Hey, easy there, girlie!" Vox said kindly, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "You really do have your mother's spirit."

"Yeah, well," Araziel chuckled nervously. "Vel, I've been talking with Vox, and we've made a few deals for you to work with him."

Velvette couldn't contain her excitement, her eyes shining with emotion. The idea of working with Vox sparked a spark of excitement within her, momentarily eclipsing the conflict with Valentino.

"Now, tomorrow we'll send some people to bring your things to your new room."

The surprise on Velvette's face was evident upon hearing Valentino's words. The idea of working day and night was not exactly what she expected, let alone being asked out of the blue without discussing it with her father beforehand.

"Move in...here?" They all nodded.

Valentino chuckled, as if Velvette's reaction amused him.

"Don't worry, darling. If you don't feel up to it, we'll find someone else."

She wasn't a coward, so she accepted without fear of the risks. If she wanted to succeed, she had to sacrifice herself, just as Carmilla had done at one time. Perhaps that way, she could make her notice her again.

Velvette got into the limousine that glided through the bustling streets of the city, nervous about her mother's reaction. With each passing building, her heart beat a little faster, feeling the gravity of the decision she had already made. Upon arriving, Velvette stepped out of the limousine and headed towards the main entrance. The elevator seemed to move slowly as it ascended floor by floor, and Velvette took those moments to breathe, trying to calm the nerves that invaded her. When the elevator doors finally opened, Velvette found herself steps away from the apartment door. She took one last breath before putting the key in the lock.

When she entered, Velvette was greeted by Rosie, who welcomed her with a warm smile and a tight hug that lifted her off the ground. Velvette returned Rosie's hug, feeling comforted by her aunt's affection. However, her gaze shifted to the kitchen, where she saw her mother preparing something to eat. Despite the distance between them, Velvette still felt a lump in her throat at the sight of her mother.

"Oh Auntie, I have something to tell you. I got a job with the Vees!"

Rosie stepped back slightly, noticing the confused and annoyed expression on Carmilla's face, who was approaching them.

"What do you mean?" Carmilla asked, her tone of voice betraying her confusion.

Velvette tried to maintain a smile, although the tension in the room was palpable.

"Yes, I'll be working directly with Vox," Velvette explained, hoping her mother would understand her decision. "I'll pack my things to move tomorrow."

Carmilla stood in Velvette's way, blocking the entrance to her room, forcing a friendly smile as her mind raced. She knew Rosie was present and didn't want to worry her, but the mention of the Vees and their hormones put her in a very complex situation.

"Velvette, I understand you're excited, but working with the Vees…" Carmilla struggled to find the right words, wishing to convey her concern without sounding too authoritative. "They're not exactly the best company, and I've told you that more than once."

Velvette frowned, feeling frustrated by her mother's reaction. She didn't want Carmilla to ruin her chance to work with Vox, her idol.

"Dad agreed. Why not you?" Velvette insisted, seeking her mother's support.

"Your father agreed?"

"Yes, he's the one who got me the job in the first place. He listens to my dreams and has done the impossible to make them come true."

Velvette's words only increased Carmilla's distress. She couldn't believe Araziel had consented to this situation, jeopardizing her daughter's safety and well-being.

"Look, I'm not asking you what you want to do or not. You're not leaving this house," Carmilla declared firmly, getting up from the couch. "Rosie, give me the phone, I'm going to call those idiots and cancel this whole absurdity."

Velvette jumped up, alarmed by her mother's abrupt reaction. Carmilla pressed the numbers on the phone with trembling hands, her pulse racing with anger and concern. Velvette tried to take the phone away, desperate to stop her mother before she made the situation worse, but it was already too late.

"Carmilla, darling. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Listen up, flat screen! I don't give a damn about the deal Araziel made with you," Carmilla said firmly, her words filled with determination. "But if you go near my daughter, I assure you, you'll regret the day you set foot in hell."

On the other end of the line, Vox listened calmly to Carmilla's threats. Though he wasn't afraid, he knew it was best not to underestimate her. She was a powerful and dangerous woman when it came to protecting her own.

"Oh, Carmilla, always so dramatic," Vox responded in his usual mocking tone. "But don't worry, if you don't agree with giving her a stable job in my company, I won't give it to her."

Carmilla clenched her teeth with fury, restraining the urge to throw the phone against the wall.

"That's what I thought, zoquete," Carmilla replied coldly, and hung up.

"Why did you do that?" Velvette's eyes sparkled with disappointment, her dream shattered by a call.

"Love, you have to understand," Carmilla approached her, placing a hand on her face, noticing the tears on her cheeks. "This is for the best for you."

"Ugh!" Velvette pushed her away. "I hate you!"

The young girl unleashed a storm of pent-up resentment, releasing all the pain and frustration she had been holding onto for years.

"You're selfish, manipulative, and controlling! You don't care about anyone but yourself!" she yelled, her voice trembling with suppressed anger. "You're never here when I need you! You're always busy with your work or your problems, you don't even care how I feel!"

Carmilla felt as if a dagger pierced her heart with every word from her daughter. Tears began to well up in her eyes, but she fought to hold them back, refusing to show weakness in front of Velvette.

"Velvette, I…" Carmilla tried to speak, but she was interrupted by her daughter, whose words were like poisoned daggers.

"I don't want to hear you! I don't want anything to do with you anymore! You're a burden to me, a constant nuisance. I wish you weren't my mother!"

Rosie quickly intervened, trying to calm the situation before it got worse.

"Velvette, that was too much. You need to calm down," Rosie said, placing a comforting hand on Velvette's shoulder.

But the young girl was too enraged to listen. She pushed away abruptly, her gaze filled with contempt and resentment.

"Don't touch me! From now on, you're nothing to me!" Velvette yelled before running out of the room.

Carmilla intended to follow her, but as soon as she moved, the world seemed to spin around her as she fell to the ground, trying to steady herself on the table. Dizziness hit her hard, leaving her disoriented. Rosie, with the quick diligence of someone accustomed to dealing with crises, rushed to Carmilla, her hands skilled and firm as she helped her sit. Concern reflected in Rosie's eyes as she watched her friend, feeling the pain and anguish emanating from her.

"Milla, you're trembling…"

The older woman tried to speak, but the words stuck in her throat, drowned by tears and anguish. Her breathing was irregular, punctuated by silent sobs that shook her body. Her hands clung to Rosie's as if they were her only anchor in the midst of the emotional storm consuming her.

Rosie enveloped her in comforting arms, trying to offer solace amidst her pain. Carmilla closed her eyes tightly, as a sense of oppression gri

pped her chest with relentless force. Her ears buzzed with a deafening sound, and her heart pounded in her chest like a wild drum. Each beat resonated in her head, amplifying the sense of despair that enveloped her. Her muscles tensed involuntarily as her mind struggled to find a shred of peace. Every second was an eternity of suffering.

For Velvette, things weren't any better. The sound of objects breaking echoed in the room, each crash and clang reflecting the unleashed fury that consumed her. She was in a frenzy, with every object she threw to the ground, feeling a surge of adrenaline coursing through her body. Every piece of furniture, every ornament, became a target for her uncontrolled rage. She struggled to contain the scream threatening to escape her lips. Every memory, every painful thought, materialized in the wreckage lying at her feet. There was no logic in her actions, only a desperate need to release the pressure threatening to crush her under its overwhelming weight.

Soon, Velvette grabbed a large bag that was stored under her bed, selecting necessary items for her daily life. Clothes, toiletries, some mementos saved from her outburst; everything was thrown into the suitcase with desperate urgency. Finally, with the suitcase full and her heart even heavier, Velvette stopped in front of the entrance door.

Rosie struggled to hold Carmilla, whose face was pale, barely conscious. Velvette felt a pang of guilt and remorse deep within her. For a moment, the urge to run to them and beg for forgiveness flooded over her, but a glance at the key she left on the entry table stopped her in her tracks. She knew there was no turning back, that her decision was made and she would have to face the consequences. So she left the apartment, closing the door behind her as she headed to the elevator leading to the garage. Each step took her a little further from her old life, a little further from her family, a little further from everything she had known. From now on, she was no longer Velvette Carmine, she was just…Velvette.

"What are you doing here? I thought your mother didn't want you to come."

Velvette maintained her stance in front of Vox, resisting any hint of intimidation in his crimson eyes. Despite his relaxed appearance in pajamas, she knew there was something more behind that charming facade.

"My mother has no power over me. I want to work with you guys and show her that I'm capable of doing it on my own," Velvette replied, keeping determination in her voice despite the uncertainty that invaded her.

Vox observed her for a moment, evaluating her words with an enigmatic expression. Then, with a casual gesture, he opened the door wider and invited her inside.

"Well then. If you're determined, I'm not one to stop you. Come, I'll show you your room," Vox said, indicating for her to follow him into the penthouse's interior.

Velvette took a deep breath, trying to control the nerves that invaded her as she followed Vox through the elegant corridors of the luxurious apartment. She was determined to make this opportunity worthwhile, even if it meant facing her mother and everything she left behind.

#carmilla hazbin hotel #carmina carmine #fanfic #hazbin hotel velvette #hazbin velvette #hazbinhotel #rosie hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #valentino hazbin hotel #the vees

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