#i really want to write the rest of this

[sangijazz]

Love Megabytes - a Lovebug AU Stanley x shadow!Narrator fanfic

Stanley swears he saw something crawl its way into the parable.

The Narrator says there is nothing to worry about. It is just a harmless virus.

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note

Narrator uses it/its in this one folks

There is abuse of zalgo in this

slight tw: obsessive behavior, behavior altering virus,

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Chapter 1

"This is a story of a man named Stan- Stanley! What do you think you are doing?!" the Narrator asked infuriated, the avatar normally waits for it to finish the introduction before causing chaos.

The man in question was crouched under his desk, seeming very interested in something there.

Saw something. signed Stanley briefly before extending his arm to search further.

The Narrator frowned to itself - it didn't make sense, nothing was supposed to happen now. It absent-mindedly looked at the model of the room from all angles trying to find what had distracted its creation so much. Since Stanley didn't know what he was searching for neither did the dark being. 

"Nonsense, Stanley!" the shadow crossed its non-physical arms, projecting itself below the man, replacing his shadow. "Nothing has changed from last run. Now, chop chop, we have a story to get to." But it was ignored, there was nothing it hated more than being ignored. The Narrator mumbled to itself, something something stubbornness, narrative integrity, petulant.

The stretched fingers felt the wall carefully, Stanley had his brows knit together and the tip of his tongue out in concentration. 

"Will at least tell me what you saw, Stanley? What could be MORE interesting than my story?" pouted the British voice.

-ots of things- thought Stanley louder, I saw something crawl out of here. I'm trying to find from where.

  "Crawl? Here? Don't be ridiculous, Stanley!" the Narrator scoffed "I have no asset that could do that! The most similar to crawl an asset does is the baby and I have not seen something that big crawling here, Stanley!" 

Nothing pink? Small? asked the man, as he now explored the right corner of the 427 office. The other replied with a disagreeing shrug. Pink was a difficult color to harmonize with the Office.

A silent exclamation of triumph left Stanley as his fingertips brushed again something, he turned his head and squinted to see what he had found. 

A hole. Not larger than his ring finger. It seemed to go all the way through the wall, direct through the code. 

Stanley has never seen something like this, the Narrator was always very careful with the parable's code, knowing fully well that if it wasn't, the avatar would find a way to mess with it, probably breaking it beyond repair. 

Even if Stanley did in fact like some chaos, this was extremely odd and too dangerous for now so, Narrator? He called and showed his finding to the other. 

The Narrator moved its form to the wall indicated, its projected yellow square glasses close to the anomaly. 

"Oh, dear..." The shadow disappeared since it was easier to investigate this from the Narrator's office.

The vessel stood up, sat back in his chair, and started to fidget with his hands, nervous as he felt the other's anxiety. This was beyond the Narrator’s limited unlimited control of the parable and Stanley’s control by free will. 

The panicked mumblings of the dark creature echoed through the map as it searched for whatever could have done that. It appeared to have eaten its code to get inside, a small and not really important code but still not acceptable! 

In a room, in its office, somewhere not really physical, the Narrator went through its scripts with alarm. The walls were covered with monitors, some flicked between ten, hundred, thousand of angles of the parable, searching for others showed rows and rows of code, simple commands such as Object Chair; or as unreadable strings of zeros and ones, for untrained eyes, nothing seemed wrong but there were gaps where there shouldn’t be; each second that pasted more gaps appeared. A few papers cover some screen

It was eating the code. Multiplying. And eating more.

A virus.

The parable had a virus. 

A BLOODY VIRUS HAD MADE ITS WAY THROUGH THE NARRATOR’S CODE.

The shadow being was livid. 

How could something like this happen?! 

THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END

As the other panicked, Stanley made his way to the employee lounge not really knowing what to do. He sat on the ground with some pen and paper he snatched from some desk on the way. The problem seemed to be big from the not-so-subtle ramblings of the narrator, but Stanley didn’t have something to offer except to give the other peace.

The vessel wasn’t really an artist, only beginning to draw recently..? When the parable had begun. In the first 20 resets? Time got too tangled after so many runs. Anyway, it began as a way to piss off his companion, drawing dicks and other immature things on the walls with a marker from the meeting room. The entity had been so disgusted with the display of “childish and improper” - its words - behavior, it had berated the man until it couldn’t take anymore and reset.

Stanley didn’t repeat that for some resets, mainly then only snatching paper, pencils, and pens, and bringing them to the broom closet when he was overwhelmed or just need space. There he would try to sketch the closet’s items, the bucket (if he had brought them with him) or the simple shape of the Narrator’s shadow form, its somehow yellow square glasses, and Line™ tie, the dark shape of its hair that sometimes changed to new hairstyles, the ever-present headset that was likely just for show, the glasses too to think of it. 

The drawings in the start were lost after each reset, this made the avatar unhappy but understanding. However, after spending three hours redrawing his office, Stanley did ask the Narrator if there was a way to keep it.

 It was actually surprised by the request and by the fact that its creation was making art. It couldn’t really see what Stanley did in the broom closet, so it had just thought he was making “improper” drawings on the walls again. Stanley couldn’t really deny the assumption since it happened once in a while. 

Nevertheless, the Narrator was more than content to keep the drawing, and after he mentioned the lost ones, it swore to keep the ones Stanley want to keep. And after some thought the entity “”offhandedly”” suggested that the man didn’t need to hide to draw anymore.

After all that, they established a ritual, where every few resets, Stanley would make his way to the meeting room signing to the other his intentions. The Narrator would lay some materials on the big table for him and let him be. Sometimes the vessel would ask it “to stay”, where they would talk about the drawings or whatever new script the other was working on or just… stay quiet, each focused on their own thing and enjoying each other’s presence.

The walls of Stanley’s office began filling up with sketches, doodles, and portraits. At times one or other would disappear, and he had a tiny suspicion these end up wherever the Narrator’s office was. This made him feel fuzzy inside.

Now, he was trying to put the undescribable code he saw in that hole into paper. It has given the avatar a headache just to look at it, probably too much for him to understand. And Stanley didn’t really like to think he is just a 3D model controlled by lines of digits. He has already accepted he is trapped in this ever-repeating loop and will likely never get out, one hope-crushing realization at the time. This piece wouldn’t be exactly how he saw it but more like the feeling. 

The ramblings have slowly quieted to a low mumbling, almost like a nervous buzz. 

He dropped the pencil to sign: Narrator?,  using the name sign he rarely used, the sign for N, and the sign for Story.  

Nothing. It must not be paying attention.

Narrator? Thinking loud normally worked.

“Hum? Oh, Stanley, sorry for this. It appears we have hmm… a virus” the Narrator said with false disinterest leafing through papers “Nothing to worry about.” it cleaned its metaphorical throat “Ah! I see you have already occupied yourself, Stanley. Good, good…” its voice trembled a little, Stanley decided not to comment on it. 

Can I help?  

“I am afraid not, Stanley. Thanks to you, we already know the virus is here…” He smiled a little at the ceiling. “Now, don’t mind me. I will find it…”

Was it the pink thing I saw? I can keep a watch for it.

“Could be… I doubt this has a physical form but I will not mind if you do, Stanley.” the Narrator said absentmindedly probably already focusing on something else.

The avatar’s thumbs-up was not acknowledged or seen. He returned to his drawing.

Now, the perspective isn’t quite right… 

THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE NEVER THE END

This is bad…

No matter what the Narrator did, no matter how many pieces of this virus it erased and purged, this code-eating disease always came back.

Maybe it has a commanding core, sending orders and the storyteller was only killing its soldiers, not its commander. This was easy to conclude but the Narrator COULD NOT find where this blasphemous commander WAS.

It has searched bloody EVERYWHERE, every line of code, every corner of the map, and every page of its scripts. And the entity found NOTHING.

Was the ailment purposely hiding? It would be really strong, well-developed, and very very dangerous if so… 

Would the Narrator have to fully reset the game? Oh Lord, just the thought of that made its screens go fuzzy with interference. 

What if the virus was in the device?! Bloody hell, it could do nothing against that! 

How could the user contract such a virus? Probably in one of those filthy pornographic sites, humans seemed to love so much.

The sound of paper flipping was a lovely addition the being was really proud of, even if the papers weren’t exactly real, but now after spending the equivalent of HOURS going through them, over and over again, the little sound effect was stressing Narrator out, making some monitors blink in and out error screens. Or was it the missing code strings? This was all too overwhelming.

Should the Narrator stay with Stanley as he draws for a while to regain its composure? It would be in fact relaxing…

Flicking its glasses to a monitor which showed the man, the creature pondered.

Stanley was lying on the floor on his belly, feet up slowly rocking back and forth. He seemed really invested in his work. Lord bless the quiet moments they had together. The Narrator L̶͙̅͒Î̶͇̻K̸͕̈́E̵̺̹͆Ḑ̸̈ the way Stanley would smile whenever he was content with a sketch. It A̷͕͓͑́̓D̸̨͌͘O̴̘̟͈͌͝R̸͚̯̎͂͠E̵̺͋̓͘D̶̞̍ when the two of them would ping pong ideas for new scripts or drawings, even if it pretended to be skeptic of the vessel’s ideas while taking notes on the side. The way the man would fluster and hide his face with the paper when the shadow would compliment the work was one of the things it Ļ̶̡̪̭̤̟̹̥̪̟̝̪͎̖̬̻̿̀͐̾̇͐͘͜Ő̴̧̞̭̘̜͚̯͈̙̮͌̀̄V̷̧̧̘͕͍̰̰̖͎̭̻͍̻̘̰̖̠̮͆́̐̾̊̊̓͂̆̓͊̈́͝͝E̸̪̩̔͆̀̓̾̍̽̾D̵̘̺̜̪̬̼͍̘̰̲͖̦̾́͐́̍͌̇͋́͐̇͊̍̐͘͝ the most.

It Ļ̶̡̪̭̤̟̹̥̪̟̝̪͎̖̬̻̿̀͐̾̇͐͘͜Ő̴̧̞̭̘̜͚̯͈̙̮͌̀̄V̷̧̧̘͕͍̰̰̖͎̭̻͍̻̘̰̖̠̮͆́̐̾̊̊̓͂̆̓͊̈́͝͝E̸̪̩̔͆̀̓̾̍̽̾D̵̘̺̜̪̬̼͍̘̰̲͖̦̾́͐́̍͌̇͋́͐̇͊̍̐͘͝ when Stanley would take part of a story and seemed to be actually enjoying it. The feeling of joy and validation when Ṣ̶͑t̸̙̓a̵̗̋n̵͙̓l̵̞̂è̷̥y̸̛̱ would follow the narration without a hitch. The way Ṣ̶͑t̸̙̓a̵̗̋n̵͙̓l̵̞̂è̷̥y̸̛̱ would sign faster and bounce on his feet when he was excited. Even if it would never admit it out loud, the storyteller even Ļ̷̞̞͓̬̺̄́̂̔ ̸̦̲̄̋͗͂O̷͖͉̗͚͒͜͠ ̷̘̥̹̓̈́Ṽ̵͓͛ ̷̬͔͉͔̝̾̿Ë̶̼͎̤̳́̉͆̊́̕ ̸̟͔͖̉̅̊͝D̵̩̟͗̎̋̀ when the avatar would latch out at it, the disobedience ̷̼̈ẅ̵̙́a̵̙̐ŝ̴̲ ̴̯͆s̴͓͗o̸͔̓ ̴̮͘f̵͍̓u̴̟͊ņ̵̃ ̸̲̑t̵̛͉o̵̬͘ ̶̳͒d̷̲͐e̴͙͐a̵̜͆l̸̻̇ ̷̮̔w̴̛͔ḭ̷̈t̴̯̿ḧ̸̩ ̶̥̂

Ỉ̸͔t̴͝ͅ ̸̘͝Ḷ̵͗O̸̩̿V̶̧̾E̸͚͝D̴̟̓ ̵̛̲S̸̙̚t̷͈̓a̵̰̔ṋ̵̔l̵͓͠ḛ̸̒y̶͓̒'̶̙̎š̴͚ ̴̜̓l̷͙͐i̷̱̅ţ̶̋t̷̕ͅĺ̴͖ë̶̪́ ̸̼̃q̶̤̋ú̶̱ǐ̵̧r̴̪͒k̸̤͛ș̷͒.̷̠͝

I̶̧̙͓͙̝̓̃̂̌͗̒̽T̸̢̨̺̫͈̮͂ ̴̡͔̹̠̳̲̔͋͗́͛ͅL̴̜̦̲̟̻̐̾̈́͋̈́͠ ̴͎̙̦̞̰͒̋́O̶͇̙̮̤͔̅̽͘ͅ ̴̮̘̓V̵̨͚̟̉͑̉͊̚̕ ̵̢̗̖̩̀̾̑̕Ę̷̼͔̜͙̼̀̓͊́́̍ ̷͕̈̀͝D̴̠͚͇̳̠̊̉̊ ̸̢̘̞̳̝̅͑S̵͖͊͌͆͛̕͠͠T̵͙̩̲̞̩̞́̓̔̚̚ͅA̶̻̺̮̹̗̺̹̿̑N̸̛̥̜͚͙̤̈́̋̃͂̏́L̶͇̀̓͆̌É̴̖̘̉͐͋͝͝Ỷ̴̻̗̪̳͔͌͗̆̾͌͘ͅͅ

Į̸̻͚̲̹̘̘̪̖̎̑̅ͅT̶̢̤͛͋͆͒̀̾̕ ̶̡̼͕̺̰̞̼͇̰͗̉͗̓̀̌͊͋̕͘͝

Ẃ̵̰̝̟̬͒̆̐͋̃̒͒͐̚͝͠Â̷̢̢̲͉̻̳̠̖̝̣̗̒̊̽̂̈́͝N̸̳̠̦̞̮͇̞͈͒̈́̈́͂̔͑̋̍͘T̷̢̨̩͍͕̞̟̭̤̥̤̀̈͆̾͆̉͗��͝ͅS̸̡̛̬̫̮̟̿̍̎̀͑��͝

Š̸̡̤̳͊̋͆̍̃̀̌̄͠Ţ̶̳͈̺̝͉̯͓͚͉̈̌͆̇͝A̷̡̳͊̄̽̇̈́͊̚N̷̩̫̻͑́͝͠͝L̵̛͇̾̐͘Ë̵̟́̇̓̄̏Y̵͙͊̿̋̅̿̓͒̐͗̃͝

“Whaţ̷̤̅́ a̷͎͆͝ͅr̶͖̆͑G̴̱̒̔H̷̲̿-̸̩͚̅͊-” is happening? - was what the Narrator wanted to say before, the white, deafening, blinding PAIN, AGONIZING PAIN clawed its way through the entity's core and code. Every one and zero in it lighting as if being cutdestroyedburnedglitc̴̡͇̐h̶͍͠ ̷̣̫̒g̴̼͙̑l̸̞̼͊i̸̯̓ͅṭ̴̉c̸͈͚̃h̷͈̎ ̵̠̪̑̉Ė̵͈͇̇R̷̡͈̆̃R̴̡̺̕O̶͚̘͛̿Ŗ̸̕͜ ̷̭̬̂̒Ė̵̟Ř̶͉̣R̴͓͊̄Ő̵̳̫̉Ȓ̷͖̜̍ ̸͘͜͝

“¡̵̣͚̎¡̷͚͑ͅO̸̲̺͒͘Ḣ̵̩!̵͈̏!̶̰͝” exclaimed the Narrator because it could do nothing else.

[̸i̵n̸s̶t̷a̸l̶l̶.̷P̷r̴o̵g̷r̸a̵m̴:̸ ̵L̸0̵V̷3̶B̸U̵G̸.̶e̶x̵e̵;]̶

[Run.Program(L0V3BUG.exe);]

[Set.AdminTo(L0V3BUG.exe);]

The golden yellow of the room changed to bright lovesick pink drowning the distressing red blinking error screens. Squares to sappy hearts. New and l̸u̵s̵t̴f̴u̶l̷ code filled the holes left in the system. All monitors showed Stanley, still drawing, still oblivious, and looking so so delicious. 

“Well…This is… ǹ̴͖ ne̸͓͋ẅ̴ͅ.” the Narrator smiled, dark shadows forming sharp teeth.  

[ExecuteCommand(Reset);]

THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END

[to be continued]

----

this is a little snack i hope it will be an appetizer

if i actually continue writing this i will post it ao3

[andsewingishalfthebattle]

Novice sewing pattern: Cut out shapes. Line up the little triangles on the edges. Stitch edges together. We've also included step-by-step assembly instructions with illustrations.

Novice knitting pattern: yOU MUSt uNDerstANd thE SECret cOdE CO67 (73, 87, 93) BO44 (63, 76, 90) 28 (32, 34) slip first pw repeat 7x K to end *kl (pl) 42 * until 13" (13, 13, 15) join new at 30 pl for 17 rows ssk 27 k2tog mattress lengthwise BO and sacrifice a goat to the knitting gods. WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU WANT "INSTRUCTIONS," I JUST GAVE THEM TO YOU

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Thank you all for an incredible 500 days of love and support. I offer you: answers to questions that no one has asked.

(As always, more can be found in the tags <3)

[starry-bi-sky]

more clone^2 memes because i think they're funny

[rintoki]

i just want to mark up dr ratio’s pretty little body, his probably flawless skin coloured red with bite marks, almost purple from bruising. how pretty his butt would redden after just a few spanks, a cute blush on his pale skin.

he’d try his best to swallow down the whines that threaten to escape, forcing himself not to look away as if it admits defeat. but that’s fine, because you’d prefer to look into his eyes as you push yourself into him. excruciatingly slow and bigger than what you told him; your grip keeps him from turning away, shuddering breaths as he feels his walls stretching to accommodate the size.

“you lied,” his voice quivered, eyes flickering down between your bodies and back up to your piercing gaze.

“just because the truth isn’t what you expected doesn’t mean it’s a lie,” you laughed. “veritas, you know that.”

he grits his teeth, sucking in air when you push the remaining length fully into him, relishing in the way he struggles to get used to the feeling. but you don’t give him time, instead pulling out and thrusting back in in one fluid motion. the high-pitched moan that escapes his mouth surprises even the Guild member himself, an arm flying up to cover his mouth.

“well,” you breathed out, voice filled with amusement, “you would’ve known—”

a wicked smile on your lips as you thrusted your hips, again and again, “that the arrogant.”

“self-centred.” another hard push.

“doctor.” and another.

“veritas.” and another.

“ratio.” a final thrust directly hitting his prostate, the throbbing bundle of nerves sending shocks up his body. every buck of your hips eliciting yet another whiny moan, shaky breaths as he tries to compose himself to no avail. and finally, you give him a break, cock pressed deep inside him while the doctor squeezes his eyes shut.

“could make such cute sounds,” you sneered, ripping his arm from over his face to expose how red he’s gotten.

for all his intelligence and knowledge gathered from his studies, veritas ratio could not utter a single word against you—afraid that the only thing that would leave his lips is begs for you to keep going.

but his hips trembled terribly, his walls twitching and squeezing around you. you didn’t need words to know how badly he ached; his body was honest enough, with the way his cock leaked a puddle of precum onto his belly already.

slowly, you started moving again, dragging against his sensitive walls. relief floods his face at the crumbs of stimulation, already feeling the familiar heat in his lower belly building up quickly.

his mouth hangs open, panting heavily as he nears the high he so badly craves. with hands nearly tearing the sheets, the venerable doctor arches his back, toes curling tight as a searing heat fills his lower body. the whimpers that left his throat are barely registered, rapidly losing control of his own body with every push of your hips. he grits his teeth and…

nothing.

he nearly chokes from the anticipation, and now it’s been violently ripped from him as all traces of your touch leaves his body. the timing was perfect. his cock drips with cum and yet his body felt cold, twitching.

you watched on with a cruel chuckle; how he writhes on the bed, how pathetic he looks after having his orgasm ruined. a slap to his still hard and aching cock jolts him back to reality, wondering just what else do you plan to do to him.

[flintsilvers]

i need claudia to haunt lestat but not in the overt, in your face way that dreamstat haunted louis. i need claudia to sit quietly just barely in sight. blurred in the background of every shot lestat is in. even if we don't always see her, he does. but if he tries to look at her directly she moves out of sight. she's gone. he has no chance to fix things with her because she's dead so he doesn't get to look her in the eyes anymore

[shalotttower]

To Make a Home Out of Bones

Title: To Make a Home Out of Bones

Fandom: BTD2 (Boyfriend to Death 2)

Characters: Ren Hana x Reader (female)

Summary: You were free. Free for real, and you couldn't believe that, staring at the open door. And then, by some twisted scenario, decided to keep him. It's tragic, really.

Word count: 2300+

Notes: yandere!Ren Hana, captivity (past Reader and finally in present not Reader :D) Reader is sensible though and there's nothing crazy going on on her part apart from the captivity scenario, mostly tired vibes/attempts to process what happened, unhealthy coping mechanisms, past torture, past manipulation, possessiveness, past dubious consent, past non-con, Reader doesn't know about Strade.

You don't talk. You never talk nowadays and it feels almost liberating, not having to converse. Ren doesn't look as intimidating as he used to. Maybe it's because of the collar, or maybe it's because he doesn't wear that damned jacket anymore, the one which seems to change his whole being into something unhinged and cheerfully vicious whenever he puts it on.

Is this what he felt, watching you tied to a pole?

No, hardly.

There was a very tangible sense of power in your captivity.

You, however, don't feel powerful at all.

You feel like an old tree: splinters, rotten wood, and bark waiting for the storm to come and snap the trunk in the middle.

Freedom is strangely anticlimactic.

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You don't know how long you've been here, stopped checking a wile ago because it didn't matter ─ to be dragged back from the basement on Wednesday or on Saturday. Days became a sequence of events, not dates, once you realized Ren planned to keep you indefinitely.

Have breakfast, tell him it was good. Do the laundry. Watch TV, let Ren cuddle up to you, ignore the presence of another in the same room. Smile every time he says something nice and expects to hear it back. Let your eyes glaze over during sex, try to remember what it felt like to have someone touch you without making you bleed. Wake up to a sleepy fox curled up on top of you. When Ren dreams his ears twitch.

It takes approximately five minutes for him to settle for sleep, tangled limbs and pointy nose buried in the crook of your neck, and he's surprisingly light for a grown man. With how tough Ren seems (or wants to), there's some sort of innate clinginess about him that contrasts so much with the image in your head: smiling through bloodied teeth while nailing your leg. At first you thought being nice was a way out of this, but kindness is a double-edged sword here: soon you realized how utterly you misjudged him ─ and how truly screwed you were.

Because Ren, while cooking you tasty meals for "being good" and letting you watch TV, likes kisses and hand-holding, and cute things. But Ren also likes the way you sob no less, and that's where the miscalculation happened. Being nice only guaranteed with some unsteady sense of security that he wouldn't kill you yet. That was all. He's sweet, snuggly, affectionate until he isn't, and no amount of good behavior or praise will stop him from breaking your fingers if he feels like it.

Your routine had been simple for months. Easy. Unbearable.

And now all the world which was limited to one single house for god knows how long expands again, but you don't really feel it, even after reaching the small front gate.

You could leave him there, you think. In the basement, and no one would ever know. Lose the key, never come back, just-

Not go back. And all of this will be behind you. You'll never have to see him again, never have to smile for him, never have to hear that shaky sound he makes when he cums, or witness his face turn from carefree to confused, and then to understanding, then to annoyed.

A death like this seems fitting for him. Cold concrete and silence; starvation is an awful, terrifying way to go. You noticed that Ren doesn't really like to be alone, and there's almost poetic justice in leaving him in the basement to slowly rot away.

Your fingers curl around the iron handle and with something akin to astonishment let go of it, then fall limply to your side. You're free, yet you stay rooted to the spot, because frankly speaking where does one go from here? Your rent must be long overdue, and your face is probably everywhere, plastered on missing person posters.

'Hey guys, I'm not missing anymore', you imagine saying to your co-workers, 'sorry for disappearing, I guess. Do you still need that Excel sheet done?'

Your employment contract had probably been terminated. The bank account should be fine, Ren took you right before the paycheck, and there's mom's house to crash at until everything goes back to normal, but that surely means cops getting involved, and lawyers, and media. Just the thought is exhausting.

'How did Mr Hana treat you? Were you intimate? Yes or no? Please, tell us more, miss. How do you feel? What about Mr Oleander, did you know him?'

The wind picks up, blowing leaves and ruffling your hair.

Ren will go to jail. Obviously — kidnapping and killing people equals prison time. The problem is that it doesn't bring you any kind of satisfaction. You don't want Ren here, but you also don't want him peacefully living his sentence while you pick up the pieces of your old life. There's no closure in that, but again...can there be any?

You sit down on the porch; cold wooden boards creak under your weight. Ren has a nice little suburban house.

What now? You have no fucking idea, just vague notions of an unclear future, and nothing substantial.

What now indeed.

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He fed you regularly, that's true; you stand at the basement door and watch him eat.

Ren allowed you free roaming within the house premises, an access to TV, books, hygiene products. Reading manga together felt almost domestic, yet...you keep him there. In the basement.

It's strange, seeing him like this, but he doesn't look surprised at the new turn of events, he looks almost resigned. A mirror of yourself in a sense, you think with a finger hovering over the button. Ren's ears are flattened, tail tucked between his legs, a submissive, harmless thing. You could let him out, allow him roam the house freely just the way he did. But you don't.

It sounds straight off foolish, and what's more important ─ scary. There're so many possibilities. That the remote won't work, that you'll be too slow to react, that he'll sneak into your room at night. Ren can be very quiet when he wants to. So you keep him there, and avoid him like plague unless necessary — feeding duty twice per day plus bathroom visits.

No chatter, minimal contact overall, but Ren starts talking anyways.

"You look tired," he says cautiously in between the bites.

He does it a lot, tries to gauge where you two stand every day or what's on your mind, and you suspect it's the result of past experiences, something that's hard to unlearn. Something connected with that body in the freezer. Upon finding it you initially assumed (not without a reason) that the corpse was his doing, but when Ren undressed before you for the first time, realized that it might not be entirely true.

The cuts, the burns, the marks and deep, jagged lines formed a familiar pattern. Someone had put a lot of time and effort into giving him those.

"I could make coffee. Or tea."

And that's another thing. He doesn't fight you, or attempt to lash out. Instead he makes those little offers here and there whenever you come down the stairs — dinner, help cleaning the dishes, washing clothes. He has been compliant and eager to please to the point of it being almost unnerving.

You don't reply, and that seems to bother him, judging by his expression. Understandable: silence is normally a bad omen, especially in situations such as this one.

"Are you going to-" he starts again, but you cut him off.

"Push the tray over."

Ren's ears twitch at the command and you briefly wonder if he expected something different to happen. The tray makes a metallic screech over the concrete floor, stopping right in front of your feet.

"Thank you," he says.

'Thank you for breakfast, thank you for lunch, thank you for dessert.' 'Thank you for the nail gun, thank you for holding my hand while I screamed, thank you for fucking me after.' You hate the words now, the way they used to roll off your tongue (thank you, Ren, thank you), because they never meant gratitude at all and felt bitter, like a moldy fruit.

Ren's eyes are trained on your face. There it is again: the strange uneasiness which settles in your chest whenever he stares with focus sharp enough to burn holes through flesh itself. His gaze travels lower to your arms exposed by rolled up hoodie sleeves. You had no clothes here except for cutsey underwear and pajamas which Ren insisted you wear, but those are long thrown away somewhere in the trash, so the only things available are his. There's also...other stuff you found in the locked bedroom on the second floor: cargo pants, combat boots, tank tops, all neatly folded. Far too big for you both.

"Is it mine?" Ren asks and leans forward.

"Is there a problem?" you ask back, then regret it.

Questions mean opening a door to unwanted dialogue. His cheeks turn a little pink.

"No. It looks good on you."

Your stomach churns in discomfort at the compliment and the carefully concealed delight Ren won't voice out loud, but drops indirectly from time to time. Not only this, but the familiarity, the implied "you're used to wearing my things by now" which, in essence, is true. It's either that or walking around naked. Ren must notice your reaction, because he quickly averts his eyes to the floor. Silence settles over the basement like a thick, heavy blanket of snow.

Stop feeding me with submissive bullshit, you want to say. I know what you'd do if not for the collar, I've seen it from the first row. Stop pretending to be harmless when we both know you aren't.

Ren fiddles with the hem of his shirt. The change is so drastic. He was a little scary at first when you met, then downright terrifying, and now...now he's just a whole another person.

You pick up the tray without a word and leave. Ren's ears droop once he realizes the conversation for today ended before it even started. But there will be tomorrow. And the next one after, and the next one, and the next one. He'll keep trying to talk, and you'll keep ignoring him until he finally stops.

You don't know what to do with him. You don't know what to do with yourself either.

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There's no distance wide or far enough to allow you proper sleep. You toss and turn under the covers despite exhaustion pulling at your eyelids and eventually settle for a late night movie or two. Ren's DVD collection is...well, to put it bluntly, weird for someone like him. Cheesy and romantic movies take around thirty percent of his library, while the remaining seventy is filled with horror flicks and anime. You go through the titles: Sailor Moon, Cardcaptor Sakura, Tokyo Mew Mew. Some of those you watched together, curled up on the sofa, others Ren had recommended enthusiastically whenever he caught your glances.

'It's really good! I think you'd like it.'

'This is my favorite.'

He remembered the details about each series, all the names, plot twists. A die-hard fan to the point you wondered why didn't he try cosplaying himself instead of dressing you up. He'd pass as some sort of a fox/cat character easily. Maybe he did cosplay before, who knows? It wouldn't surprise you.

The clock ticks 2 AM. Your mind goes back to the basement door and what lays behind it.

Ren knows that you sleep terribly. You know he does too ─ that's one more trait you two share except for the scars.

You click on the first episode of "Arcane Moon Whispers". The opening plays through the old speakers — happy, cheerful music; you wonder if he can hear it downstairs. The basement is soundproofed, but Ren has sharp hearing. It became clear early on, in the way his ears would twitch towards the noise of your footsteps when you still wore the collar.

The plot unfolds in front of your eyes: a magical team fighting evil with the power of friendship, love, and hope.

'They have an entire arc dedicated to time travel,' Ren explained while showing you the box sets, 'it gets a bit confusing halfway through but it's fun!'

It's been three weeks now. Three weeks since your freedom began and yet Ren lingers in your head as strongly as ever, like a ghost haunting your dreams and waking hours alike. It's frustrating to say the least: having him locked away yet seeing him everywhere — in the kitchen cabinets full of sweets he likes, in the bookshelf full of manga he read out loud sometimes until you couldn't bear it anymore and had to tune his voice out, and in the drawer you pull open every morning.

Ren is like a stain.

It makes you sick, actually. It makes your chest ache with something that feels dangerously close to guilt but can't be it. You're not guilty for what you've done, keeping him there is reasonable, understandable, and Ren...he deserves everything after what he put you through first.

You tried so hard to be nice to him.

You were nice.

But nice isn't enough when someone wants you hurt. Isn't enough to stop a knife. Nice is a useless commodity.

A few more episodes later you're still wide awake.

[sableeira]

please humor my self-indulgent artwork for the historical AU I mentioned like half a year ago and finally started writing. Detective Dazai and swordsman-for-hire Chuuya teaming up to solve crime cases during the Meiji period ✨

close-up because after a decade on this website I still haven’t figured out how to get images to look sharp

[ohitslen]

Angry Vash for me and myself specifically

also extra Vashwood:

[callisteios]

I have a new uquiz for you, go on a pilgrimage with me. discover who you are.

[weewoo911]

Buddie prompt:

A few days before the wedding

Marisol: So do you ever think of getting married again..? Maybe… somewhere nice in the autumn?

Eddie (barely paying attention): Nah, Buck would want a spring wedding for sure

Marisol: … Buck?

Eddie: ohshit

Then Eddie shows up single and alone at the wedding and gets absolutely hammered and refuses to discuss it

[crossthread]

No jokes here. The Navy’s best pilot and the Navy’s best admiral. Between them, eight air-to-air combat kills and five stars. These were men who commanded respect with or without your approval. This was the picture of ruthless competence.

Debriefing (& Other Stories) • part 2 of Easier Done Than Said by @compacflt

[plusultraetc]

okay but what if seeing quirkless pro hero Deku on the news inspires quirkless former-pro Takami Keigo to try the whole hero thing again, but this time on his own terms

[buwheal]

BEACH OUTFIT 💥💥💥💥

He used to surf the web back in 98'.

[okcoolthanks]

I really liked “I Saw The TV Glow” for a lot of reasons like the lighting and sound design and stuff

But I also really liked it because how similar I felt to it. Like you watch a show you love so much you want to Be In It and all you do is interact with That Show to the point where you start talking like it and you make everything you see like it because you don’t Know anything else

I really liked owens character because of how Stuck he is in his life. He says he doesn’t think about “that stuff” because it makes him feel gross so he doesnt. He takes a job at a place he doesn’t like and when it gets shut down he goes with the manager to the next place also doing a job he hates. When his parents die he lives in the same house he grew up in because he doesn’t want to leave. He had one friend and when she disappeared presumed dead he didn’t do anything but reminiscenced on his time with her and watching the show she helped him watch. You can also see how he starts taking care of himself less after his father died, in the last scenes of the movie he looks like he barely eats or drinks water, he doesn’t do anything but his job. “Years feel like seconds” because he isn’t doing anything of importance he lost everything that he looked forward too

He doesn’t talk above a normal speaking volume until he’s literally DYING and even after he apologizes still out of breath. He’s still dying then. No one responds to his apologies or responded to him when he was screaming

He gets a chance to leave and go with Maddie to The Pink Opaque and he gets scared, he gets a chance to leave with her when he was younger and he gets scared. He’s so unhappy with his life but he doesn’t want to change it because he doesn’t know what else to do

[the-modern-typewriter]

Do you have any tips for writing an enemies to lovers trope? I'm struggling with the plot and details and wanted to ask for your advice because I've seen that you've done a couple enemies to lovers with villain x hero. Thank you so much if you're able to give advice!

So, the classic question of any romance (assuming a happy ever after/happy for now ending) is why are these two characters perfect for each other?

Particularly with enemies to lovers, you need to be able to answer that question because it's the balance to the enemies side of enemies-to-lovers.

My favourite way to approach this is in the same way I like approaching a lot of my antagonist/protagonist relationships in general: have them be either foil or mirror characters to each other.

For a foil character, think opposites attract. Their contrasting qualities shine a light on each other's positive or negative traits and (in a romance) they end up balancing each other out. E.g. one is brave, but the other's cleverness also helps save the day. With hero/villain that I am guilty of overusing is something like one is determined to do good but this desire to help people leads to them having very poor work/life balance and boundary setting, the villain character has veered to the opposite extreme of the spectrum and is very selfish but lonely/unfulfilled as a result. The clash between two things leads to a happy, healthy couple.

For a mirror character, think 'different but the same.' They might for example share key values or motivations (which is what they ultimately end up bonding over) but they reflect each other by being on contrasting/parallel paths (a classic antagonist is 'I could have been you if I went down a different path).

Once you have set up your characters, the rest follows in a similar shape to any romance. Circumstances force them to spend time together/see different sides of each other, grow closer as they learn from each other and so both become better as a result, ultimately falling in love.