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PLYWOOD PACKAGING BOX MANUFACTURER
Custom Plywood Boxes
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FAQs
How strong is a plywood box?
Plywood boxes are incredibly strong due to their cross-grain construction, offering robust protection for your goods during transit.
Which is better plywood packing box or pinewood box?
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#manufacturer#material#packaging#packing solutions#supplier#plywood#plywood box#plywood boxes#storage
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finally finished this đ„your honor i love him
#enstars#ensemble stars#ibara saegusa#box's art#my fav ftm tmasc projection#if i missed something i swear to god i'm going to eat plywood
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Turns out yet another person has started playing Death Stranding because of my posts⊠Kojima pay me
Today I started the Mama chapter, which will lead me to my favorite part of the map (the mountains). But not yet! Thereâs a long cutscene first and also I took on a side mission near the waterfall that I thought I could do away with quickly (ha ha)
Convinced that Mama, more than Fragile, is the resident Sexy Anime Girl
Canât help thinking her backstory with ghost baby is a metaphor for how Kojima had to give up on Silent Hills, which can only exist as frozen in a specific time and place, like PT on the PS4.
Anyway! Going around and about that damn waterfall triggered the appearance of the jellyfish BTs which you can only see from a certain vantage point with the BT music kicking in because otherwise the area looks clear:
This is interesting because in the first playthrough I only met them very late in the game while going through the tar belt. Canât tell whether this is a directorâs cut addition or just an effect of me skipping this specific mission and its corner of the map the first time around (or did I? I certainly remembered the ruined bridge)
Bonus: look at BB⊠how cute is she⊠living in the moment⊠I just wish other players didnât build structures IN the hot springs goddammit have some respect for the landscape design
#death stranding#adventures in pizza delivery#silent hills⊠my roman empire#konami you will pay for this. may whoever made that decision never know peace#anyway i was looking at a behind the scenes video on yt and this game really was pre visualized in an empty room with cardboard boxes#norman reedus on a plywood motorcycle pushed around by two interns#insane considering the bts stuff they are sharing now
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They donated Natalie's brain to science because she (to the surprise of nobody who knew her) had a completely unique brain nobody had ever seen before and it's gonna be used to train neurologists at I think UCL and is it weird that I wanna like email them and see if I can go and look at my dead friend's brain?
#it is weird i know it's weird it just feels more real than a plywood box full of ashes idk#I'm being reductive: she had a rare genetic disorder and like she was one of two people with it to survive#like all the literature names the condition as incompatible with life but it stops at#- 1998 which is the year she was born#so like i was SO SO lucky to have the time i had with her but i miss her so much#does literally being wired different explain how creative and passionate and weird she was? idk#but she was my friend and i miss her
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#it finally hit me what ive done/what im doing#i really just spent $13k to live in an rv huh#every time i feel like im taking a step forwatd i very quickly feel like i took three steps back right after!!!!#ooh my heart is pitter puttering lol#this has been my bedroom for 20 years now and im moving put to live in a box of fiberglass and plywood#oh boy oh man. idk.#shut up moosh.vnt
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You probably like poetry?
Guilty as charged, Iâm afraid.
#at least I have much better bookshelves now#this is from last year when I was living in a dorm to do my MA#and had thus stacked plywood boxes fit my depressing room just fine#but yeah#reading Philip Larkin as a child (and loving it) probably explains why I turned out the way I did#TS Eliot and Tomas Tranströmer too#not the stones#ask game#anonymous#ask response
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Logipack Technology Paper Honeycomb: Sustainable Packaging that Makes a Difference
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Wooden Storage Cases
JK Wood Wool Industries Wooden Storage Cases are the height of style and functionality. These cases, which were painstakingly and precisely crafted, are evidence of our dedication to excellence. Our cases combine durability and style in equal measure, making them perfect for organizing your area with a dash of rustic charm. Our Wooden Storage Cases complement any style and can be used to store mementos, paperwork, or daily necessities. Give JK Wood Wool Industries a try for your storage options.
E-623, 24, Phase 7, Focal Point Phase 6, Focal Point, Ludhiana, Gobindgarh, Punjab 141010
9814069605
#packing wood wool#wood industries#wood wool#jkwoodwoolindustries#jkwoolindustries#jkwoodindustries#woodwool plywood#wooden accessories#wooden pallets in ludhiana#wooden pallets#wooden cases#wooden pallet#Wooden Storage#Wooden Storage Cases#wooden boxes
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Newel Packaging is leading Nail less plywood box manufacturers in india. We also manufacture Wooden Packing Boxes Supply in India. Contact us for Nail less plywood box, wooden packaging boxes, wooden packing boxes, plywood packaging boxes, indsutrial heavy machine packaging boxes, industrial wooden export packaging boxes in India
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Can you do headcanons about meeting/first date with Jennaâs characters?
meetings & first dates
very funny to think about, i really did have quite good fun writing this one. thank you as always to the anon who requested, i was happy to oblige. also this isnât what i originally planned to put out but casual [iii] should be out soon so maybe thisâll fill the void. i'm also on holiday at the moment, so that's why i'm posting at a weird hour (5 am) my ass had a plane to catch
i think i cooked on the lorraine one, would y'all want that one too
wednesday addams
you meet her in jericho, working behind the counter of the hardware store your parents own, when she stomps inside in her rain soaked boots and down a random aisle without a word at you
when she comes back with a shovel, some duct tape, a taser, and some rope, you have to awkwardly joke that it looks like she's trying to kill something
she doesn't laugh at your joke, instead staring right back at you, and you feel yourself gulp
that's your first interaction, and you don't see her again for a few days, until she comes back to buy a box of nails, and then a week later, a bucket, and a few days after that, a plunger
you won't know it until later, but she didn't actually need the nails or the bucket, she just needed an excuse to go back to the hardware store and buy some stuff so she could get up close to you
after four or five trips of her buying the most odd, random shit, she works up the courage to actually start talking to you a bit more. after a few more trips after that, you ask her what the stuff is all for, and she lets you in on the creature in the woods killing the locals, and that she claims to have seen it
for what it's worth, you believe her immediately, about rowan and the hyde and crackstone, and you listen to her theorise, leaning on the counter until someone else comes in and asks you where the plywood is, and you have to actually go do your job. wednesday stares down the intruder, trying to smite them with her eyes, but you always give her an apologetic smile before you leave
she tells you later when you're better friends and she's confessing, but she thinks of you as an odd comfort and home that she never realised she desired, and being in the hardware store and having you smile at her gave her a single fluttering of that warmth
eventually she brings you on her investigations and her cold, dead heart is running a million miles an hour the entire time, but you have to hide how close you are to wednesday from your father, because of his passionate dislike of outcasts
wednesday comes to your back window and chucks rocks at the glass to get your attention, romeo and juliet style, so that you can sneak out
when you actually ask her out, it's before you've even kissed, and wednesday wordlessly nods yes with her mouth hanging open, before she grabs the collar of your jacket and messily kisses you for the first time
your first date is to a movie, and to a horror movie, to be more specific. you take her to get food at a local diner that's open 24 hours, super late at night, and though she makes a remark about how these restaurants were unhealthy and an indicator of what's wrong with america, she thoroughly enjoys her waffle and you even manage to get her to wear one of those silly diner hates for a moment. she doesn't admit it, but she likes making you laugh
the movie is an incredibly rough experience. you despise horror movies, but wednesday is left smiling at the screen as a man is ripped to shreds in front of your eyes
that is until she realises your discomfort, and she realises you only did this because you knew she would like it. the realisation literally blows her mind, and she watches your face contort in disgust and fear, before gently reaching over and hastily grabbing your hand
she doesn't say another word, struggling to process the new emotions until you're both done with the movie and walking home. you're ranting about how gross it was and how you would be having nightmares for weeks because of it, and then she reaches up to the back of your neck and pulls you down into another fiery kiss, right as it starts to rain
tara carpenter
you've known tara for years, since you're also from woodsboro. you went to the same elementary school and sheâs known of you for a long, long time since you chased her around the playground with a lizard in your hands
tara's always liked you, and you've both always had some attraction to each other and magical chemistry, but there's always been something to keep you apart
tara's involvement with amber and then chad, and then your own girlfriends, it was never the right time for you both to explore whatever electricity you could feel between you, so you didn't until you were both well into your year at blackmore
you only really get close until you take the same film class as tara. tara takes it because she's a film major and you take it because you need the credit and it's the only option of a class that takes place after 8 in the morning
you sit right next to each other and for the whole semester, you two slowly grow closer and closer, poking each other and whispering stuff while the professor prattles on
she's the de facto film buff of the group, only rivalled by mindy, and so you go to her whenever you're working on a project, because you're definitely the type to watch stupid shit, and not the high-brow film stuff the class requires
it means you end up hanging out a lot, at the library, at the coffee shop, on the couch of her apartment. you both set up the '1 for 1' rule, in which she gets to show you a movie for ever movie you get to show her
and she shows you really annoyingly good stuff, while you make her watch utter garbage. neither of you admit it, but you end up liking some of the high-brow art she pushes and she ends up having fun with the stupid movies you show her
when she makes you watch the babadook, you make her watch hot tub time machine, when she makes you watch citizen kane, you make her watch bridesmaids, and when she makes you watch la la land, you make her watch zoolander. it's a mutual exchange of interests, and you both lean against each other when you watch them on the couch or on her bed
paddington absolutely makes tara carpenter cry, there, i said it, and you show it to her and hug her when she does
things are genuinely just so easy and perfect with you, and it's so natural in a way that is unnatural for tara, but in a good way. you're unlike anyone she's ever been with, and it's refreshing and new in a way that's so exciting when you both kiss during the movie before sunrise
that's why it's so funny when your first date goes absolutely awfully
it rains on you, while you both walk to the restaurant and neither of you brought an umbrella because it wasn't projected to rain. then the sushi place you're bringing her to completely forgets your reservation and you're both waiting 30 minutes to get a table, and to top matters off, you end up being allergic to a fish you try for the first time, and need to get taken in hospital
you're not even choking really, just broken out into hives and feeling lightheaded, and tara's in the ambulance with you on the way there, and you're both talking casually, like "how was your day?"
you both get there and realise tara forgot her phone at the restaurant, and whereas anyone else would be pissed and call it a terrible date and give up, you both are fucking laughing your heads off at how cartoonishly awful the date went, even though it's a hospital, and that probably isn't the right place to be laughing in
when you're released super late that night, you both end up just wandering around new york until the late hours of the morning, just talking and occasionally holding hands. tara mentions that it reminds her of la la land, and you kiss, and what would've been a deal-breaking, awful date for anyone else just becomes something you shared with each other, and brings you even more in love
reminds me of the song ant pile by dominic fike
lorraine day
you meet lorraine as the kid of the new corn farmer in town, after your grandfather gets too old to be able to maintain his land by himself. your father has to come back and take over, due to his declining health, and you first see each other when lorraine and her daddy come to say hello and talk business for cow feed
she spots you in the back, leaning on the fence next to the field with your arms crossed and your hat pulled low, and you're just watching her and her dad talking to yours with a frown
she's set on edge by your presence, even though you're not really part of the conversation. she has to stop herself when she realises she keeps looking over at you every couple seconds, and you're still just staring at her and her father in a way that isn't exactly friendly
your dad is a generally nice guy, and he gives her your name in a passing mention and graciously accepts the pie lorraine's momma made to bring to the new partners, but it overall isn't a great first impression, and she decides right there in her daddy's truck on the ride home that she doesn't like you very much
when you're brought up again, it's by her father a week or so later. he's mentioning how helpful you are around your grandfather's farm over dinner, saying how your grandfather is blessed to have someone so good-hearted, and lorraine canât help but remember the look of you glowering against the fence at them and doubt how true that is
she still doesn't like you, when you actually talk for the first time. RJ is bringing her home after an incredibly awkward date and gets a flat, and just as it starts to rain, guess who spots her and decides to pull over in their rusty ass pickup truck with a weird look on your face that lorraine can't help but assume is smugness
your truck bed is full of tools and supplies for your grandfather's farm and you haven't got a spare on you, but you know there's one in the shed on your farm. there's only one seat open in your truck, and even though lorraine heavily hints to RJ that she doesn't want to go, she's volunteered, as RJ doesn't want to leave his van on the side of the road, even though there's not many people who would touch the piece of junk
you snort when he insinuates that lorraine wouldn't be strong enough to fend off anyone who would take the van, and even though she's equally as miffed by RJ's assumption she's a bit annoyed by you defending her
the ride home is incredibly tense and neither of you say much until you're pulling into your yard and you say, "for the record, i highly doubt he'll be fending anyone off either." it's funny and it almost makes her laugh until she remembers she decided she didn't like you and she has to get serious again, and tells you not to talk about her boyfriend that way, and you don't say anything for the rest of the time you're helping her
she sits in the truck watching you from the wing mirror as you roll the spare out from your shed and then hoist it into the truck bed, looking sweaty and muscles tensing with effort. even though you're kind of annoying, you're tanned and you're fit, and it's something she can't help but notice whenever she goes to your farm in search of her father, who sometimes comes over to buy corn for his cattle
you both naturally start to grow into something resembling a friendship. you'll shoot the shit when you're not working, leaning on the handle of a shovel half in the ground, and lorraine will walk over and just kind of talk to you for a while. she doesn't even really realise the annoyance has melted away until it smacks her in the face that she was really wrong about you
your first date isn't actually a date until it's over. lorraine is at a lake day with her friends when one shows up with you in tow. she didn't even realise you had friends, but you're there with them and you look damn good in your swim suit, and you actually start talking a little bit about leaving the big city for your grandfather
you're all having fun, swimming around and talking, and she sees you're pretty funny when you want to be. it's kind of jarring to see just how wrong she was about you, and you both end up dancing around to your friend playing guitar and singing along
you end up being her ride home, and though there's still an underlying tension in the air, this time your truck is full of laughter and you're both actually talking. about halfway through, you accidentally let it slip that you asked your friend if lorraine was going to be there, and though the tips of your ears are red and you're apologising, lorraine can't help but reach right over and kiss you, and suddenly everything feels right in the world
cairo sweet
you meet her on the first day of creative writing, as the new student at your school, and mr. miller's seating chart places you directly next to her. she stares at you a bit, as if unimpressed by your existence, and you stare right back at her, equally as unimpressed
though you're new, you quickly skyrocket to incredible academic success, and cairo is enraged to find that with the transfer of credits, you're now really the valedictorian, sweeping it from underneath her feet at the very end of her senior year
with that, she absolutely despises you and everything you stand for
you have to trade papers for peer grading and while you calmly grade it at first, when you see that yours is covered in marks and cairo is being absolutely brutal beyond belief, nitpicking every little punctuation mark and symbol she can, you get a bit annoyed and start doing the exact same thing to her
it's a giant game of one-upping the other, and you guys repeatedly mess with each other like a chess match of fucking each other over. neither of you will admit you find the other annoyingly magnetic and captivating, you instead resort to messing with each other's standings
you both are duking it out over each little test grade, as cairo desperately tries to regain her spot at number one and you attempt to fend her off and keep your place. she'll brag about her perfect score on the calculus exam, and then you'll clap back with your extra credit. you absolutely dominate her in maths and sciences but she has you beat in creative writing and histories
winnie is greatly amused by the whole ordeal, and keeps insisting to cairo that you both should get it over with and fuck already but she scoffs and claims to resent the implication. doesn't mean she hasn't thought about it, though
her involvement with mr. miller is something she's only doing to maintain her spot as mr. miller's favourite student. cairo has the writing skill to back it up and is incredibly gifted with the pen, but you ooze a certain charisma that makes the teachers around you all giant fans, and she would be lying if she didn't say she was worried you would pull mr. miller's recommendation letter with it, and steal it right out from under her. it's entirely possible for a teacher to write more than one recommendation letter, she just wants the satisfaction of being the first one to get it
when you're partnered up on a group writing project that needs to be done in pairs, cairo sees it as the perfect opportunity to gather intel on you. another thing she hates is how mysterious you are, and how not many people actually know that much about you, other than how pleasant you are
she insists it has to happen at your house, and though you try to argue, she insists it has to be the case. it surprises her, when she puts your address into her phone and she sees it's a small one bedroom apartment in a bad part of town, without air conditioning and with terrible plumbing, and that your father works three jobs to support you
she doesn't know what she expected, but that's definitely not it, with your ability to dress and intelligence. suddenly her arch nemesis gains a third dimension, and she understands just how hard you work
though you're guarded at first, you both actually slowly discover that you don't exactly mind the other that much. you still want to keep your spot and she desperately wants it for her own, but you say something silly and it makes her laugh- really laugh- for what feels like the first time in a long time
you work together on the project more and more, and suddenly she's enjoying your company and wanting you around. she's definitely a little bit disgusted by that at first, but it's something she can't deny
she asks you on your first date to a poetry reading on a saturday, and you're a bit confused since the group project is already over, but you decide to go anyways and you have a great time. you say something profound after one of the poems, and cairo's eyes just drop to your lips in a weird amazement
she's dragging you to the bathroom immediately before the next poem can even start, and i don't think i have to say what happens next, but it's messy and there's lipstick everywhere
your father snorts when you get home that night, and there's dark red lipstick smudged all over your lips and a bit down your neck, and you roll your eyes at him with a smile
#answered#letorip#jenna ortega#jenna ortega x reader#jenna ortega x you#jenna ortega imagine#cairo sweet x reader#tara carpenter x reader#wednesday addams x reader#lorraine day x reader
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Baby Formula
Dp x Dc Crossover
Duke was having a slow day when he heard the cry of outrage just across the street. He sees the store owner let go of the little kid he had latched onto and pull his hand close to his chest. The kid picked up the box he dropped and turned quickly to sprint away on tiny legs.
âHe bit me!â The man screams as he stares angrily after the boy.
Instead of his training to intercept the thief and return the stolen merchandise, Duke follows his gut feeling and just tails the running boy.
From what he can see, the kid it young, maybe six he guessed (heâs not great with ages that young), with black hair and worn clothes. Homeless most likely, or a run away.
The boy slows down and hides in an alley to check to see if anyone is following. Duke takes this time to jump down in front of him.
Blue, blue eyes snap to him and widen in surprise.
âHey, kid,â Duke greets casually, still crouched to get closer to his height.
The child shift from foot to foot, obviously debating with himself whether to run or not while eyeing him critically. Not easy to trust. Expected.
âWhatcha got there?â
Little hands grip the box of baby formula closer to his chest reflexively and then hides it behind his back. He shoves the water bottle fuller into the pocket of his too large hoodie.
âNothinâ.â
Duke hums.
âI donât wanna get you in trouble,â he eases. âI just want to help.â
âI donât need any help,â the boy denies immediately.
âYou might not, but what about your baby sibling?â
The boy tenses and his eyes narrow dangerously. So Duke was right.
âWhatâs your name, kid?â
âWhy should I tell you?â The boy fires back venomously.
Duke shrugs.
âThatâs fair. Iâm Signal by the way.â No response, not that he was expecting one. âI do need to know that you guys are staying somewhere safe. Youâre a really good brother for looking after your babyâŠâ
The boy frowns. âSister.â
âYour baby sister and getting her formula, but Iâm sure youâd also like to be playing instead of stealing. Am I close?â
âI can help take care of Ellie just fine,â the boy defends hotly.
âHelpâ. Heâs not the only one.
âYou can, but you shouldnât have to. Youâre just a kid too. I wanna help make sure you guys are taken care of. Nothing bad will happen if you show me where you guys are staying,â Duke tried to argue calmly.
He hasnât had much experience with this kind of situation but he needed to make sure they were in a safe place. Child trafficking had gone down after Red Hood made his displeasure known, but it wasnât nonexistent.
The kid shifts again.
âTheyâll split us up if they throw us in foster care. You canât call CPS. Promise you wonât.â
He didnât even hesitate.
âI promise I wonât call CPS.â
The boy thrusts his free hand forward with his pinky out.
âPinky promise,â he insists.
Duke has to lock down the smile that threatens to creep up on him. Professional. He needed to stay professional.
He wraps his gloved pinky around the tiny finger in front of him and reiterates the promise. Greasy, black hair flops as the boy nods sharply in acceptance.
âOkay.â
Duke does smile a bit then. âOkay, lead the way.â
The kid hesitates for a second before shaking his head and huffing. He leads the vigilante through back alleys for quite awhile before they come up to the back of an abandoned building.
The kid turns back to him with his hand on the edge of a piece of plywood blocking the entrance.
Duke couldnât tell exactly what the boy was thinking, but he knew he was second guessing. However, with the bright glow this kid was giving off that make Duke think he was a meta of some sort, he couldnât let him walk away.
The boy continues on like he didnât even pause, pushing the board aside and slipping through the small crack. Duke follows closely behind as they travel through the place that looks like it used to be a restaurant that had burned down. They walk until they make it to the only room with light, a storage room, and find a red headed girl, older than the boy but still young, holding a baby as she boils something on an old burner.
She looks up and freezes when she sees him.
âDonât freak out,â the boy interrupts.
âDanny,â she says slowly, her teal eyes zeroing in on her little brother. âWhy did you bring one of them here?â
âDannyâ pulls the water and formula forward sheepishly. Her eyes widen.
âDanny,â she says with disapproval.
âEllie only has one pack left, Jazz, I had to do something.â
âYou didnât have to steal,â Jazz hisses. âDan will be back with-â
âYea, well, he forgot last time, so what were we gonna do then, huh?â
Four names. Four kids living in a burned to hell building that heâs surprised is still standing.
The two kids stare each other down until baby Ellie starts squirming and fussing, reaching for Danny. The boy huffs and takes the baby, looking almost comical with how small they both were.
âI wanted to make sure everyone was okay,â Duke said to alleviate the tension in the too small room. âI just want to help.â
âThatâs what people say before they call CPS on us and we have to run again,â she glares harshly, standing from the floor. She didnât even reach his shoulders.
âAnd I promised I wouldnât.â
âHe pinky promised,â Danny adds in a hushed tone.
Studying the other kids in the room, Duke can see that Ellie was as bright as Danny, just a different color, and Jazz only had a slight glow.
âHow old is Dan?â He asks.
Jazz puckers her lips like she sucked on a lemon.
âOld enough,â is her answer.
âNobody is in trouble,â he reassures.
Neither of the siblings answer for a minute, Danny nervously looking between the vigilante and his sister, and Jazz staring Duke down with narrowed eyes.
âHeâs sixteen,â Danny confesses.
Jazz shoots him a scalding look, to which the boy shrugs off with no guilt, but doesnât deny it.
The oldest isnât old enough, which was what he was thinking, but it still put him in a weird position. Should he call Bruce? He should definitely call Bruce.
Jason would be so much better at this than Duke. The Alley kids love and trust Red Hood, but this technically wasnât Crime Alley.
âI want to help,â he says.
Jazz folds her arms over her chest and he doesnât blame her for her suspicion.
âHow?â
Yea, heâs working on that.
âWho the f*ck are you?â
The snarl comes from behind him and he whirls around to see a teen that greatly resembles the boy. This must be Dan, but holy macaroni, he didnât even hear him come in.
âThatâs Signal,â Danny says, passing Ellie back to Jazz who takes her and steps back from the angry teen.
âYea, I can see that. Why is he here?â Dan growls.
Danny squares his shoulders and lifts his chin.
âI brought him.â
Dan snaps his glare from Duke to the little boy.
âYou WHAT?â The shout sounds too large in the small room and Ellie immediately starts crying. âWhat the hell are you tryinâ to do, you little sh*t?â
âHey,â Duke says firmly, trying to redirect the anger to himself. âI would have followed him anyway, itâs not his fault.â
It doesnât work because as soon as the words leave his mouth, heâs rounding on Danny again.
âI told you to stay here,â he points at the small boy who looks equally scared and defiant. âWhat were you doing out there, idiot?â
âYou didnât get formula last time,â Danny emphasizes the âyouâ heavily. âSo I went out and got some. Youâre welcome.â
âYou little-â
Duke intercepts the bulky teen when he lunges at Danny trying to grab the front of his shirt. From the way Danny backs up quickly, itâs not the first time.
âKnock it off,â Duke growls at the teen. âHeâs a kid.â
âHeâs a snot-nosed little brat,â Dan snarls at his brother and then turns his ire onto Duke, pushing the vigilante away with a giant shove. âAnd Iâm guessing youâre gonna turn us over to those corrupt social workers, huh? Well good luck.â
âNo,â Duke denies with his hands up. âI donât want to do that. I promised I wouldnât.â
âHe pinky promised,â Danny insists behind Dan after the teen shifted to stand in front of his siblings.
âShut up, twerp,â Dan snaps but doesnât take his eyes off Duke. âThen what do you want, vigilante?â
This situation has escalated.
He lowers his hands to his sides to level with the guy.
âI just want to help,â he states for the umpteenth time calmly.
âYea? And how you plan to do that?â
Dan has been burned before, Duke could tell. His distrust is valid with what heâs probably experienced in the past, and Duke doesnât really know how to make the brightly glowing teen calm down and not snap his teeth (fangs? Were those fangs?) at any hand trying to reach out.
âI know a guy,â Duke blurts out. Geez, where was Babs when he needed backup?
âYou know a guy,â Dan repeats with healthy doubt.
âHe can find you a place to live. A place that isnât a burnt down pizzeria.â
âYou mean a foster home,â Dan glares.
Duke couldnât really deny that.
âHow about I talk to him and maybe we can set up a trial period? How does that sound? Heâs got plenty of money and extra rooms to spare. Good food too,â Duke compromises. He hopes itâs enough to sweeten the deal and not set off red flags.
âWe have a history with millionaires,â Jazz says with a cautious edge. From the dark look on the boysâ faces he can read itâs not a good kind of history.
âTechnically heâs a billionaire,â he couldnât help but say, âbut heâs a good guy. I promise.â
âYouâre talking about Bruce Wayne,â the red-head states in realization.
Duke thinks to himself that she would get along great with Barbara and not just because of their similar hair color.
âAll Iâm asking is that you trust me a little and give him a chance. If it doesnât work out, heâs found homes for other kids before. Heâll make sure you guys stick together. I know how bad the system is, I get it, just⊠let me help. Please.â
The others look to Dan, the eldest, to make the decision. He glares hard at Duke, and if he hadnât stared down actual super villains before, the vigilante might actually be scared.
After several long moments, Jazz speaks up in a hushed tone.
âI think we should try.â
Dan raises his lips in a silent snarl, clearly not liking her opinion, but not outright rejecting it. Danny huddles close to Jazz, gripping her shirt tightly, but looking between Danâs broad back and Duke only a few feet away hopefully.
âOne month,â Dan growls lowly and Duke has to keep the sigh of relief from escaping. âWeâll do this trial period for a month and thatâs it. If we want to leave, then we leave and nobody calls the police on us. Got it, Yellowjacket?â
âGot it. Iâll talk to him. Just donât leave, okay? Iâll come back tomorrow.â
Dan huffs and his eyes shift to the door in silent demand to get the hell out. Duke slowly makes his way over.
âJust donât take it out on the kid. He was just trying to help,â Duke adds, trying to lessen whatever punishment Dan was going to give Danny after he left.
Dan snarls with, yes those were fangs, âDonât tell me how to raise my brother.â
Duke lifts his hands to back off and then promptly leaves.
He grapples to the nearest roof and immediately calls Bruce.
âHey, yea, Iâve got four kids youâre about to take in. Youâve agreed to a month trial because the oldest doesnât trust the system and they all donât have a good history with rich people. Iâll have Alfred get their rooms set up, but this is me letting you know. Oh, and oneâs a baby so youâll be paying for all the stuff that comes with that. Theyâll be at the manor tomorrow so try to show up. Good talk.â
He left the voicemail as the only method of communication like a true Bat. Next was to actually tell Alfred and hope he doesnât get the disappointed look, though he doubts heâll get in trouble for helping out some homeless kids. The biggest obstacle will be Damian, but as long as there is some sort of buffer (i.e. Dick or Duke) it should be fine. Probably.
#dp x dc#dc x dp#dp x dc crossover#danny phantom#danny fenton#batman#elle phantom#dan phantom#jazz fenton#de aging#duke thomas#the signal#homeless#runaway#probably in a different dimension#they figure out their identities within the first week#no takes backs#they end up getting adopted#story ideas#bruce wayne#alfred pennyworth
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Stray Dogs | GHOAP x Reader
Synopsis: You never had a problem with strays, but you should have been wary of the rabid dogs begging to be leashed.
Note: F!Reader, No phys. description but reader has background story, no y/n use, Reader is LGBTQ (Bi/Pan) w/ Avoidant attachment issues. Content warning: Mature | avoidant attachment traits, mentions of slight self harming behavior, sexually explicit content, mentions of p in v sex, description of ptsd episode, brief mention of animal death plz skip the last sentence if that may be a trigger.
Chapter two: Soap wonât go home
[4:57 AM]
You were not âblissfully slumbering in no timeâ.
Instead you were having another panic attack in a bathroom.
It would be a consolation that this time youâre at home, but you know for a fact that the Scot you let come over for a quick screw is outside the door waiting. The thought brings more hot angry tears down your cheeks as another bout of trembling makes your teeth chatter violently.Â
Johnny knocks on the door again. âHen, are ye okay?â
You hope he feels your glare burning through the plywood separating you both. Itâs so tempting to shriek âwhat the fuck do you think?â, maybe it would even be cathartic.
You wish you could say it. Mean and cruel in return for the simple kindness of asking after your rightness in the world. But the same something that always sits on your chest when you think about doing what you really want constricts you like a Boa.
Swallowing the bitter angry words like thick cough syrup you bite out a shaky, âIâm fine.âÂ
You know he doesnât believe you, you can hear his weight shift on the creaky tile in front of the door that you never got around to fixing.
âBonnie, can ye open the door, just want to check on ye.â
You turn on the tap to the bathtub instead to drown him out. Shoving your hands under the scalding hot water, attempting to focus on trying to get the freezing chill out of your limbs.Â
Everything had been going so well.Â
Johnny fucked like a dog. A dirty disgusting dog that wouldnât take his tongue or cock out of your body long enough for you to think much less breathe. Heâd had no issue with letting you dominate, had enthusiastically agreed after sloppily and relentlessly coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of you with his tongue and fingers.Â
There was a point you thought you might have died a little, as the time between him pressing an exploratory tongue into your asshole before licking up to your clit with harsh pulls, evaporated.
Youâd suddenly come back to reality to him pumping two, then three fingers into your sex and tapping on the bundle of nerves inside your body in a come hither motion.
Johnny had worn a self satisfied, shit eating grin on his face when heâd finally come up for air. His jaw and throat slick with your fluids. Heâd been anything but subtle about how much it turned him on to see you fucked out and barely functioning.
Itâd hurt your ego more than just a little bit. Youâd prided yourself on being the one to leave your partners in utter bliss.
It was the least you could do for being a no good, emotionally destitute that only hurt them in the end.
With the intent to redeem yourself you had pushed him to the floor none too lightly, dropping to your knees and diving for his swollen cock. Heâd tried to pull your hair and rut into your throat before you bit the skin at his hip and snarled threats at him. It only made the bastard harder.
Youâd swallowed him deep, humming around the saliva and solid length of him, satisfied with the roar he lets out in his release.
It took him less than ten minutes to get hard again. Heâd pouted at the box of condoms youâd thrown at him but had been pleased when you rolled the latex on his reddened shaft with your mouth.
Thatâs how you found yourself boneless on top of his body as he pressed long, steady strokes into your cunt. Youâd ridden him for as long as you could before the burn in your knees and thighs became too much. Johnny cooed sticky sweet things in your ears with his arms wrapped tight around you like a vice.
âAye hen are ye tired? Let Johnny make it better, just open for me, Iâll make it better, promise, look at ye, pretty thing Iâve got ya.â Every other word enunciated with an upward thrust.
âAye I gotcha, yer doing good hen.â Heâd panted in your ear with a rasp.
The combination of him hitting the spot deep inside of you like a game of ring the bell and the crooning affirmations, had been too much. To your horror your eyes had prickled with tears. Youâd bitten the inside of your lips raw, desperately trying to muffle the broken sobs that clawed up your throat, pushing back against his chest fighting for space.Â
Johnny had held you tighter, one palm against your back and the other tight around your neck as he worked you both through a pitiful orgasm that had you seeing stars. Until heâd flipped you over, pinning you into a mating press.Â
Youâd hyperventilated until you blacked out.
Youâre scowling at the way your skin puckers beneath the rushing water. Youâre still numb. The trauma therapist at the psych hospital was full of it, distress tolerance didn't actually do shit for distress.
The bathroom lock jiggles and youâre whipping your head to the opening door in panic as it swings open.Â
Johnnyâs blue eyes are remorseful but that quickly turns to horror. You jerk your arm out from under the water and try to hide it behind your side but Johnny is faster. Heâs across the floor in less than two wide strides and forcing your arm from behind you despite your jerking.
âWhat are ye doing? Hen, look at your arm!â
âI was checking the temperature, Iâm fine.â He gives you a look of disbelief and grunts something unintelligible under his breath. He ignores your protests and shuts off the water, freezing you with a warning look when you lift your hand to stop him.Â
In the sudden quiet he searches your face, you glower.Â
âCome here.â
He doesnât wait for you to decide to be cooperative, heâs maneuvering his hands around you, one on the back of your neck and the other beneath your chin. Johnny sinks to the bathroom floor to his knees and presses his forehead against yours.Â
âBreathe for me, ye can do it bonnie, deep breaths.â
Heâs too close. His breath fans across your face, the sensation shocking a sob out of you. Youâre stiffening with panic at the sudden flood of feeling racing down your spine.Â
âIâm fine, I just need you to back up-âÂ
Johnny thumbs his finger across your jaw in slow swiping movements.Â
âBreathe. Iâm nae asking.â
Fuck.
You take stuttering breaths, he counts each one telling you to hold on the exhale.
In. Out. Good lass, Iâve got ye.
Heâs lying to you. But you do what he asks anyway.
Johnny lets you pull back only when the trembling stops. His watchful eyes are bright. Soft. It makes your stomach churn.
âIâm good.â you whisper âYou donât have to stay.âÂ
He gets the double meaning you're only marginally trying to cover up. Instead of offense heâs smirking and thereâs a layered glint in his eyes, like youâve challenged him.
âAre ye tryinâ to get rid of me?â
Yes!
âNo,â Standing from the lip of the tub, you try to side-step his large form. He watches you like a hawk, observing your awkward inch towards the door into the darkened hallway. âI just have an early morning, so I should get some rest, Iâm sorry.â
Letting out a humorless laugh he rolls his shoulders back, ambling to his feet. He keeps an eye on your skittish retreat, taking a step for every one of your own until heâs in the doorway, lifting his arms to hold on to the frame.Â
Itâs the first time you notice heâs still bare ass naked.Â
Tan skin and darkened hair coat the expanse of his body along with various scarring. Youâre staring at the small circular puckered skin on his thigh when his cock twitches where it hangs.Â
Johnnyâs wolfish grin makes an appearance at your grimace.
âAye, heâs a bit tuckered out as well, hen.â The Scot reaches for you, rubbing his hands down your arms, tucking his thumb beneath his stolen shirt, âWe should get some sleep, yeah?â
No, not yeah. He really needed to get the fuck out.
You stiffen in his hold, panic rising in your chest rapidly and he notices. Johnny pulls back to look at you, guiding your chin back to face him when you try to duck your face. He tells you to breathe deep, you hate that you follow his instructions again.
âYe wonât even know Iâm here, promise. Câmon hen, Iâll make ye some tea.â
Youâre quietly watching him from your seat at the island. Heâs too comfortable in your small kitchen, yawning while he waits for the ancient kettle to heat up.
His thick arms are crossed against his chest and his head nods off as he falls asleep while standing. Heâd had the decency to retrieve his boxers when youâd protested about his dick hanging around your food stuff.
You pick at the hangnail on your index finger until it bleeds.
âWhy did you defend me?â
Johnny blinks, confusedly coming back from his half sleep. âWhatâs that, Bonnie?âÂ
âTonight,â you say slowly, âwhy did you fight that guy at the bar? It was because of me right?â
Johnny is quiet. Youâd suspect heâd fallen asleep with his eyes open but he cracks his neck after a beat.
âCause you look like ye needed defending. Didnae like his gommy mug eithâr.â
That causes you to shift in the stool. Johnny takes the kettle off of the stove eye and pours the water over the expired green tea packet heâd found hidden in the depths of your cupboards. When he places down the cat mug Duckie had gotten you for your birthday in front of you, you hesitantly speak. Â
âWhat do you mean by that? That I needed defending?â
Johnny looks like heâs weighing his options before he answers. Furrowed brow and dark lashes partially obscure his electric eyes but donât dampen the intensity of his gaze. When he concludes some kind of internal war he leans his elbow on the counter in front of you and boxes you in. His eyes tighten at the corners when you lean as far back in the chair as you can.Â
âNever been one to walk by when a bonnie lass is in trouble and you looked like ye were on the way to makinâ trouble. Had this look in yer eyes.â
You pretend to not know what heâs talking about. âSo if you thought I was ugly youâd have let him maul me?â
His laugh is too boisterous for the early morning, it echoes in the small kitchen. It sends warmth down to your toes to hear it. âNae Iâd âave still hit him, hen. Drink yer tea for Johnny yea?â Â
He makes sure you finish every drop, rolling his eyes when you dump enough sugar to rot your teeth. He says something about you being like a stubborn friend of his but refuses to elaborate.
Itâs a quarter past six by the time he argues you down about letting him stay with you. His wide form swallows up half the mattress and he still pulls you to him like itâs not enough. Your skin prickles where his touches, the synapses in your brain telling you to distance yourself as fast as you can. Johnnyâs hold is tight, he redirects your form back into his every time you try to slip away, so you give up.
You have restless dreams of your grandfatherâs rooster, Spirit. The sound of the bird's neck snapping as corporeal and audible as Johnnyâs snores against your neck.
A/N: plz I beg, don't ask me when the next update will be. I am insane in a way that is concerning to the DSM-5 and this takes a lot of my own personal experience and years of therapy to write lmao. Gonna up the rating in the upcoming chapters and start diving into the juicy shit so warning in advance.
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I'm transcribing an interview Aaron King did with me about Detente for the Ravenous and I had to stop and clip out their answer about what they think constitutes good writing. With the story breaking about NaNoWriMo supporting AI text generators, I was just reminded how fucking good it feels to hear someone talk like they give a shit about the craft.
Transcript below the readmore.
"The first time, no, the second time I dropped out of college, I moved to a different town and I was working at an old timey confectionery and ice cream place. So four to five days a week, I would go in and put on black pants and a nice white shirt and an apron and a paper hat. And I would either be scooping ice cream or washing dishes or helping the owner's dad, an 80 year old man named Oscar make homemade chocolates and stuff. So we were on a main floor of a building. We had the ice cream shop, we had a coffee shop, and then we had a basement where we stored all this bulk candy that we ordered from people. And we had the place where Oscar would make these chocolate turtles: almonds, caramel, chocolate. And one day Oscar was like, âHey, look at this.â And he took me to the basement stairs and he pulled down this plywood slide that he had constructed on a hinge that would cover the right half of the stairs. And he took a big box that we just received and put it at the top of the slide and shoved it down. And he was like, âWhat do you think of that?â And I said, âWell, that saves me a lot of time carrying stuff down the stairs.â And he was like, âYeah, every day you try to improve a little bit. You try to make this place a little better.â
And I just like was almost crying because this man that could you know, not lift anything was so old, was still just like making these weird little changes around here and thinking of other people other than him. That's one of the things that I just carry forward in this process of making stuff is just like⊠I will never be a Will Jobst. I will never be âinsert name of my favorite writer here.â But I'm driven to make these things. There's no reason for me not to make them. I might as well try to get a little better every single day. And sometimes that means reading and sometimes that means sitting down and doing some hard self assessment and figuring out where the weaknesses are. Or how to get better or how best to spend my time. Sometimes it's fun. Sometimes it's really hard. But I don't⊠I'm not going to become fucking William Faulkner, you know? I'm not going to become Louise Erdrich. But that's poison brain, to try to like become and overcome them or whatever. I think it's just, if this is something I'm going to do, no matter what, I would like to get a little bit better at it every single time I practice it. Then hopefully someone will put that on my gravestone. âTried a little bit every day. Here lies Aaron King.â "
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TW â mentions of suicidal ideation and suicide attempt
simon is out on sick leave, his mental health has gotten worse since johnny died. âcanât have you in service if youâre not 100%, riley.â price gruffly remarks as he signs simonâs papers, eyes looking up through thick eyebrows at si, who is angrily glancing away.
sick leave is torture. simon feels lost, no anchor to tether him down to earth. without work, he is nothing. without johnny, heâs âŠ.. nothing.
he spends all day rotting away in bed, his thumb rasping against a battered old photograph of him and johnny on holiday in mallorca. johnny with a gorgeous tan, and simon all pink. no, he doesnât get an impeccable bronze. that man BURNS.
the corners of simonâs lips twitch as he glances at johnny in the photo, admiring how handsome he truly was. he would give anything to see him again.
and then it gets hard to get anything but dying out of his head. if he dies, then maybe he can see johnny again. they can finally be together again. right?
the capt drops off a small bundle of johnnyâs stuff at simonâs apartment, and then a small package is delivered in the post from mrs mactavish, johnnyâs mom. various bits and bobs, some of johnnyâs tshirts, his favourite cap, some sketchbooks.
his dog tags.
simonâs surprised to find them; he thought that they would be put in johnnyâs urn or something. but clearly his mom thought otherwise, she mustâve known how much johnny adored simon. he would have moved heaven and earth for that mancunian.
still, suicide ghosts every waking moment of simonâs life. he glances at johnnyâs dog tags besides his bed, chewing his chapped lips as he entertains the idea more. and again when heâs walking around the shops, glancing at various means of killing himself. his thumb rasps against the cold metal of johnnyâs tags from within his jacket pocket as his free hand extends to read the packet of rat poison. might be a bit too painful, and apparently it stinks to the high heavens.
simon puts the box of rat poison back, continuing to walk around the shop, thumb still stroking against the dog tags as he continues to glance around the store. he canât take painkillers, thereâs a limit to two boxes per person. so, he settles on visiting the hardware store, and buys a bundle of sturdy rope. even grabs some plywood and metal brackets. âmakinâ a swing for the littleâun.â he mumbles to the cashier, flashing an uneasy yet somewhat believable smile to her as he fishes out some loose bank notes from his jean pockets. heâs not big on wallets.
for almost a week, simon sits on the edge of his bed staring at the bundle of rope next to a chair from his kitchen. he knows its the only way out, so why is it so terrifying? just do it, riley. do it.
he scrawls out demented ramblings on some loose leaf paper, barely readable chicken scratch to captain price, gaz and to mrs mactavish. âiâll always be grateful for you for bringing my johnny boy into the world.â is somewhat legible in the letter written to her.
he neatly leaves the letters at the foot of his bed, taking a deep breath as he reaches into his pocket for johnnyâs dog tags. for a moment, simon admires them in the dim lighting of his bedroom, watching as the thin metal clinks together. sergeant john mactavish.
as the tags slowly slip over simonâs head, the ball chain momentarily getting caught on a wry piece of scruffy blonde hair, they finally join with simonâs own tags on his chest as he stands on the kitchen chair. for a moment, his hand reaches out against his wardrobe to steady his balance. he slips the noose around his neck, heart thumping against his rib cage ferociously. do it, simon. do it.
simonâs trying his best to still his breathing, taking deep breaths as he tries to dull the nagging thoughts, against his instincts to not do this.
âtae fuck dâyae âhink yer daein?!â
simon falls back against his wardrobe out of shock, eyes wide with horror as he glances in the direction of that all too familar voice, that voice that immediately drowns out every single thought that was screaming at simon to kill himself.
itâs johnny.
heâs effervescent, an angelic silhouette of his mortal self. a halo of warm light, blue, ghosts around his form.
simonâs mouth is agape, eyes still wide as his body freezes. immediately, he tears the noose off of his head, damn near stumbling off the chair to get a closer look of the spectacle in front of him.
âjohnny? but⊠youâreâŠâ
âdead? aye, sherlock. i am.â the silhouette retorts sarcastically, flashing ghostly pearly whites in a lopsided grin, one thatâs terrifying just like johnnyâs signature grin. simon backs against the wardrobe, his breathing uneven and scant as he begins to panic. this isnât normal, this isnât right.
the mass of energy and light shaped like johnny notices this panic in simon, and seems to frown. it slowly moves towards him, a hand reaching out to touch simonâs shoulder. itâs hauntingly cold, and it makes simon recoil with horror. the spectre frowns even more, retracting its hand.
this canât be johnny.
because johnnyâs dead.
#elexaria writes#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#simon riley#soap mactavish#ghoap#ghoap au#ghoap angst
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