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purplealmonds · 10 months ago

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Finished this just in time for the new trailer drop! This is my Mononoke illustration featuring assorted merch from the anime, movie, and stage play! How many can you recognize? ⚖️👹

(Yes, please send answers in the replies! Answers, progress pics, artist commentary will be drafted on a separate post when I'm less tired) ⭐️ UPDATE 04/03/24: Abridged artist commentary is now available under the cut! For the full version, please see the Google Doc linked in the replies.

👁️Overview

Late last year, I rather belatedly discovered Mononoke’s 15th anniversary came and went, and with it, an entire swath of new content to manically pore over. This is an illustration of the various Mononoke merchandise, props, and set dressing I discovered.

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🔎Scope

Some fun facts regarding the work that went into this illustration!

Not including research time, this project ran for roughly two months, consuming much of my waking hours outside of my full time and freelance jobs.

While the illustration does not depict all of my findings, it does feature over 120 unique props and set dressings!

The majority of the props and set dressing were modeled to varying degrees of detail in SketchUp.

To model prep, I often put together schematics on Photoshop or Illustrators. Some were created from scratch. Others were created with the liberal usage of the Photoshop transform and perspective warp function.

The master file is 1.5GB. The dimensions are 6400x3600 at 300 dpi, and contains over 2,200 layers.

Near the end of production, the master file became so unwieldy I created a separate working file. This way, I could create assets lag-free then import the layers into the master file.

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Past this point is where most of the commentary cuts were made for the sake of brevity. Again, look in the replies for the Google Doc link containing the full version with a table of contents for easier navigation!

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🗳️3D Layout

As you can see, the backbone of this illustration is the 3D model. I spent perhaps 30-40% of my production time on this stage.

And this is the lit version. The lighting ultimately got downplayed in favor of showcasing the vibrant colors. I like how simple it looks though!

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🎬Production-Based Set Dressing

In addition to merchandise, I wanted to insert set dressing and props from the various Mononoke productions.

🦊Kusuriuri

It’s odd to have a section dedicated just to him, but his unique appearance warrants it. His garb and overall appearance is an amalgam of the anime and movie. The original intent was ambiguity– kind of like the blue/black vs. yellow/white dress phenomena a few years back. But after doing the color flats, I rather liked how the rich, unaltered colored fit with the overall composition so it became more blatant. I’m surprised that nobody has commented on this since I published the illustration. Maybe because I didn’t feature him in a close-up?

🐈 kai ~Ayakashi~Bake Neko (2006)

Finding props iconic to this story arc (outside of the Kusuriuri’s tools of trade, of course) was somewhat difficult. While the environment was richly decorated, it mainly consisted of 2D artwork which I wasn’t keen on retracing. I opted to paint objects that characters interacted with or featured heavily in the show.

Salt Jar

Candlestick

Rat Trap

🦋Mononoke (2007)

The props fall into three distinct categories here: Kusuriuri’s tools and trinkets; things featured in the opening and ending credits; and objects iconic to each of the five story arcs in the series. I tried to keep most of them clustered on the tatami, but as space grew scarce some props trickled up onto the deck as well.

Medicine Box

Exorcism Sword

Tenbin

Paper Talisman

Mirror

Ring

Geta Sandal

Necklace

Paper Umbrella (Zashikiwarashi)

Daruma Dolls ( Zashikiwarashi)

Gunpowder Ball (Umi Bozu)

Smoking Pipe (Nopperabou)

Genjiko Blocks (Nue)

Train Ticket (Bake Neko)

Lantern (Anime OP)

Butterflies (Anime EP)

☂️Mononoke: Karakasa (2024)

Pretty slim pickings for the new movie since I only had the teaser, first trailer, and movie poster to reference from. Kusuriuri’s tools of trade were a given, but finding memorable and narratively significant objects was a tad troublesome.

Thankfully, the set dressing ended up (however subconsciously) strikingly similar to the movie’s environment design, down to the green tatami and multicolor shoji screen. I suppose at this point I was so immersed in Mononoke content that its aesthetics subconsciously informed my design choices!

Exorcism Sword

Tenbin

Paper Talisman

Comb

Movie Poster

Butterfly (Custom design)

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🪭Official Merchandise

Goods related to canonical narratives and/or productions.

🎊15th Anniversary

Mononoke Shu - A light novel by Hideyui Niki & illustrated by 2964_KO

Whiskey Glass & Box

📖 Key Frame Art Books by Hashimoto Takashi

Ayakashi Key Art Frame Book (2010)

Key Frame Art Book vol.9 (2017)

📚Manga by Yaeko Ninagawa

Kai Ayakashi: Bake Neko Vol. 1-2

Kai Ayakashi: Mononoke Prequel

Mononoke Vol. 1-10

🎭Butai Mononoke

Bakeneko Pamphlet

Zashikiwarashi Pamphlet

Zashikiwarashi Acrylic Standees

Zashikiwarashi Manegi

💿Physical Media

Official OST CD

DVD Box Set

Yokai Pattern Fabric

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Common Collab Merchandise

This category consists of goods that are generally more affordable and feature graphics from the source material with minimal alterations.

Amnibus

Wall Scrolls

Tenugui Fabric

Shot Glasses

Minoyaki Bean Plates

ANIGA-TER

Stickers

Can Badges

Canvas Prints

Anique

Diorama Acrylic Stand

Acrylic Blocks

Challenge Kuji

Kusuriuri & Hyper Clocks

eeo Store Online

Folding Fan

Keychains

Can Badges

gj character G

Cushion

Acrylic Charms

Neo Gate

Satchels

Mini Badges

Mini Badges by Mame Shinoda

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High-End Collab Merchandise

Goods which derive motifs from the characters, props, and patterns from the production and transform them in an elevated manner through abstraction or usage of precious materials.

gj character G

Exorcism Sword Ring

Goodsmile

Kusuriuri Nendoroid Figurine

Folding Screen

Kusuriuri & Hyper Plush

Tote Bag

Kaya

Umbrella

Tenbin Kanzashi

Tabi Socks

Dress

Kotobukiya

Figurine

Mayla

Pump Heels

Kusuriuri & Hyper Hairpins

Tenbin Earrings

Hyper Earrings

Noitamina Apparel

Perfume

Tenbin Necklace

Folding Fan

Super Groupies

Purse

Wallet

Watch

Tsumuji Design

Exorcism Sword Necklace

Ofuda Bracelet

Useless Use Lab

Fragrance Set

Air Purifier

Three-Sided Mirror

#mononoke 2007 #mononoke 2024 #mononoke fanart #medicine seller #kusuriuri #モノノ怪 #mononoke anime #薬売り #mononoke #fan art #purplealmonds #2024

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caesium-55 · 11 months ago

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—seven days. [ i ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

author's note: not beta-read. not edited. enjoy reading.

masterlist.

You are not surprised when Max Verstappen won the 2023 Formula One season. Given how he dominated each Grand Prix in the season, except Singapore but we don't talk about Singapore, you kind of expected the results already. This is Max's third time winning the WDC title and that makes you the manager of a three-time WDC title holder now. As someone who worked with the guy the last five years, you are immensely proud of Max. You’ve been working as his manager ever since 2019—you, twenty-three, a fresh graduate of Mechanical Engineering and he, twenty-one, an aspiring world champion but you've known each other since 2018—so you knew better than anyone else, better than Christian Horner even, just how much it took from Max just to reach the place where he is standing right now. Furthermore, Red Bull Racing also won the Constructor’s Championship so everyone in the team cannot be any happier. Celebrations are in order, of course, but you have excused yourself to retire early in the evening instead. Max has asked you why. You replied that you're tired and that's the only truth you can offer him.

You draft your resignation letter whilst everyone at Red Bull is partying in some place else in Abu Dhabi. Good for them honestly. What better way is there to celebrate a victory than with alcohol? Fortunately, there's canned beer on the mini fridge so that's your share of the victory alcohol tonight while you're hunched over your laptop on the couch. Rihanna is playing from your laptop speakers in a Youtube playlist in another Google tab while you work on the letter on a separate Google Docs tab.

Dear ________,

Please accept this letter as my formal resignation from my position as the manager of Red Bull Racing first driver, Max Verstappen, effective seven days from today’s date, November 26, 2023.

I appreciate the opportunities for growth and development you have provided me during the five years I worked for this amazing team. Leaving is not an easy decision for me but in order to further my career, I have to spread my wings and explore. Please let me know if I can help with anything to make my resignation easier for the company staff.

Thank you, Red Bull, for giving me wings and the courage to fly. Now, I believe it is time for me to soar new skies. I will cherish the time I have spent here in Red Bull Racing.

Sincerely,

[First Name] [Last Name].

You read it over and over again, checking for errors in the spelling or the grammatical structure.

“Thank you Red Bull for giving me wings and the courage to fly….” you mutter. What Red Bull gave you was five decades worth of stress. One decade's worth of stress for each year since you were accepted in the team. “Cringy as fuck.”

Your phone abruptly rings and you jump in surprise, dropping your phone and your beer and oh shoot, you almost dropped your laptop, too. You scramble to pick up the canned beer, hissing slightly when you see the liquid form a pool on the tiled floor. Your initial response is to avoid it so you sidestepped and kicked your YSL heels away from the puddle. The heels are previously placed next to your feet neatly but now they're thrown haphazardly on the floor a few meters away. Your eyes quickly search for a towel, or anything you can use to wipe that shit off before it reaches the expensive hotel carpet, but there is no towel in your vicinity and the liquid is moving fast so you take off your Red Bull shirt—haha, you’re resigning anyways—leaving you in only your sleeveless undershirt. You throw it on the floor. Then, you crouch down and hurriedly wipe the beer.

Crisis averted! Beer - 0. You - 1. You pick up the call after, already knowing it's from Max even without reading the caller ID because you have set a separate ringtone for him, using that catchy Super Max sound, “Hello, [Name] here. Anythin’ I could help?”

Daniel’s voice is not something you have expected to hear, not from Max’s phone anyway, but then again, they should be together right now at the afterparty, “Hi [Name], we kind of got ourselves stuck in a situation here.”

Your brows furrow, forehead creasing, “Danny? Somethin’ wrong?”

“It's Max.”

You stiffen before slowly rising to a stand. Your head begins running at a speed of 300 kilometers per hour, the pace of a Formula One car, coming up with different scenarios where Max is in danger and a list of things you can do to get him out of those situations, “What's wrong with Max?”

That's how you found yourself in the middle of the Red Bull afterparty, navigating through the sweaty and drunk Red Bull employees with your eyes actively searching for a tall, broad-shouldered, blond-brown-haired, blue-eyed Dutchman. You find him nearly ten minutes after entering the party, in a corner, on the floor, next to a yellow puddle of disgusting liquid with his head hanging low and the two Alpha Tauri drivers, Daniel and Yuki, standing right beside him. Thank God they did not leave Max.

The fact that they are in a party full of Red Bull employees and none even tried to help Max bothers you greatly. Jesus, what is wrong with these people? You lower yourself in front of him, hand coming up to his nape while the other is on his forearm before gently guiding him away from the vomit pool just in case he accidentally touches on it. If he did, you know you're the one who’s going to clean him up and frankly, you aren't in the mood for dealing with that. Max follow your hands like it's second nature for him to follow your guidance, leaning into the warmth of your palm.

“What happened?” you finally voice the question you've been dying to ask once Max is a good distance away from the pool of vomit. Daniel is the one who answers you, “He asked for you.”

That doesn't answer your question. Thankfully, Yuki decides to be more helpful, “He broke up with Kelly this morning.”

Oh.

He raced while shouldering a broken heart and still won? Poor Max. But also, you are not surprised. Not even a bit. It's very much like him to prioritize the race over his feelings because Max Verstappen only wants one thing in the world and that is to emerge victorious at the sport he loved. To prove to the world that he is top one, to prove to Jos Verstappen that he is top one and that he will go down in history as top one and the world shall remember it even after he leaves the F1 racing scene for the young ones.

“Thanks, Yuki,” you turn to Daniel and nod. “Danny, I’ll take it from here.”

“Are you sure you don't need help?”

You shake your head and offer a tight-lipped smile. Dealing with a drunk Max is no biggie. You have worked with the guy for five years already, four as his manager. That's over a hundred podiums and defeats and in each defeat and each podium, alcohol and Max become the best of friends. You’re used to this; cleaning him up, picking him up, tucking him into bed, calling his girlfriend to deal with his drunk ass, and helping him nurse the hangover in the morning with an Advil and a good breakfast.

You roll the sleeves of your champagne-colored button-up to your elbows and in one swift motion, you lift Max in a fireman’s carry. That volunteer work you did at LAFD back when you're still in university paid off in these moments.

It was a comedic sight. A 5’5” woman in heels carrying an almost six foot drunk racer who is at least two times broader than her on her shoulders. The media has already caught a picture of a similar-looking moment one time in 2019 and another in 2021—such times are the beginning of those annoying dating rumors that involves you and Max—and you can say that Twitter is mostly impressed that the Red Bull manager was strong enough to lift a high-performance athlete. Some made memes of it. You'll never admit that you saved some of them, especially the ones that made fun of Max so you could put it above his head. Some even claimed that your YSL heels must be some sort of superhero power up because you do a lot of athletic things in those heels like running through the paddock as if you were just wearing a pair of Nikes, kicking a door down, driving a motorcycle around in Monza to buy Max's morning coffee, and getting in a physical fight with Max’s anti-fan back in 2022. In theory, you can and will absolutely kill a god in those heels and honestly, it's about time YSL sponsors you because you're giving their Opyum heels so much promotion.

What the public doesn't know is that Max is lighter than he looks and paired with your capability of lifting heavy equipment and people due to your history as a volunteer firefighter, it is incredibly easy to lift him without breaking a sweat and yes, even while wearing heels. People are too easily impressed nowadays.

You ignore the confused stares that are sent your way as you hurriedly walk to the comfort rooms. In a matter of seconds, you are power-walking yourself inside the male comfort room, sending an unimpressed look at the two Red Bull rookie employees making out inside. They are horrified when they see you. You can tell with the way their eyes widened and how they scrambled away from each other and hurriedly fixed themselves while muttering a thousand apologies. You don't even need to say anything. They are out before you could even tell them to.

You lock the door behind you before heading towards the bathroom sink and placing Max there. You put your hands on the back of his head and shoulders to support him until he's leaning against the mirror and sitting fully upright. You wish he won't topple over and accidentally hit his head on the tiles.

“Hey, hey,” you tap his cheek. “You good, Max?”

You sincerely hope he won't pass out. Unconscious people are heavier than conscious people when you lift them.

Procuring a water bottle inside your tote bag, you hand it to him. He accepts it wordlessly and down it in one go. You pull out an extra shirt from your bag, “Off with the shirt, big boy.”

Obediently, Max does what he is told and he peeled his shirt off him. You have to help him midway because he got it stuck around his neck. You toss the stinky shirt somewhere on the sink and hand him the shirt you brought. Again, you help him put it on because drunk Max has seemingly forgotten where the holes of the t-shirt are and which limb should enter a specific hole. Oh wait, that sounds wrong.

“You're taking good care of me.”

His voice sounds so small when he utters those words that it almost got swallowed up by the silence of the room and the muffled sound of the party outside.

“Aren't I always?”

You are paid to take good care of him after all.

“Always.”

You wet a towel in the sink and squeeze out the excess water in the wool. Your fingers gently cradle Max’s jaw as you wipe his face. He has a little vomit on his cheek.

You're used to looking at Max’s face up close but you still cannot help but be amazed by the beauty of it, you know? Some people will not consider Max as a conventionally beautiful man. Different people have different preferences. Honestly, you used to be one of those people. You met Max when he was twenty-one and that time, he looked like a fetus and greatly resembled Sid the sloth from the Ice Age movies. You used to tease him all the time about it, calling him a kid and pulling the age card when he needed to be reigned in or to annoy him until he submits into obedience, when you are only a year older than him. The stress of racing caused Max to age quickly but thankfully, he does not age badly. No, instead Max transitioned into an absolute daddy. Thank God he is more like his mother than his father, too. His mother’s genes saved him. Thank you Sophie!

You would have fallen for him, too, like the gazillion women all around the world who'll fall at his feet, but it’s hard to do so when you know he doesn't even know how to peel his own oranges. Drives a car going 300 kilometers per hour and can’t even peel a damn orange.

Twitter is always having a field day when they manage to snap a picture of you peeling oranges for him. Orange Peel Theory or whatever that is. Ludicrous bullshit, to be honest. The only theories you know are the ones taught in Physics class.

“I wonder if you know how much I need you,” he mutter. “I wonder if you can tell.”

“Very poetic,” you say flatly because Max has the tendency to say the most out of pocket yet soul breaking things when he's drunk and you are too tired to rationalize all his musings right now. We love a trauma-dumping king.

“You talkin’ ‘bout Kelly?” you ask, brow raising slightly. You continue to clean his face before proceeding to wipe his arms and his hands.

“I don't know.”

“Okay.”

He probably is talking about Kelly anyway.

Now that Kelly is gone, you’re beginning to get worried for Max. Earlier, as you wrote that resignation letter in your hotel room, the worry of leaving Max was not present. He has Kelly after all. Kelly can easily do the things you did for Max, not that she should do the work of a Red Bull manager because honestly, if she plans on taking up your job now, you’ll tell her to run and save herself. You mean the support you gave Max. You mean going all-out in protecting Max whether from haters or even his own father and especially his own darkness. You mean standing with him, inside that open cage that he can walk out of anytime but chose not to because Jos Verstappen still had his claws on him. You mean not leaving Max, no matter where he stood, may it be at the top of that glorious podium or at the end of the line. You mean taking care of Max the same way you did, even if he insists that helping him is nothing but rotten work.

But then, she left. Now what?

“I want to tell you something.”

You lift your eyes and met Max’s glazed blue ones.

“It is in my will that if I die—”

“You're not dyin’," you cut him off, not even the least bit amused about the idea of Max dying.

“Shush,” he playfully glares at you and you roll your eyes, itching to pull that I’m older than you so don't shush me card just to annoy him. “Let me finish. It is in my will that if I die, my cats will be taken care of by you. Oh come on, stop making that face. You look like you're having an aneurysm.”

“Shut up,” you swat his forearm with the damp towel, causing him to laugh at you. “Why’d you even do that? Give them to your Mom or somethin’.”

“But nobody is better at taking care of someone than you,” he says and his voice bled with rawness and honesty and so much sincerity that you're taken aback. “I want someone to take care of them like how you take care of me.”

You blink, mouth slightly agape. What can you even say to that? Thank you? I’m honored? Dude, what the fuck? Are you confessin’ to me or somethin’? You doin’ big shit over there by putting me in your will.

Now, you’re even more worried. Who will take care of Max after you're gone? The same way you took care of him?

Nonetheless, on December 13, you submit the resignation letter to Christian Horner. He reads the letter with a deep frown marring his face. It's funny how he had the same expression on his face, too, on the first day you met him when you were applying from Red Bull.

“Have you told Max?”

The guy is sleeping in his hotel bed as you speak and will probably be awake in a few hours with the world’s shittiest hangover. So no, you have not told him. Not yet, at least.

“No.”

“He wouldn't be happy with this.”

You know Max does not bode well with goodbyes, especially from the people he closely worked with leaving Red Bull. Look at what happened with Danny in 2018. Now, it is your turn. Two of his biggest friends in the Red Bull team, leaving in search of careers outside his shadow. Being in Max's shadow..... They are right after all. It is a curse.

While you love Max, platonically of course, being his manager is not what you wanted. You did not suffer through four years in engineering school just to become an errand girl for a racer. This is not what you applied for when you sent that application letter in Red Bull and Renault back when you were twenty-two. Renault didn't have an opening in their engineering team so your future with that team was quickly erased. Red Bull had no opening in their engineering team either but they had an open spot on the team as Daniel Ricciardo's manager for a whole season. You accepted their offer, naturally, hoping that their engineering team will have a place for you soon. When Danny left, you contemplated following him to Renault.

Then, Max told you to not go to Renault because they're a shitty team and perhaps he was right because in that sucky car they had, Daniel barely won podiums, but if Renault would give you the position you wanted and worth your student loans, then you'd take it.

"No, stay."

Demanding little prickly ass, he was, "I will win next year. When I become a world champion, I'll ask Horner to move you to the engineering team."

You did not know why you believed him.

2021—Max became world champion. You hoped he would ask Horner like he told you back in 2018.

2022—Max became world champion again but you're still stuck as his manager. You reminded him of his declaration in 2018. He told you he was already on it. Two rookie engineers entered the team that year, taking the spot that should have been yours years ago and you were stuck wondering if Max was really putting truth on his words.

2023—Max became a third-time world champion and you wouldn't even ask anymore.

“I know," you say, voice barely above a whisper. "I'll deal with it."

"I'll trust that you'll be the one who'll tell him?"

It amuses you how no one wants to deal with Max or drop him the big news. Everyone knew how crazy he could get when Max does not like something. He's a menace. He'll terrorize everyone. You're the only one who could hold the menace down.

"Of course, Sir. Leave it to me."

“Are you transferring teams? Are you still going to stay in Monaco near Max?”

Monaco is not home. Home is desert and heat. Home is Texas.

“Nah, goin’ back to Austin.”

Everybody knows Texas was your home, your accent and your manners spoke of it. Some Europeans look down on it, calling you a country bum and a cowgirl mascarading as a sophisticated sidehoe of a champion. Fuck 'em all.

“Everyone in the team is given two weeks off now that we’ve won so your resignation is immediately effective of today,” Horner says. “If the US GP is held at Austin next year, make sure to come by. Max would appreciate it.”

Christian Horner is an asshole but he is at least good to Max and that's what's important.

You get a text from Max an hour later.

him: i feel like shit

him: thanks for the advil and the soup

him: also im flying back to monaco tonight, fly with me

Tonight, you're flying to Monaco with Max Verstappen. Seven days from now, you're flying home alone.

#max verstappen #formula one #formula 1 #manager!reader #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #mv1 x reader #mv33 x reader #mv1 #mv33

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cosmicalily · 29 days ago

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"till you tell me to leave" - a bangchan oneshot by @cosmicalily

author's note: i found a half-written draft for this in my old google docs with my other email account and immediately knew i needed to do a rewrite.

warnings: angst (breakup, exes to lovers)

Three days, twenty-three hours and fifty-nine minutes.

Four days.

Four days and one minute.

Another sleepless night. You didn’t mean to count the minutes, but your eyes remained fixated on your phone, half watching the clock, half staring at the lock screen you’d neglected to change.

Everything around you brought back floods of memories that you didn’t want to deal with. Pictures from photo booths, his arm slung around your shoulder, his hand on your cheek, his lips pressed to your forehead. The one hoodie you’d managed to hold onto, even after he’d packed all his other belongings up when he left. The pre-workout he kept in the back of your pantry. His toothbrush in your bathroom drawer.

He’d been yours in every way, and you’d been his.

Maybe this was why you’d been so scared to love your best friend; you knew that more came with risk, chances of slamming doors, crying each other's names, and duffle bags hastily filled.

Even when you’d ended things, why were you still writing pages, when he’d been the one to close the envelope? Why were you spending hours nestled on the couch in his hoodie, staring at a black tv screen, unaware of the world around you?

new message from 'channie'

i think i left my hoodie at yours. you home?

i’m driving over.

A part of you wanted to run into the bathroom, brush your hair, remove the two-day old mascara on your eyes and change into something nice. A part of you remembered he’d seen you in every single form, and he loved you regardless.

He used to tell you how beautiful you were every minute of the day, even when you felt anything but. Did he miss saying those things now? Or did he have another girl to call his angel, his baby, his darling?

Just the thought made you feel sick to your stomach.

new message from 'channie'

outside.

Taking a deep breath and slipping on your sneakers, you began walking down the hallway of your apartment building. Even though the elevator wasn’t broken for once, you wanted to take the stairs. You needed time to think, and time to turn back if you felt the need.

Why were you so easily coming to him? Well, technically you weren’t, were you? He wanted his hoodie back, presumably the one you were currently wearing.

He’d broken your heart. No, not broken. Slowly tugged at it, until nothing that remained was a dull ache and your pulse.

You thought about turning back, about yelling in his face, about simply bursting into tears and curling up into a ball at the bottom of the staircase, until your neighbour came and yelled at you for disturbing everyone’s sleep at 12:29am.

You thought about these things, but you never felt like acting on them.

What was the point, anyway?

You never would have meant it.

You spotted his familiar black car, the scratch on the bottom from when he’d practised parallel parking, the Sharpie stars you’d drawn with him whilst drunk on his windscreen. You felt your heart swell a little, and even more so when the figure inside the vehicle turned his head to look directly into your eyes.

In silence, you walked over and sat down in the passenger seat, doing your best to look at everything but him. He nodded, pressing his lips together in a thin line, and started the engine. He looked down at your torso, noticing his hoodie, but didn’t make a move to retrieve it. You didn’t attempt to take it off.

“I miss you,” you whispered, barely audibly.

“Hm?”

“Your seatbelt isn’t on,” you replied.

“I was in a rush.”

There was a sudden quiet. The click of his seatbelt, then yours, then the gentle hum of the car as he began to drive.

“You’re wearing the hoodie I left,” Chris finally said softly, eyes focused on the road ahead.

You ignored him. You didn’t really know where he was taking you, and you honestly couldn’t care less. He almost felt like a stranger. A stranger you’d poured your heart out to, and spent hours with, pressing kisses to each other's faces whilst watching movies, watching work out in the gym, cooking food for and dancing while doing the dishes with. A stranger who had been the vast majority of your firsts, who knew your body like the back of his hand, and spent long minutes in the latest and earliest hours loving you, worshipping you.

A stranger who’d been your everything.

As you drove in silence, apart from the soft rhythm of his playlist in the background, his hand found its way to yours, and gently caressed your fingers, as if asking for permission.

You allowed your palm to open.

His fingers tucked into yours, and his thumb brushed against your hand.

His hand felt warm, familiar. His fingertips were calloused; a result of the way he gripped his pen when he frantically wrote his lyrics late at night.

The car slowed down, then stopped completely. He’d pulled over on the side of a road, in the middle of nowhere. It was ghostly silent, and the trees cast shadows through the headlights.

It was oddly comforting.

“I fucked up.”

“I know you did, Chris.”

He covered his face in his hands in frustration, letting go of yours in the process. Your hand felt a sudden coldness.

“I didn’t . . . I don’t know why I left you. I nearly called you, right after I left. I thought . . . I thought you’d want space, thought I shouldn’t have to put you through anymore. And you were getting fed up with me, I didn’t think you wanted me anymore.”

“I was still in love with you.”

“Was? Past tense?”

“I still love you. I didn’t necessarily fall out of love, Chris, I just . . . I felt like I lost a part of me. Everything felt familiar and distant at the same time, and there were traces of you everywhere. I couldn’t sleep.”

“I can never sleep.”

“I know.”

“I’ve been sleeping even less since I left. The bed’s cold.”

“Same with mine.”

You paused, staring at each other. Chris faced you properly.

“I’m still in love with you. And I’ll try forever if it means I can make you fall again.”

You smiled a little, letting your hand trail up his arm and wrap around his shoulders, resting your face in his warm neck. His hands moved to your waist, moving under his hoodie and settling on your bare skin. “We should probably get some sleep,” you mumbled into him.

“Your place?”

“Our place. I still have your toothbrush, I think. And more than one of your hoodies.”

“Even if you don't, it doesn't matter,” Chris replied, clasping your hand in his again and gesturing to the backseat. His duffle bag sat there, zipped up, seemingly untouched since he’d left. “I’m coming home. If you’ll let me, of course.”

“You won’t leave?”

“Not unless you say so.”

“So never?”

“Never.”

taglist: @hyunjiiza @velvetmoonlght @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @btch8008s @yaniluvs @ellemir2404 @bellarellasstuff - comment, dm or send an ask to be added

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sorenwuzhere · 1 year ago

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The Day After

cw: dubcon, male reader, overstimulation, implied prior engagement in sexual activities, ooc, porn without plot A/N: I have never read or watched Jujutsu Kaisen and I don't think I will have time to do so anytime soon so don't expect an accurate writing of Toji. I just wrote this purely for the horny lol. This is also a pretty old draft I wrote this back in 2021 and haven't edited it, just wanted to get rid of it from my google docs. Anyway, enjoy or don't.

Toji’s eyes fluttered open just doing that seemed hard, a familiar ache in his lower abdomen and his ass. Memories of last night came flooding back, he opened his eyes fully and saw your naked body lying next to him, sleeping peacefully, it’s almost like you weren’t the person who fucked him until he passed out last night. He groaned in annoyance, partly from the pain that’s coursing through his body and the other from the fact that he wasn’t able to top you last night, there was also a bit of anxiety from you telling people about this, but it turned him on more than anything even though he was too prideful to admit it. He tries to get up but is immediately pulled down, he looks up and finds you pinning him from above

“Where are you going, To-ji” you asked the smaller man, saying his name mockingly, he tsked at you before answering

“I’m going to get something to drink” he replied

“Hm, why do you have to go anywhere for that? I have something for you to drink here” you replied slowly stroking your dick, smirking upon seeing the faint blush on the tips of Toji’s ears

“W-what the fuck are you saying” Toji replied after much thinking, silently cursing himself for stuttering, you smirked raising your eyebrows in amusement, you hold your dick on your hand jerking it off faster, Toji quickly catches you doing so and tries to hide the fear and anticipation

“What- you’re-” before he could even finish you place your dick on top of his chest, pushing his pecs together, his pink cheeks blooms into a bloody red, words stuck in his throat

“Hah, so all it takes for you to shut up is a cock? I knew you were a slut” you spoke after a while, he opens his mouth to give you a snide remark but before a sound could even get out of his mouth, you thrust your dick inside him, his eyes widen in surprise and he gags from the sudden thrust

“There you go, just shut up and take it like the slut you are, yeah?” Toji closed his eyes as he unconsciously nodded his head, swirling his tongue on the tip of your cock to try and take a taste of you. You snort at his face, you haven’t even done much yet but he’s already so pliant, looks like fucking him dumb last night did the trick.

Again you thrust your hips to his mouth and he quickly responds licking your cock all over and bobbing his head the best he can, Toji brought up his hands to his chest and brought them together to give you more stimulation, he pushes his body up to rub you, you sigh in pleasure, breathing becoming more ragged as he continues, you continue on thrusting your hips in a slow steady rhythm, you stop for a moment and he looks up at you as if searching for an answer why you stopped but he didn’t have the chance to ask why when he felt your tip prodding his entrance teasingly, small whimpers escapes his lips while you tease him with your tip, he was getting frustrated he just wanted you inside of him already!

“Are you putting it inside or not?” he glares at you, you hum amused at him for snapping at you, you snicker then finally snapped your hips forward to get your cock inside him, despite how much you fucked him last night his hole was so tight, sucking you in so eagerly.

Toji moaned at the feeling of your cock inside him, no matter how much you pounded him last night he couldn’t get used to the feeling of your cock inside him, it was just too much, your scent, your size, your stare, everything was so overwhelming and he wasn’t sure how to deal with all of these things at once, it was almost suffocating and although he would never admit it out loud he wouldn’t mind drowning in your presence.

You wanted to wait for him to relax but recalling how much shit he’s given you, you pushed the thought back and started thrusting into his tight hole. Toji was caught off guard. He didn't expect you to go immediately; he thought you’d at least be considerate enough for him to get ready, but he found it quite…hot.

“Hah, you’re hole just tightened, is this turning you on? What a slut" You asked the small man, he let out a choked moan, he couldn’t catch his breath from your pounding, how do you still have this much energy after everything you did to him last night.

Toji looked dazed, all you could do is chuckle at his expression, putting his legs on your shoulders and pressing his chest with yours, you trailed kisses down his neck and then bit onto his skin that was already full of bruises, he screamed as he feels blood trickle down his neck

“Ngh- not- AHH!” again he was cut off by his moans as you set a punishing pace, pounding into him roughly

“Haah! Agh Ahn~ W-wai- you fucking- ba- Hahh~ bastard” Toji kept getting cut off by his moans, it was actually quite impressive despite how fast you’re going, you wonder how fast you’ll need to thrust for him to shut up

Finally you stopped thrusting after a bit, he pants and tries to catch his breath propping himself up using his elbows to look at you

“What? Tired already? Thought you were going to shut me up with your dick? You ca-” Toji let out a silent scream, you thrust into him again this time harder, faster, rougher, he didn’t even know that was possible, what is with this inhumane speed?

“Hmm? Why are you quiet now? Isn’t. This. What. You. Wanted?” you asked, thrusting harder into him to emphasize your words, all he could do as a reply was to moan and whine he couldn’t let a single word out because of the sudden shock of you thrusting in him

“That’s more like it, you’re prettier just being an obedient little slut so just stay that way, alright?” you taunt the man, he nodded dumbly too fucked out to register your words. You chuckle, he definitely looked better dumbed down like this.

Toji suddenly shivered and you took that as a sign that you found his spot, you smirk at him and adjust his legs to hit his spot precisely, pistolling your hips you aim for his spot and thrust into him fast and rough, just how he liked it

“Mhh- Ahh! Ngh I- going to- ha- ack!” Toji tried to tell you that he was close but he was so fucked out that you can’t understand anything he’s saying but the tightening of his ass, his shivering, his lolled out tongue and his rolled back eyes spoke for itself

“Hah, cumming already? Aren’t you a certified whore how can you not take at least this much?” you said, getting cut off to breathe every once and again from how fast you were thrusting

“Ngh- can- please cum–!” he said again trying to warn you, opening his mouth wide a scream ripped out of his throat as he came all over his stomach and chest, some of it landing on your stomach, but even as he just came you still haven’t stopped thrusting, sobbing, Toji tried to push you away

“N-No mo– Ah~ ngh- plea- I- haah~” sobbing in between his words, you don’t bother trying to understand his words, just indulging yourself with his inside and chasing your own high you were even more turned on by him sobbing underneath you, Toji was terrified to feel you grow bigger in him, how was that even possible?

“You- just now you- nggh~ I— haah~ wai-” Toji couldn’t let out coherent words anymore he was so drunk at the feeling of you, he can’t handle this any longer, just how much more will you keep going?

Finally after what seemed like forever, Toji felt your cum fill him up and pushed him to the edge as he came again moaning your name. Toji pants, sighing in relief as he tried to catch his breath, his relieve was short lived as you pushed out of him and lift him up to make him lay on his stomach then push inside of him again

“Haah! Ngh~ Please I can’t anymore, no- m-ngh- haah~ more p-leashee~!” Toji’s begging fell onto deaf ears as you adjusted his hips, putting his knees on the bed and lifting his ass before pulling out until only your tip remained in him before slamming in again and again not letting him catch his breath.

Toji clutched the sheets and again tried to get away from you, crawling away, but your hard and fast thrusts made his legs wobbly and he couldn't find the strength to keep on moving.

You smirk as you feel him stop trying to get away and slowly giving in to your touch. You lean down to his ear and nibble on his earlobe

“That’s it, did you figure it out? Below me is where you belong, so stay still~” you whispered huskily in his ear, Toji felt shivers down his spine upon feeling your hot breath on his nape and hearing your husky voice that’s a bit out of breath from how fast you were going.

Feeling his hole suddenly tighten you groaned causing his hole to tighten around you even more, ah did he find that hot? Toji was easier than you thought. Hearing you chuckle right beside his ear, Toji felt his face getting hot, what the hell is up with him? Why is he feeling this way? Over a chuckle? How fucking pathetic

“You keep on squeezing me Toji, what are you thinking inside that pretty little head of yours hm?” you comment, and to your delight that made him tighten around you even more

“Haha, you make me feel so good baby, let me repay the favor~” you whisper teasingly, adjusting your grip and the position of your thrusts, you thrust into him perfectly hitting his prostate, Toji gasped.

You began hammering into him smashing his prostate repeatedly, the poor boy couldn’t even let out a whole moan as he keeps getting cut off from more of his moans, his eyes rolled to the back of his head as he clutches the sheets harder, he bites onto the pillow below him feeling ashamed of the loud moans he keeps on releasing.

You brought your hand down his face and forced him to look at you before you went down and crashed your lips with him, your other hand going down to his dick stroking him rough and fast, Toji gasped as you had planned, you shoved your tongue inside his mouth, exploring the inside of his mouth kissing him feverishly.

Toji feels himself melt and become more pliant to your touches once he feels your tongue inside his mouth, gulping in his moans and kissing him as if you’ve starved and his lips are the only things that can satiate your hunger, and he wasn’t wrong— you have waited way too long for this, you’re going to take every chance you get and make sure he won’t be able to forget the way you touched him and played with his body as you please like no one did before.

Separating from his lips you place your hand on his tits, you start to squeeze and massage them, pinching his nipples and playing with it. Toji's breath becomes ragged and whines every now and then slips from his mouth, everything was so overwhelming, just then his vision turned white and again he came onto the sheets, tears pricking his eyes and falling down his cheeks onto the sheets, not long after you came inside him

“Haa I- hngh~ are- mmh!” Not understanding what he’s trying to say, you caught his lips in yours and kissed again, Toji noticed a trace of gentleness and savored every single bit of it until it quickly disappeared.

Feeling him stop from moving you separated your lips from him, seeing him passed out you quirked your eyebrow, you contemplated if you were going to continue or let him rest, glancing at his face to see his peaceful expression one more time, you came to the decision that you’d let Toji take a rest for now.

Pulling out of him you picked him up and laid him down on his back, taking out the sheets and venturing into the bathroom to fetch wet towels to wipe his body down with. After replacing the sheets and cleaning Toji and yourself up, you lay down beside him, pulling him close to you. You convince yourself it’s just because it was cold and wanted some source of warmth, before closing your eyes and falling asleep.

#smut #top male reader #dom male reader #sub character #sub Toji #dom reader

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not-freyja · 8 months ago

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LU Write-A-Thon

This our second monthly LU Write-A-Thon, spearheaded by @hotcheetohatredwastaken and myself, will run on July 1, 2024 from 12 am to 12 am GMT (7pm to 7pm EST starting June 30). There is one goal in mind with this event---write as many productive words within that day as humanly possible.

Originally a fun game amongst friends, we are now opening this up to the general fandom-body-public (and happily so) by popular demand!

The event will be hosted on discord, and the link will go out via a reblog/reply/edit combo on this post a few hours before the event starts.

We're so excited to have all of you come and write with us, and the event rules are right here blow the cut:

What counts as writing?

Writing fanfiction or original fiction, leaving or answering comments, outlining, drafting, storyboarding, personal journaling, and (writing) homework---basically, anything that furthered yourself, the LU writing community at large, or your stories with a positive word count, can be included in your final word count.

(Editing previously-written works can also be included, but only if it produces a positive word count, and only those new words may be counted. The goal is to get new words on the page).

What CANNOT be counted as writing?

General chatting, talking about already written works, etc, will not count towards your final word count. Words counted must, as previously stated, further yourself, the writing community, or your stories. This does not mean that you can't chat with your fellow writers---the ⁠⁠chaos-chat thread was created for such a purpose!---but the main goal of this event is to produce and engage in writing in one form or another.

What is a sprint, and what is the schedule for the sprints?

Sprints are (voluntary) periods of concentration in which writers will write as much as they can within a time limit, with some friendly competition to be the one with the most words by the end of the sprint. These will be hosted in the ⁠⁠sprint-bot thread. Every hour, the times :00 to :15 will be dedicated to a 15 minute rest, and then a 45 minute sprint will run from :15 to :59. Moderators will start the sprints periodically---writers can jump in as desired.

Do you have to participate in the sprints?

No. You can write on your own if you wish, just make sure to keep track of your total and only count what is written in the window of 12am to 12am GMT (7pm to 7pm EST) on July 1. Additionally, you can write in the suggested breaks between sprints, but again, make sure to keep track of your word count on your own then.

How should I count my words?

There are two main ways that you can count your words---using the Sprinto Bot in the ⁠⁠sprint-bot channel, or keeping track of them yourself. If you are keeping track of them yourself, especially if you're counting words other than fiction writing where your word count is easy to find, please take care to be as accurate as possible---you can use an application like Google Docs or Word to give you your exact word count, even if you have to copy and paste your ao3 comments into them to get it.

If you're handwriting, this gets a little bit rougher to calculate, but we'll encourage you to give it your best estimate.

We'll be on the honor system here: play fair, and report as accurately as possible.

Where/When should I report my words?

Final word counts will be reported in the ⁠⁠word-count-total channel. We encourage you to make ONE post at the beginning of the marathon with your word count; then, as the event continues, you can edit your post and update your word count there.

You can update your word count at any point during the marathon in the channel mentioned above---in fact, the breaks between sprints would be a great time. And once the event is over, there's a period of grace of up to 6 hours for everyone to get their word counts in, but no more writing is allowed during this time. After 6 hours (6 am GMT; 11pm EST), the thread will be locked, and no more additions will be made. So be sure to get your final count in as soon as possible, once the event is over (or even before, if you must dip early).

What if I can only write a little?

That is fine. We are going to be playfully competitive, but it is not a contest---it is a group project. We are using teamwork to make the line go up. Every word counts, and any amount of writing is a fantastic amount of writing. The goal is to do better than last time AS A GROUP, not individually. So do what you can, and be sure to have fun with the rest of us!

WORD COUNT TO BEAT: 88,978

#lu fic #lu fanfiction #linked universe fanfic #fandom events #writing event #spread the word we are gonna get some words written #lu write a thon

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johnslittlespoon · 5 months ago

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askbox question because i've never thrown like, a 'request/idea' offering sorta post out there:

what do you want to see in tough and sweet? like, specific dates you'd like to see the boys go on, certain tropes covered, different kinks/nsfw scenes, scenarios and convos tackled, idk literally anything!

i'm curious because i used to brainrot about it lots here before i started actually writing it but then i stopped so i wouldn't spoil things, and while i'm ofc writing what i love and want to write, it's fun to know what readers wanna read, and to try to incorporate those things where i can. :-) but also my list of scenes to include is So Long i feel like so many ideas will already be in my drafting doc LOL <3

i have the whole fic plotted out, but lots of room for little things in between the bigger plot points, so! no promises obvi, but i'd love to hear your thoughts. the main one i get asked for in comments/asks is about writing a gale pov oneshot, which i'm most definitely doing– sooner than you think. >:) lmkkk, anon is fine!! if i don't reply, i promise i read it, i just have 100+ asks rn and too much to do irl but i appreciate each one soso much :'))

#tough and sweet fic #genuinely have been crying over the kind asks about TAS these past two months. my heart is so so full i'm so thankful #i hope i'll have a day to just sit and reply to them all soon bc i feel so bad just letting them sit there </33 #i read them almost every day tho i'm so srs. i can't even express how much i cherish anyone taking the time to write such kind things <33 #still hiding from comments on ch7 bc i have to get brave enough to open my inbox every time i post a new chapter SHJGDK <3

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dungeonmalcontent · 1 year ago

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I fixed alignment!

Link to the document in question if you don't care to hear the tale of it.

That's a really ambitious thing to declare. I even already went to the trouble of making this because I've been planning on announcing like this.

But, yeah.

Maybe I didn't fix it, per se. At worst, you can call this an alternative system to traditional alignment. And it all started because people were getting a little too complicated talking about the "nuance" of the standard alignment system and things like the MTG mana color system.

And my response was going to be "what ya'll are trying to get at is a spider graph." But that extended response post got annihilated because I didn't save it as a draft before switching tabs. So I started writing it up as its own post. And that lead to me making some demonstration graphs, and that lead to me going ahead and just writing up a whole essay. And then I adapted that essay into a variant rules module for 5e d&d.

So. Yeah. That's how I ended up making Re:Alignment. (get it, it's like a pun, because "re:" is the default header for a reply email and I'm responding to the trash state of alignment in 5e, but it's also read as "realignment" like repairing a misalignment.. it's clever, just trust me)

The document is 11 pages and can be read in its entirety as a preview on DMsGuild if you follow the link to it (easier to do on desktop). The doc outline how this approach to alignment changes how alignment works, the actual alignment system itself, and describes what I have essentially replaced good, evil, lawful, chaotic, and neutral with. I also included a print friendly PDF sheet to fit into a character sheet where you can track your spider graph alignment and other important alignment based RP information. Also also, there's a standalone graph jpg that you can slap onto a modified character sheet or other RP tool of your choice.

The doc is priced as "pay what you want", so if you want a downloaded copy or one you can print (though hopefully not the last page, because I make those all black) you can get it for free. If you want to throw a little money my way or if you really like the system, you can pay however much money you want. It was like 48 hours of work, so a decent amount of effort went into this.

If you're wondering "what did this moron replace the alignments with?" I'll answer that right now. I replaced alignment with this:

If you want to figure out what that means and how it works, read the doc. It's not that long and it describes it pretty thoroughly.

#d&d #dnd #dungeons and dragons #homebrew #5e #ttrpg #fantasy #writing #alignment #dmsguild #re:alignment

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sagaschan · 1 year ago

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What happened on Sep 16th: a compilation

If I could clarify some things. Lots happened on twitter within a short timeframe, and I've seen a fair number of people misled, so here goes. The Project Moon User Association(PMUA) had received the reply to their demand letter(can only be received by the recipient, and can't be refused) a week ago, but waited to make their statement because they still believed there was a chance PM could apologize, and because the Youth Union(YU) requested it. PMUA uploaded PM's reply and their statement today.

PM's reply, written by a lawyer, said essentially: You are lying and it affected our sales so I will sue you. The termination was legal because Vellmori said first that she wanted to resign(we have a recording). We wrote the agreement with Vellmori and her lawyer later. In order to protect her and the other employees we did nothing(if that sounds illogical to you, it is). Disappear immediately or we will sue you for defamation.

There are many things wrong with the reply, as covered by the PMUA's statement, but I'll get to that later. Alright let's go for it, says the PMUA.

Then PM tweets two threads. The first thread says: We were only laying low to protect our employees, y'all are lying, if you attack our employees we will sue you. The second one says: The YU tried to use us for political gains, since we were going to announce legal action against employee harrassment anyway but they tried to take the credit for it. Look at this image of a document where YU says they were wrong, and apologizes. This PMUA might be under the YU's control, isn't it suspicious? And political?

PM, though technically it's KJH, keeps insinuating that those such as PMUA and the YU are attacking the employees, when it's only KJH himself who's been criticized since 7.25, when he tweeted that they had 'terminated the contract' with Vellmori for violating company rules. The fans knew that was illegal. The paper that interviewed Vellmori the day after, the various news media that reached out to PM, the unions that spoke out on the matter knew it was illegal. We weren't going to let him get away with it if we could help it.

The YU rep Lee Jongchan(@JCLEE0333 on twitter) provided a more accurate picture. The YU, having just learned of the agreement between Vellmori and PM from PM's reply, had asked the PMUA to delay their statement, contacted PM behind the scenes. The PMUA and the unions they were working with had been trying to solve the situation amicably if possible, if PM would just come to the table and learn how to fix the situation. A legal fight would be the absolute last resort, since they wanted the company to do better.

This is where the supposed statement from the YU that PM included in their second thread comes in. A crude screencap of a word doc with typos and 'draft' in the title. It says: We recognize there was no illegal firing and that you've taken precautions to protect employees. We're sorry and we retract our protest. We welcome that you've stated ideology hunts and cyberbullying against your employees will be dealt with stern legal action. Basically, the YU didn't want Vellmori to be bothered anymore so they'd take a bit of a L.

The thing is, during the negotiations KJH refused to include that PM would take legal action to protect employees from ideology hunts and cyberbullying in the future in PM's statement. Apparently that wasn't something he could agree with. Negotiations fell out(around 8 pm, according to KJH), and the next day PMUA went ahead with their statement.

That's the bare facts of it. But I'd like to elaborate a little on where PM is contradicting itself, though the PMUA has already covered some of it.

1. It's laughable that KJH is using the excuse of 'protecting employees' to explain PM's past actions and future motivations, when he can't even put it on paper.

2. He most definitely did not protect his employees. The initial lack of action against DCinside incels' camping out of their office, how he treated contractors like Mimi(author of Wonderlab) and Monggeu(artist for Leviathan comics), the overwork and harrassment Eng translator Watson experienced, the HHPP manager he used as a scapegoat, the LoR Chinese localization team that still hasn't been paid... the list keeps growing.

3. KJH's words are all over the place. In the very first notice he says Vellmori's contract has been terminated because she violated company rules. You know, just as DC had asked for. In the second one, on 8.3, he says they did not fire her, and that it had nothing to do with ideologies. And that he would sue anyone calling it an illegal dismissal. (Also when news media reached out to ask if that meant she was still employed, said he wouldn't answer.) And in the most recent letter, he claims that during the phone call on 7.25 Vellmori said first she would resign.

Nobody believes that, not in the least because the Hankyoreh interviewed Vellmori the very next day about the unjustness of it. Any 'recording' of the call that he posits as evidence will likely reflect that, and work against him in court, so I'd love to see that actually. KJH apparently doesn't remember that.

4. Can you believe he's fudging his words to make it seem like the PMUA and those associated were the ones attacking employees? Not a single mention of DC anywhere. Now in court, if he's required to provide evidence as to just why Vellmori wanted to resign, well... DC did that. That's undeniable. All this started with wetsuit Ishmael, if anyone's forgotten. And if he admits DC was the reason a perfectly innocent illustrator was left jobless overnight, well, he can do away with his insistence that he was protecting her in any way.

5. And even if he twists legalese to claim Vellmori left of her own volition, it's nothing that hasn't been said by employers in the country a million times over. Advisory resignation this, political controversy that. It's still an unfair dismissal, and an especially rampant problem in the game industry that has been a long time coming to be dealt with.

6. Remember when KJH threatened Mimi and Monggeu with the mention of NDA, when they came out with stories of how they were horrifically mistreated by PM? Hypocritical, just revealing private correspondence with the YU without their permission. As well as the ridiculousness of treating the remnants of a negotiation that fell through like fact. He thinks people can't read, I suppose. It's more ammunition for the unions.

7. The inherent idiocy of evilmongering about 'politics' all thread long. What does KJH think unions Do? He's been fueling the fire regarding a labor rights case for near two months now, but doesn't seem to have learned much other than to dig deeper holes. What he means to do by repeatedly insinuating the PMUA and YU are secretly in cahoots when the PMUA has been open about working with the YU from the start I will never know.

8. Refusing to translate The Notice for 53 days was the first and biggest hint, I think. The radio silence, purposefully leaving international fans in the dark, threatening the contractors, the staunch refusal to name the incels for a single offense. During that time we learned Monggeu had been fired just as quickly as Vellmori, after being made to follow an unrealistic schedule to the point she had suicidal ideation. The workplace reviews in the wake of the incident saying KJH was prone to emotional outbursts. All the translators worked to the bone and abandoned, HHPP's manager announcing an apology with his name for decisions he couldn't have made. Those aren't the actions of someone who has his employees in mind.

The PMUA was created in response to PM's announcement to sue fans back in August. They'd held out hope that KJH would be someone who could see reason. But you'd have to be beyond naive to believe that now. So with all evidence piled up during these two months pointing to KJH being a nasty little guy who has only ever had himself and DC's best interests at heart, I sincerely hope KJH fucks himself over, and for all fans who are eternally confused about what PM has done wrong to be someday in need of a union.

#project moon #limbus company #am going to sleep but questions are always welcome #why does anyone take pm's words at face value

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l223m0nade · 1 month ago

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It's Christmas and in classic me tradition the gifts closest to my heart are also the rushed/unfinished ones. So have half of a draft of a fic that I started and still love but haven't written the second bit of!

Merry Krampus, Happy Solstice, Happy plain ol' dec 25 for anyone not celebrating or feeling it, it's still a dang day off.

When Bucky opened the door and saw Steve he smiled, but he looked a little downcast and guilty/shifty as well. He was also in thick sweatpants and an undershirt (as Steve still thought of them).

“Hey, Buck,” they’d planned to meet here, at Bucky’s Brooklyn apartment, but he’d figured they’d go out. Staying in just wasn’t something he really associated with Bucky, even in the future. He knew he had some favorite neighborhood haunts where he and Steve’s faces went either unnoticed or unremarked. “I get the time right?” He tried not to cringe in annoyance at himself and how awkward he always seemed to get around Bucky.

“Yeah,” the shifty guilt look intensified as he pushed the door open and ushered Steve in. Bucky muttered, “Sorry, I shoulda called to cancel or warn you, but, I guess I still wanted to hang out or whatever.”

“What’s wrong?” Steve was torn between concern and distraction at how soft and tired Bucky looked. He seemed a shade too pale, and pink around his eyes and nose. The pants were big and loose but the white tank top was small, clinging to his waist, and the effect was almost girlish despite the way it showed off his muscles. On the left side of his neck the edge of the angry pink scar tissue around his left shoulder was visible. His hair was pulled into a high bun that showed off the small bottom portion he’d shaved.

“It’s nothing much, I’m fine, just—coming down sick. Like I gotta headcold,” said Bucky, gesturing vaguely at his face and sniffing. He did sound different, Steve realized, a bit nasal and congested. He rubbed at his nose and it flushed a shade pinker. Steve blinked. His brain was trying to process the new information, but it seemed to have frozen up.

“I thought we couldn’t get sick!” He sounded suspiciously high-pitched. Was it obvious?

“I know!” Bucky didn’t seem to notice, slouching over to the coffee table and the box of tissues there. For a moment there was a look on his face like he needed to sneeze, but then he squelched it by blowing his nose. “Ugh. Sorry. The doc says the serum should take care of all normal germs, but I got lucky and happened to bust up a lab trying to brew super-germs. Even then they shouldn’t have gotten the better of me. Guess I been burning the candle at both ends a little too much.” He flashed Steve a wry little smirk, but then he sighed and seemed to deflate a bit. “So, I dunno. You’re probably safe from catching this but I don’t blame you if you don’t wanna risk it. But, if you wanna join me for a night in, order pizza or something.” Another sniff, and he rubbed at his nose self-consciously.

Steve lifted the 6-pack he’d brought, and they grinned at each other. Then Bucky turned aside with a series of sniffles. The ticklish little look was coming back into his face, but he grabbed a tissue to blow and then massage his nose.

“What’re we watching?” asked Steve eagerly. Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Get me a beer and we can fight about it.”

They went over their familiar argument over baseball. Steve honestly, embarrassingly loved it. He was a real person, but he had been born on July 4th, his favorite pie was apple, and no one would ever convince him there was a better game than baseball. Bucky loved it too, but he’d caught wind of soccer while fighting in Europe, and had been pursuing the interest here in the future, at least partly just to needle him, Steve was convinced.

“Don’t tell me you don’t wanna see the Yankees lose.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky replied absently, worrying his nose with the tissue in his right hand.

“You can’t tell me whatever little club rivalry going on tonight can top that.”

Instead of the expected comeback, there was a pause, and just as Steve turned,

“Mmp!...mmph” Bucky rocked forward slightly with the second suppressed sneeze, the crumpled tissue pressed firmly to his nose. He gave a soft, tired exhale as he dropped his hand, blinked and looked at Steve, with a bit of that sweet cow-eyed expression he got when he was dazed. “Sorry, ‘scuse me,”

“You should be drinking tea, not beer,” Steve frowned.

“Yeah yeah, I’ll live.” When he saw Steve’s schoolmarm frown deepen he laughed. “I got tea! I’ll drink tea. Later. Now, beer.” It did as little for him as it did Steve, but he seemed to still take active pleasure in drinking, in a way Steve didn’t. Well, he never really had, being a two-drink featherweight before the serum.

Steve drank his beer and bantered on autopilot and listened to the slight rasp starting to enter Bucky’s voice, and looked at his pale face and irritated nose that kept needing a sniff or a rub, and then without his permission his mouth was saying, “You shouldn’t just be having pizza for dinner, either. Let me run to the store and get a few things and I’ll make you something good.”

“What, you’re gonna make me chicken soup?” Bucky looked politely quizzical but Steve could tell he was laughing at him. “Doesn’t that take a while?”

“I was just sayin,” muttered Steve, feeling ridiculous.

“Cuz you gotta make the stock first- of course you gotta make your own stock if you wanna make any sick people well,” Bucky continued sagely, then gave Steve a look of mock outrage. “You were gonna make me soup with store-bought stock, weren’t you?”

“Why is it for sale in the stores if it’s such a crime to use it!?” Steve exclaimed, not for the first time. Sometimes he was amazed at the modern conveniences people turned their noses up at. “I never said soup, you were just raggin me. I can cook, I’ve gotten much better!” Bucky was chuckling openly at him now, shaking his head, but with a look of such fondness it made Steve want to duck his head.

“I know—“ Bucky’s breath caught before he could go on, and he froze with his fist pressed under his nose. After a long moment he relaxed with a sigh, and a throat-clear, and a series of sniffles. He was fine, but he already seemed a little worse than when Steve had come in. “Tell you what,” he continued, “we can order from one of my favorite places, they do Thai and Vietnamese, they got that soup, ever had it? I remembered it from sometime back,” and he did the theatrical shudder that he used in place of saying ‘I’m referring to a memory from the decades I spent brainwashed and imprisoned and forced to kill on behalf of an evil organization.’ “It’s different, but it’s chicken noodle, so you hafta approve.”

Steve had heard of phuh-spelled-pho but hadn’t tried it yet, so he went for some too, along with more than half their appetizer menu.

…

Bucky had been through so much, and it had been hard, he knew, and surely it still was, had to be, but...Steve still felt astonished at how well he was doing. Overjoyed, yes, but also thrown for a damn loop, so often these days when he say him or heard things through the grapevine. It wasn’t just how incredibly well recovered he was, it was…

Bucky was so modern, these days. Steve was still trying to wrap his head around some of the things in what he still thought of as the future rather than the present some times, while Bucky had blown past him and dove into the unfamiliar head-first and now seemed so at home in 2015 that Steve felt like an old fuddy-duddy around him. The hair, the tattoos, the clothes; the late nights out on the town and the casual flings weren’t new, but the fact that he didn’t seem to discriminate between genders certainly was—at least as far as Steve knew, and there was that out-at-sea-with-no-anchor feeling again, the one he got alone in Bucky’s company, these days.

He’d only realized since Bucky had come back that he’d hidden his feelings behind walls of friendship and sarcasm. When Bucky was getting ready for one of his endless succession of dates he’d teased him mercilessly for all his primping. He’d admired Bucky’s skill and focus as a soldier but he’d still been endlessly amused by his wet-cat outrage at not being able to keep his hair the way he liked it. He had never let it cross his own mind that he was burning with jealousy or helpless with infatuation. He’d never had the slightest hint Bucky might have gone with a guy, never thought about it, and wouldn’t have believed it if he’d heard anything.

Bucky had even...one night, one of the first times they’d been really fall-down drunk together, he’d planted a big sloppy kiss on Steve, like a dare, and Steve had never once thought about it, had convinced himself immediately that he didn’t remember, despite the fact that he did, of course he did, he remembered Bucky’s game, careless grin right after, as Steve laughed him off. He remembered how his heart had stopped when their lips touched.

Somehow everything was different now, in the future, between him and Bucky. And if it was a painful, war-born chasm between them, forged of Bucky’s trauma and guilt and Steve’s trauma and guilt, that would be at least somewhat expected. After the helicarriers when Bucky/the Winter Soldier was in the wind, Steve had anticipated finding him a wreck, desperate and dangerous, trying to put pieces of his mind back together. It might have been that way for a few weeks, but the first real lead Steve and Sam got on their ghost-man-hunt was not Bucky being arrested for attacking someone or showing up half-starved on Steve’s doorstep, or anything like that.

Hello, Steve. It was a disembodied voice, out of the blue, in his head one ordinary morning, making Steve drop his coffee and throw his bagel. I’m so sorry. It was a woman’s voice, deep and serene. There’s no danger and you’re not hallucinating. You might not appreciate advice from a voice in your head, but try and take a few deep breaths and I’ll explain.

Her name was Jean Grey. Bucky had gone to her organization for help. He had known about them somehow, had some obscure, probably terrible, connection from his past. He had known there were people who did things with brains who were not evil, and he’d gambled that they would be able and willing to help him get his mind back. Steve couldn’t imagine the courage that had taken.

So Bucky had stayed in a mansion in the woods somewhere for three months, and had come back to New York changed and damaged but in possession of his own mind and will. He had come back Bucky Barnes, in short, and had moved into his own place in Brooklyn and set about adjusting to the future.

Somewhere along the line he’d lost the ability to worry what people thought of him, it seemed like. The Bucky of the past had always been confident, but it could never be said that he didn’t care about the world’s opinion of him, even if he tried to act otherwise. Now there wasn’t an ounce of pretense about him. It made Steve painfully aware of the starched-shirt awkwardness he carried, from still thinking along the cultural lines of 1938 and from being expected to be in-character as Captain America at all times.

Bucky wasn’t in the public eye, his true identity still a secret. He worked with Nat and Clint sometimes, as well as one of the people from the mysterious psychic mansion. Steve had a suspicion he reported to Fury in some top-secret capacity these days. He had some kind of day-job cover situation as well. According to Clint he was the “full Brooklyn hipster package.” To Steve he seemed fluidly at ease in the brave new world they had both washed up in. Culture nowadays did seem to value emotional autonomy and mental health far over conformity; it wasn’t a shock, really, that Bucky’s past meant that held a lot of appeal for him. And he’d always been hungry for the next new thing, trendy or technical. He seemed delighted rather than daunted that everything was new now.

They watched the first innings of the baseball game while waiting for the food. Bucky tried to upset him by telling him about the weird obsessive statistical analysis fans required of themselves. He also sneezed at least a dozen times, his nose teasing him nonstop. The little wicker wastebasket near the couch was being steadily filled with tissues.

“hhh...huh—,” he froze, staring up, and then slumped, sniffling. “Ugh, Jesus. My nose is so itchy but I can’t tell when I’m,” his breath hitched and his voice changed pitch, “actually...hh...gon—nih—hih—ditshchu! Ugh.Gonnda sndeeze. Snff.”

Steve’s mouth was dry. He felt lightheaded—was he going to swoon like a Victorian lady?

#hmmm the author should finish this #snzfic #stucky snzfic #snzblr #I really really love and appreciate this community. Thank you so much for letting me feel less alone.

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kaenbl4ze · 9 months ago

Note

Hi! I just reread Read You Lima Charlie for the millionth time. It's probably one of my favorite SEAL Buck fics, and I've combed through the whole tag multiple times. I know it's a bit of an older fic, but do you have any plans on continuing the AU somehow? I'd love to read more of that AU or hear your headcanons if you have any!

Hello hello! Thank you so much, you have no idea how excited I am to hear that! Please do feel free to ask any and all questions about the AU or my headcanons and I'd be more than happy to answer <3

I know it's been a hot minute (sorry heh work and life got a bit hectic) but I do have a draft of a fun little sequel sitting in my google docs which I've been writing on and off. Alas I am a perfectionist and also a slow writer so it's been in limbo.. BUT it is definitely there and almost done and will come out at some point! I hope!!

In the meantime thank you for reading and asking about it and being so patient and i love you so here's a little sneak peak action scene from the draft:

[tw graphic depictions of violence, blood/gore, death]

“Where’ve you been?” Steve’s eyes did a quick sweep over Buck’s body, analytical, checking for injuries. Noticed Buck’s empty hands. “Where’s your rifle?”

“I was doing the laundry!” Buck replied through gritted teeth, eyes wide with exasperation.

He looked back around the corner of the building as Steve spoke behind him; soldiers dragging off the wounded away from the blast site, his teammates spread around with the other troops and suppressing the flow of insurgents, a few enemy fighters slipping through the gaps in fire, spraying bullets into the base in wide sweeping arcs before being shot down.

“I don’t have a sidearm to give you. Head back to the armoury, grab your shit – give Command the sitrep on your way.”

Buck hummed in the affirmative, still scanning the combat zone, and was about to turn around and heed Steve’s instruction, but at the last moment caught sight of a combatant sneaking around behind a stack of crates. Slung over the man’s shoulder was a rocket launcher, and time seemed to slow as he swung the weapon around, gripped it tight, and levelled it at a cluster of infantrymen.

Buck saw red.

“Buckley!” Steve hissed, clawing at Buck’s sleeve in an attempt to stop him from sprinting towards the stray tango, but Buck slipped through his grip. He was too fast. Too focused. The last thing he heard was Steve muttering under his breath, “I swear that Kid is not right in the head.”

Planting a foot against a wall mid-run, Buck used his momentum to bound off and vault one-handed over the crates. He was airborne for half a second before colliding with his target in a spear tackle, bringing them both tumbling to the ground. The launcher clattered across the floor, and the two men engaged in a tangled mess of hand-to-hand combat.

Buck channelled his silent rage into the fight – got the large man into a grapple, caught an elbow to the mouth in the process, twisted the man’s arms as he yanked at Buck’s clothes. Buck had no gun. But he remembered, belatedly, that he did have a knife. Regrettably not one of his fixed-blades, but a folding knife that he had slipped into the pocket of his shorts a few days ago while rearranging his loadout. It would have to do.

The guy was a dirty fighter, strong, but he was sloppy. Poorly trained. More holes in his form than swiss cheese, and Buck fully intended to exploit them.

Buck ate a punch straight to his nose; didn’t let the sharp flash of pain or the momentary blur in his vision slow him down. He lunged straight for the opening in his opponent’s stance that he knew would be left undefended, torquing body mass and manipulating limbs to get the man into a one-armed chokehold against Buck’s chest. He quickly reached into his pocket with his free hand, flicked the lever to deploy the blade, and plunged it deep into the man’s neck right where Buck knew his jugular rested.

With a jerk of his arms, simultaneously pulling the knife towards himself and twisting the man’s head away, he was met with a spray of hot blood and a wet gurgle.

Steve rounded the crates with his weapon raised right as the body dropped to the ground with a dull thump. Buck hung his head, catching his breath from the exertion and letting the blood from the blows to his face drip from his nose and dribble out of his mouth. He ran his teeth over his bottom lip to cut off the string of bloody saliva, then spat out the viscous mess into the sand. Beside him, Steve strode forward, glanced down at the body, and exhaled sharply through his nose.

In his peripherals, Buck caught a flash of movement. He whirled around instinctively, and in the same motion whipped his arm and let the blood-slick knife fly out of his hand.

Two bullets from Steve’s rifle landed at the centre of the combatant's chest just a moment before Buck’s blade hit its mark, buried up to the hilt in the hollow of his throat. The man stumbled, eyes wide, and collapsed to the ground as his legs buckled beneath him. His weapon flew out of his hands in the fall, and his momentum carried his body a couple more feet before it finally slid to a twitching stop.

Buck straightened, scrunching his nose tentatively and sniffing. A deep buzzing sensation underscored the cacophony of battle around him, heartbeat steady and powerful in his core, fingertips thrumming with energy, vision crisp and vibrant. He blinked. Then, he turned to Steve, nonchalant.

“I had that.”

#asks #us navy seals #evan buckley #steve mcgarrett #seal buck #seal!buck #911 #911 abc #911 fic #911 fanfic

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th3p0rtalmaker · 5 months ago

Text

Incarnate Deleted Scenes - Hector's (Scrapped) Transformation

Writing chapter 1 of my Incarnate fic took FOREVER. There were so many revisions, so much prep and planning that took place in my head before I started typing anything, and I think I genuinely triggered myself a little bit because there were several incidents where I would be in the middle of passionately and excitedly working on the chapter, only to suddenly feel drowsy and fall asleep while sitting at my laptop. I was going thru my Google Docs and found one of the original drafts of Hector's initial transformation. While rereading it, I realized it was actually pretty good and there were parts I might be able to recycle for later on in the fic. And since chapter 4 of Incarnate was really short, and it was posted about seven months after chapter 3, I figured you guys might appreciate getting to read this deleted scene while I work on chapter 5! Hope you enjoy! ^^D

(Continue reading under the cut)

Adira dropped to one knee beside him, eyes wide in disbelief. Her brother wrapped both arms around his chest protectively and gave her a fearful glare. “Don’t touch me! What have you done?!” Hector demanded. The panicked, begging tone in his voice didn’t make Adira feel any better about this horrific development. “I won’t touch you unless it’s absolutely necessary,” she assured gently. Adira then turned and shouted down the bridge, “EDMUND!” thankful to see her king already halfway to them. “No!” Hector yelped, rolling onto one side and turning his back to her. He was panting softly now, fear and anxiety lacing his every breath. “H-he can’t see me…I didn’t mean to…I’m sorry…” he murmured breathlessly, beginning to tremble. “Hector you didn’t do anything - Edmund and I will figure out what to do, you’ll be okay,” Adira soothed, sliding her Shadow Blade into the sheath on her back. “What happened?” Edmund called as he approached the island of black rock. “The Moonstone shattered,” Adira replied, looking up at him.

“How?” the king demanded upon drawing level with them. Adira stood and stepped around Hector’s body, letting the monarch kneel at his back.

“I broke it,” she confessed readily, kneeling in front of her distraught brother. “The opal is no longer a viable container for the Moondrop’s power-” “How do you know?” Adira gestured to the pile of rubble at the base of the pedestal. Upon registering the sight, Edmund’s face went pale. “The power of the Moonstone needed a stable vessel…” Adira trailed off. She hadn’t quite processed the sight of the celestial magic moving from one host to another of its own accord, much less the fact that Hector had been its first choice. “Vessel?” the other knight whispered, his luminous eyes wide with horror. He lifted one arm off his chest for a sudden inspection. Adira saw the thin layer of red coating his skin, and was momentarily relieved to see one thing she did know how to deal with. “No-no-no, what is it doing?!” Hector whimpered. “It’s just bloodsweat, tam'muḍu,” she assured. “You’ve had it a couple times before, remember? It’s a result of intense stress, which you are definitely undergoing-” “It’s everywhere,” Hector muttered, holding his other arm beside the first. “Everywhere!” Adira took note of the thin layer of red liquid coating the second appendage, then let her eyes run along his form. She realized that the darkened spots on his tunic and leggings, which she had presumed were normal sweat stains, were quickly expanding to cover his entire body. And there was a definite red tinge to them. This Adira had not, in fact, had to deal with before. She only remembered a handful of occasions from their training years in which Hector’s anxiety had become so overwhelming that blood vessels just beneath his skin had temporarily ruptured. This allowed thin traces of blood to mingle with his sweat, painlessly seeping through his skin. But the bloodsweat had always been localized to one or two areas, never spread over his whole body. “Okay, roll onto your back,” Adira instructed, forcing her voice to remain calm. “We need to figure out what we’re dealing with.” Hector gulped, shivering and holding both fists to his chest.

“Please-” she heard him whisper, although what he was asking for Adira didn’t know. Edmund carefully grabbed the younger man’s shoulder with a gloved hand. Adira saw Hector’s eyes widen briefly, before shutting tightly as his teeth ground together and he tucked his chin to his chest. She’d never done well interpreting the body language of other people, but she’d known Hector long enough to read him like a book. Before the king could pull on him, Adira’s hand shot out and grabbed Edmund’s, ripping it off Hector’s shoulder.

“He said he didn’t want to be touched - we have to keep physical contact to a minimum,” she warned, throwing his hand aside. Edmund blinked at her, then glanced down at the pitiful state Hector was in.

“I don’t think he’s going to react the way you normally do,” the king reasoned with a confused expression.

“That’s not the point,” Adira countered firmly. “This is an emergency and he’s panicking. He needs to be cared for, not man-handled.” “And how are you determining the difference?” “Right now, he is.” “Adira! What happened to the Moonstone?” Adira nearly jumped at the sound of Princess Rapunzel’s voice. She and Edmund turned to see the Coronan party arriving at their end of the bridge, Rapunzel already standing close by and ogling wide-eyed at Hector. “Is Hector okay? How can I help?” "Keep that blonde ball of nightmare fuel AWAY FROM ME!" Hector screeched, crossing his arms over his chest and curling further into himself. Rapunzel stepped back in surprise, the rest of her friends coming to a stop behind her. After sharing a brief look with the white-haired warrior, Edmund told the princess, “You and your friends are not citizens of the Dark Kingdom, and should not be present for this.” “What about me?” Fishskin asked, stepping up beside his girlfriend. Adira respected the concern he exhibited for a man that recently tried to kill him, but knew the presence of the long-lost prince would only agitate her brother. “You aren’t a member of the Brotherhood, and you mean nothing good to Hector,” she answered soberly. “He needs the help of people he knows and trusts.” “But I’m the Sundrop, there must be-” Rapunzel began to argue. “Respect our boundary, princess,” Adira snapped icily. Her hand reflexively reached behind her head, fingertips brushing the hilt of her Shadow Blade as she leveled a glare at the Sundrop’s host. She’d witnessed the younger woman’s inability to resolve conflict and respect the boundaries of those she considered friends - she was beginning to see how much Rapunzel had to learn in the ways of respect and diplomacy. “You endangered my brother’s life without reason once already. I won’t permit it a second time.” “He tried to kill us!” Short Hair snapped back, stepping ahead of Rapunzel. “Now she’s offering to help him, and your response is to threaten her?” Adira’s eyes narrowed, and she gripped the handle of her Shadow Blade fully. Rapunzel looked shocked, as if she hadn’t expected Adira to defend her own brother from unwanted meddling. “Guys, let’s leave it,” Fishskin spoke up, glancing uncomfortably at Hector’s gasping, vulnerable body and placing a hand on Rapunzel’s shoulder. “This is serious. Adira and Edmund probably know how to handle it better than we do.” Rapunzel nodded silently, leaning into her boyfriend’s touch. “Thank you, son,” Edmund said with a nod. Short Hair scoffed and held a short glaring match with Adira, before turning and following the rest of the group across the bridge and out of the Moonstone chamber. Adira maintained her grip on her sword’s handle until the door to the chamber gently boomed closed. She released the weapon with a small sigh and let her shoulders drop slightly. “Hector, if you can’t roll over we’ll situate you,” she said, looking down at him. The younger knight’s eyes met hers nervously, his shoulders and chest heaving for breath as the bloodsweat soaked through his torn clothes completely. “But you can do it yourself if you want.” His gaze dropped away, and his face creased with a look of helpless discomfort as his parted lips began to tremble. Adira assumed the appearance of Rapunzel and her friends had spooked him too much. “You want us to do it - yes or no?” she asked gently. (Insert missing segment where Hector is covered in ooblek bloodsweat) Adira fell silent as the substance coating Hector’s body went from navy purple to an electrifying shade of blue, slightly glowing of its own accord. He yelped and yanked out of her grip, stared at himself in horror for a moment, then pushed himself into a sitting position with a loud groan. “What are you doing?” Adira demanded nervously, holding one hand as close as she could to Hector without accidentally touching him.

“I’m not dying in a puddle of magic bloodsweat,” Hector grumbled irritatedly, pressing a hand to his injured ribs. “Hector this isn’t the time for you to be moving in any way,” Adira countered, hoping she wouldn’t have to wrestle him back down. Edmund shifted his bulk a little closer to the smaller man, as if that would dissuade him from attempting to stand in his panicked state. “Says you!” Hector sneered. “You don’t even know what’s happening right-”

A pained shriek rent the air, and then there were long, thin spikes of black rock extending out of Hector’s right arm, the one closest to Adira. They were clustered just beneath his wrist and elbow, and completely circumferenced his forearm. All three warriors watched in a mix of shock and horror as the shards paused, then laid flat against Hector’s forearm in a series of interlocking shards. The startlingly blue former-blood continued oozing from the seams between the black rock shards, a few drops growing large enough to slide down to Hector’s elbow and then plop softly on the ground. Hector was staring in wide-eyed, slack jawed horror at his newly encased limb. Only a few moments of silence passed before he began releasing small whimpers and moans, his body starting to tremble. At his sounds of distress Adira snapped out of her own reverie. “Hector lay down,” she commanded sternly. He slowly and shakily complied, holding his right arm protectively to his chest. “Can I look at your arm?” Adira requested, forcing herself to speak in a calmer, soothing voice. Hector shook his head with a slight gasp. “Hector I need to see your arm-”

“It’s not going to help you,” Hector whimpered. “None of us know what’s happening-” “I’m not going to do anything painful; I’m just going to scrutinize it,” Adira assured. Hector resisted a few moments longer, before reluctantly lifting his arm in her direction. Adira let him rest the appendage in her open hands this time, and her eyes searched the black shards for any helpful clues that could be found. Hector continued whimpering softly in a manner that perfectly mimicked his furry sisters. The oozing seams suddenly disappeared as the shards magically stitched themselves together, forming an unbroken layer that covered Hector’s entire forearm. An epiphany struck her. “That’s what it’s doing,” she muttered conclusively. “What w-what’s doing?” Hector demanded. “What are you thinking, Adira?” Edmund inquired. “The Moonstone - Moondrop has augmented his blood into some kind of adhesive,” Adira explained, looking up at the king. “It’s meant to hold the black rocks in place to form armor.” She lifted Hector’s arm slightly for emphasis, bending his elbow a little to make sure he wasn’t hurt by the action. “That’s why it made sure Hector was coated before the rocks even broke his skin. And if their emergence causes him to bleed, that means more adhesive for a stronger stick,” she explained. Hector’s face creased with confusion.

“Arm…wh-why armor?” he asked, sounding more out of breath with every word. “Well, the Moondrop probably doesn’t want its new home to be destroyed as easily as the last one,” Edmund reminded them uneasily. Hector’s eyes went wide and he shrieked, “NO!” He pulled his arm out of Adira’s hold once more and cradled it to his chest, turning onto his right side and curling in on himself. “No-no-no-no-no!” he whimpered in despair. This time it sounded as though he was truly starting to cry. “Make it stop! Give it the fucking Sundrop, not me!” he begged. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-” “Hector I swear on the house of my father I will find a way to reverse this, but it isn’t going to happen right now,” Adira affirmed, even as her stomach trembled from the weight of what she knew was about to take place. “You have to trust us, and you cannot fight what the Moondrop is doing.” Hector simply lay curled on the floor for several moments, panting heavily and making distressed murmuring noises. Then his body tensed and he let out a groan. “Not again, not again-not again-not again-”

“Give me your hand,” Adira instructed gently, holding her own near Hector’s bowed head. “Let me keep your arm off the floor.” Shaking, not looking up at her, Hector slowly peeled his left arm from his body and rested his hand in hers. Adira gripped said hand and pulled it closer to herself, extending his arm just enough to be sure that the forthcoming black rocks wouldn’t come in contact with any other part of his body. Hector spasmed momentarily, and then the tips of fresh black rocks sprouted from the blood-adhesive coating his arm. Adira set her mouth in a firm line, but couldn’t completely hide her grimace. She watched the same destructive force that had torn apart her kingdom push itself through her brother’s flesh - while he was still alive to feel the pain. Based on the sounds Hector made, he was groaning and growling through it with gritted teeth. His left hand tightened around hers in a death-like grip. His right hand dug into the black rock floor with curled fingers, scratching desperately. The new spikes of black rock reached a satisfactory length relatively quickly, and after a moment’s pause, laid flat against Hector’s forearm. He released a loud sigh of relief, then heaved for air as his left arm oozed and dripped for several seconds. Finally the flat shards melded into a single, unbroken layer, and Adira gently rested Hector’s arm on the ground. She let him lay still, breathing heavily with his head bowed, and studied his goop-covered body to figure out the best way to proceed. “Do your feet hurt from sweating too?” she finally asked. Hector panted for several seconds before replying.

“Yes…why?”

“We should get your boots off then. The black rocks will easily tear through them, but any scraps of leather that get caught between you and the armor might hinder it from conforming properly,” Adira advised.

“By that logic, should we strip him entirely?” Edmund asked. Adira shook her head. “His tunic and leggings are thin enough not to cause problems, probably his socks too,” she replied. “And if we remove his clothes we’ll probably remove a significant portion of the adhesive, which his heart will have to work even harder to replace.” She fully believed Hector’s clothing wouldn’t be a hindrance to his future armor. She also knew Hector had a deeply ingrained discomfort with being seen naked that rivaled her aversion to touch. She could hear the relief in her brother’s panting immediately after her declaration that he would only be losing his boots. Addressing him once more, she said, “Hector, I’m going to remove your belt and garter so they don’t get destroyed or cause problems. I need you to roll onto your back so I can cut the garter off cleanly.” “...You said…save it,” he wheezed, lifting his head to give her a confused look. “We can mend it much easier if it stays in one piece,” Adira elaborated gently. Hector thought over her logic for a moment, before nodding dazedly. Adira took note of how dizzy and clumsy he was when simply rolling himself over. True to his prediction, he lay soaked and surrounded by a pool of his augmented blood, and the loss of bodily fluid was starting to take its toll on him. “Edmund and I will be quick,” Adira said as she drew a knife from her boot and slid her other hand beneath Hector’s garter. She looked up at Edmund and gave him a short nod, which he returned. “If you feel another wave of the rocks coming, tell us immediately,” she instructed as she positioned her blade beneath the garter, holding its sharpened edge against the accessory.

“‘Kay,” Hector moaned uncomfortably, his arms resting limply by his sides. Edmund deftly slid the knight’s boots off as Adira cut through his garter and pulled it off his thigh. “Has your heart rate slowed?” she asked as she slid the knife back into her boot and set the accessory aside. She then grabbed the belt around his waist. Hector, with his eyes closed, took a deep breath and weakly muttered, “No.” Adira nervously looked down at his feet. It was almost impossible to tell he was even wearing socks. His tunic and leggings had nearly disappeared beneath the ever-thickening layer of blood-adhesive as well. “He can’t keep losing blood at this rate,” she grumbled to herself as she undid his belt, slathering her hands in the glowing substance as a result. “Sister,” Hector grunted nervously as she pulled it off. After setting the belt aside, she turned back to make eye contact with him. “Please…this…is a dream?” he begged weakly. His normally luminous eyes were dim, while the glow of his magically augmented blood seemed brighter than a few minutes prior. Adira’s expression dropped sadly, and she gently pressed her soiled fist into her brother’s limp, open palm. “I’m afraid this is very real, tam'muḍu,” she replied. As the reality of the situation fully gripped him, Hector’s chest and shoulders began to heave once more. His eyes shut tightly and he started shaking ten times worse than before, pulling his hand away from his sister’s. He started whimpering in the manner his bearcats did, hugging himself and murmuring, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-” “Hector, you don’t need to apologize,” Adira insisted gently. “You did your job as well as you could. I’m the one who - I should have…” she trailed off. She should have what?

Should she have abandoned her quest for the Sundrop upon discovering it inhabited the body of a foreign princess? Should she have chosen another route through the Southern Mountains, avoiding a confrontation with Hector entirely? Could she have been more careful and not unleashed the homeless power of the Moonstone on her own brother? Adira found herself locking eyes with Hector once more, knowing what he deserved to hear, but unable to pinpoint why he deserved it from her.

“I…” Hector broke the staring match, grinding his teeth and pushing his head back with a loud moan. Letting go of the moment, Adira turned to see if she could pinpoint where the rocks would appear next. Edmund set his hands on Hector’s ankles in preparation, but Adira waved her hand disapprovingly. “Let him move, or do whatever he needs to,” she instructed. “We have no way of knowing where the rocks-” Hector’s moaning became significantly louder and he started scratching at the floor with both hands. Edmund pulled his own hands away just as new black spikes began emerging just above Hector’s ankles and just below his knees. These were significantly larger than the ones from his arms. Twin armies of miniature spikes also erupted over his feet, completing their mission of coverage surprisingly fast and forming what looked like a type of shoe. Hector attempted to bend his knees so his feet could rest flat on the floor, his teeth gritted and his every exhale punctuated with a pained grunt. Adira eyed the spikes that would eventually cover his shins and calves as they extended out of his body. “He’s not strong enough to keep his legs up,” she declared. “Can you support him without getting stabbed?” she asked, glancing at Edmund.

The king nodded and placed his hands behind both of Hector’s knees, careful to not touch the emerging black rocks while bending his legs so his feet laid flat on the floor. These bigger spikes were causing noticeable bleeding, making the section of adhesive between them impressively thick and causing the pool beneath Hector’s legs to spread a bit faster. Adira felt a pinprick of relief once they laid flat against his shins and calves. That was instantly snuffed, however, as a new ring of spikes began pushing free just above Hector’s knees, while his lower legs still had oozing, dripping seams. Then her heart gave a nervous shudder as a second ring of spikes erupted above the first, and then a third, starting a new pattern that was directed towards Hector’s upper body. Hector began wailing open-mouthed, fingers curled and nails digging into the floor as his arms went rigid. Not seeing an opposing ring of spikes emerge closer to his hips, Adira assumed the black rocks were now on a course that would end near her brother’s head. And that would require some repositioning. “Lift him - off the ground!” she commanded. “They’re not going to stop!” She turned away from Edmund’s confused face and slid her hands beneath Hector’s lower back. “What are you doing?!” Hector demanded through his wailing. “Making sure there’s space between you and the ground,” Adira replied, practically shouting over the sounds of her brother’s pain. “We’ll hold you up until your legs are done, and then put you back down, okay?” she explained, pulling up so that Hector’s hips and lower back were suspended. Edmund held his knees even higher. The black rock spikes erupting over his thighs were much shorter and wider than the ones from his lower legs, yet they caused just as much bleeding. Hector’s legs twitched and spasmed as he vented his pain, feet flopping against Edmund’s diaphragm. His knees remained untouched by the rocks, merely slathered with the glowing blood-adhesive. “Did the seams on his lower legs close up?” Adira asked loudly, focused on keeping her brother partially suspended in the air.

“They did,” Edmund confirmed equally loudly. “Good,” Adira replied. Once Hector’s legs were covered hip to toe by a flattened layer of the black rocks, she instructed Edmund to gently put him back down, moving in tandem with the king to limit her brother’s discomfort. Hector’s wailing was finally reduced to animalistic whimpering and heavy, ragged breaths. He lay with all four limbs splayed on the ground for a few moments, upper legs oozing from their still-open seams. Hector’s sweat-drenched head flopped in Adira’s direction, and he gazed up at her through unfocused eyes. “You…s-said-” His eyes then widened and he sloppily slapped both hands to his abdomen, gripping it desperately. “Stop! Stop-stop-stop PLEASE!” Realizing his un-armored hands were going to be impaled, Adira did the one thing she really didn’t want to do in this situation. She grabbed his forearms and lifted his hands off his stomach, holding firm as he struggled to escape her grip. “LEMME’-!” he demanded, then cut himself off with a strangled, high-pitched scream, louder than any war cry she’d heard him emit on the battlefield. The shards of black rock that emerged to cover his abdomen were not long or spiked. They were wide, short, and round, akin to scales, and maybe a quarter of Adira’s palm in size. Their sharp edges gleamed like miniature chakrams as they broke through the blood-adhesive coating Hector’s belly, traveling in two opposite directions from the centerline of his body. Adira grimaced, seeing tears spill out of her brother’s eyes and pour down his face, mingling with the sweat dripping from his forehead. He ripped his right arm free and raked his nails across his stomach in an attempt to claw the “scales” from his skin. Adira quickly grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away, letting his left arm slide through her grip before tightening around his other wrist. Hector twisted and thrashed as the black rock scales blossomed over his torso, covering his stomach, pelvis, and chest and leaving pencil thin seams between them. No matter how hard he tried to yank his hands free, Adira refused to let go. The black rocks were relentless, spraying droplets of the glowing, blue blood-adhesive to pepper both their hands and Adira’s arm guards as they appeared, before laying flat to Hector’s form. If Hector’s fingers were trapped beneath his new armor, then…well, Adira didn’t know what would happen then. She was determined not to find out, no matter how many tears she had to watch him cry or how disturbed his screaming and sobbing became. The only thing that could possibly be worse than watching her brother be adapted to the Moondrop’s liking - against his will - would be watching that modification process go wrong. Hector tried pulling his wrists close to his mouth so he could sink his fangs into her hands, but Adira shifted and made sure he bit down on her forearm guards instead. He tried in vain to twist his neck and throw her arms aside, biting down multiple times in search of a promising grip while continuing to scream his lungs out. Adira simply shook him off each time. When she saw the black rock scales progress over his shoulders and around his sides, she let him latch onto her arm properly. Using it as a third anchor point, Adira began shuffling backwards on her knees and pulled Hector towards herself, rolling him onto his belly. “Get his legs!”

At her demand, Edmund carefully grabbed Hector’s left leg and lifted it over his right leg, pushing gently against the man’s lower back as he did so. Adira waited until Hector was completely overturned to release his wrists and pull her arm from his mouth. Once he was freed from both their grips, Hector pushed himself up into a half-plank, shaking on his elbows and forearms, before falling flat on the floor. He was still screaming, sobbing audibly with his fists clenched by his head, which was turned to face Adira. The woman’s gaze flicked between his tear streaked face and the black rock scales that washed over his back and shoulders. They even extended down to cover his upper arms, stopping just above his elbows. The two waves met at his spine and merged together, and at last, the Moondrop was satisfied.

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serickswrites · 5 months ago

Note

could you add me to the tag list for Eyes Like Fire? also, how to you organize all of your WIPs and tag lists? i can barely keep my few WIPs untangled in my head

- @eyehartart

Hello, friend! I absolutely can add you!

Ok, so the tag list is the easy part because I only tag people who reblog, comment, or reply to a post (the likes are just beyond my brain at this time), and of course if people message or send an ask for me to add them. As for how I organize all my WIP, it's a really shitty system, but I have a notebook that I put all the stories I want to continue in. I put one per page and I put the general plot (like how many parts, what happens in each part) and then when I'm ready to write it, I put it on a word doc (or sometimes they sit in my drafts on tumblr depending on my mood). My notebook is a bit of a monster right now because I have filled it, so I have loose pieces of paper, post its, and notebook paper jammed in it because I refuse to get a new notebook to fill until I finish writing all the pieces in it. I used to have multiple notebooks at a time, but that was really stressful. I highlight a story once it's completely written and I put paperclips on the top of the pages that still need to be written.

I also keep notes on my phone because if the idea strikes and I don't have my notebook with me I have to write it down somewhere. It's really not a good system, but it works for my brain. I continue pieces on request, or if I see that it's getting good traction and I wouldn't mind continuing it. More often than not though, when I post a piece, I already know (and have likely plotted) that it has multiple parts--usually because I envision the ending and have to work backwards.

I hope this answered your questions! In the mean time, please enjoy another 'Eyes Like Fire', which, fwiw, is actually not fully plotted. I am lowkey pantsing this one lol

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Warnings: destruction, mayhem, unconsciousness, magic, binding

Villain hadn't moved from where they lay. Hero slowly crept forward. They didn't have any salt, but they couldn't let Villain get up and continue on their rampage. They had to do something.

The demon seemed unconscious, Hero realized as they pulled out their phone. They didn't need salt, but they needed something to bind Villain so they could no longer attack the city.

Hero scrolled until they found a binding spell. They quickly skimmed the spell, reasoning that they would remember it more once they got going.

"I'm not going to let you destroy my home. I'm going to stop you. And send you back to where you came from," Hero muttered as they grabbed the chalk they always kept in their pocket.

The spell was simple, draw a circle of power, draw the binding, say the incantation, and then, boom, demon would be trapped and bound. Hero worked quickly. They couldn't risk the demon waking up. Didn't want to risk. They didn't know why Villain had fainted and they weren't about to question this boon. They just needed to stop the demon.

They stood back to admire their handy work. They had drawn a crude circle around the demon, large enough that they didn't have to get too close--Hero remembered something about their ability to possess different bodies if another body touched their current body. Hero felt bad for whatever person this demon had possessed. Once they bound the demon, they would look up the exorcism spell. One thing at a time.

Hero quickly muttered the spell, they had to do this before the demon woke up. They had to work quickly. Villain groaned as Hero muttered the final word. Villain blinked up at Hero, their eyes glinting with the reflection of fire deep within. Hero had never seen a demon with eyes like fire. "What--" Villain's words suddenly cut off as the magic took its course.

Hero was ready. They had beaten a demon! But as they watched Villain rise and step out of the circle, they realized they had made a mistake. This wasn't a spell that would bind Villain to the circle. This was a spell that bound them to the spell's caster.

"Oh fuck," both Hero and Villain said in unison as they realized what had gone horribly wrong.

Tags: @wankusbonkus@st0rmm@pigeonwhumps @eyehartart

#serickswrites #writeblr #short writing #tw destruction #tw mayhem #tw unconsciousness #tw magic #tw binding #requests #queue

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hozaloza · 4 months ago

Text

me when my stupid Thomas fanfic where it was going to be graphic has to get scrapped because stupid canon says he practically doesn't exist

ARGHRGSDHSREWYRG

anyways

here's the stupid progress I had on it before it got forgotten for months until I was looking for my Benlor angst draft I wanted to revisit so I could use it against people--

(directly copy n pasted from the doc,,,,,AHAGS WHAT IS THAT WARNING SECTION--)

(Also I'm most likely gonna recycle this for my oc with a few touch ups/rewrites...so....)

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ

Warning: This piece of work will, and I mean WILL contain graphic content some audiences will find disturbing. It will be very detailed and descriptive, so if you are a visualizer, I would like to warn you that this is pretty gory and disgusting. Please back out if that type of stuff isn’t exactly good for you.

(Could possibly trigger stuff as well..)

Life wasn’t fair. It never was, and never will. The man didn’t mind this factor; he just used it to his advantage. Finding thrill in the close calls and dangerous experiences gave him a rush of adrenaline, and he absolutely loved getting high off of it. And in all honesty, it probably made things more enjoyable; it almost made him forget how unfair things were. Unfortunately for the blonde man, this caused him to let his guard down around those he thought he could trust.

…

….

…..

It was a late afternoon, Thomas had been getting ready to head back to his apartment to start dinner, when he was approached by a man in black. “Good evening! Are you alright with me asking a few questions?” The man asked, holding his gloved hands behind his back. Thomas raised his brow suspiciously, getting a strange feeling in his guts, but he smiled warmly as he nodded his head.

“Go right ahead, I’m not too busy!” He replied. The mysterious man smiled before pulling a sheet of paper out of his pocket. Thomas took the time to note that he seemed to be a bit older, possibly in his late twenties.

“So, how confident are you in our strange government powers??” He asked, pointing to the top of the sheet. Thomas scrunched his eyebrows in confusion, wondering what the man meant.

“Government powers…?” he asked confusingly, feeling a soft but chilling breeze brush over his face. The man stayed unfazed as he stared ahead, bringing his hands back behind his back. Thomas tilted his head to the side, now starting to worry about the situation. ‘Should I walk away.?’

“You’re supposed to reply, you know.” The man spoke, still keeping his gaze forward, staring into…nothing. The blonde man turned away, not wanting to stare at him anymore and tried thinking of his opinion. ‘How confident…’

“Well…I’d suppose I don’t really think about it; it’s never really been a topic of discussion for me or my pals.” He replied. Even though he wasn’t looking at him, he felt the mysterious man’s gaze fall upon him, and suddenly a shiver went through his back. This was starting to creep him out…

“Ah, it seems you and your friends aren’t aware of it either. Seems I must interview them as well!” Thomas turned his gaze towards the side, and caught a glimpse of the black-haired man staring right at him as they walked. This wasn’t normal…who randomly approaches a college student and asks the creepiest things.?

“Um…hey I gotta go…I’m going to be late for something…it was nice having this discussion, but I must end it short–” “Ah, but you said you were not too busy! Surely someone who had somewhere to be would have said something that wasn’t that! I’m sure your dinner making can wait a bit longer!” The man interrupted, bringing the paper back up to his front. “Now…have you ever had strange symptoms of constant mild ringing in your ears, sense of dread every now and then, and…lack of thrill in your life?” He asked calmly, pointing to the next line on the paper, “There’s also a head related symptom and being repulsed by a certain smell.” The blonde man shifted his book bag strap uncomfortably, starting to get more and more scared of the situation. How did he know he was going home to make dinner…?

“Um…I guess I had…just last week I felt extremely off put while in class…and just earlier I felt ringing in my ear…” “What about the thrill?” “...” Thomas didn’t know how to respond. He felt as though things were pretty fine with that part. His life was calm and average paced, just like how he liked it. But, then again…

“Well, life is pretty slow right now. Not much excitement since I started aiming for my degree in history.” He replied slowly, looking back to the ground. He hadn’t realized it, but his vision began to blur. ‘Not this again…’ Thomas stopped walking as he tried taking deep breaths; his doctor told him it was just because of built up stress, but something deep down told him otherwise.

“Hm…seems you have the fourth symptom. It all checks out, lovely!” The man chirped. The raven-haired man stopped talking and put his paper away, or something away, Thomas couldn’t tell. After a few more seconds, something was brought to his nose, which caused him to leap back. That smell was awful! What could it have been?? “There we go, another symptom! Repulsed by the scent of 57-Oxi.” He looked up as his vision began to come back to him, and noticed the raven-haired man putting a cap back onto a black bottle, storing it into his coat pocket.

“...” “Now, I know what you’re thinking; What was that awful smell? And why did it cause me to go hungry??” Thomas opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Only the sound of his growling stomach emitted…no…he had been hungry before…surely it hadn’t been…

“Last question!” The man interrupted once again, scaring the ever living shit out of the blonde man, “When you entered your apartment pool last weekend, you felt a strange feeling surge through your body and veins. Would you describe this feeling as cold and spikey?”

“...How the hell did you–” “Thomas, don’t get sidetracked…you still need to respond…” ………

‘How the hell did he know my name…?’

“I….” The wind blew harder in his face, but nothing moved around him. Why did nothing move around him? Why was the wind blowing but the trees stayed still? What was happening…was he going mad? His heartbeat increased immensely, his eyes and face began to burn. Who are you? Why do you know me? Are you…

…….

“....yes….”

The man smiled happily, checking once again something from his paper.

“Splendid! Your cooperation is highly appreciated! Here is my card so I can have you in contact! Please message at exactly 9:30PM tonight! See you soon…. : )” With that, the man walked away into an alleyway.

….

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

“...ugh…” Thomas groaned, rubbing his eyes as he decided it was no longer safe to take this route home. He felt like he was being watched. The wind blew once more. The leaves didn’t move.

“It was the creepiest thing I’ve ever experienced. Nothing like this ever rarely happens here in Georgia. This hasn’t happened to any of us! What the hell could that have been about…?” Thomas spoke while talking to his friend, Jasmine. He heard her chuckle before replying to her friend.

“Oh relax, I’m sure it was nothing. Probably some street performer playing those dumb mind games on you, don’t stress about it! Especially with that thing your doctor told you about.” “Yeah yeah, I know. It’s just…it didn’t seem right. That man was really off putting…” As he said that, he felt a strange sensation in his body, which caused him to look towards his opened window.

“Hello? Hellllooooo??” …

The night was so dark…the streets were pitch black… electrical malfunction in the poles. Not the best time to take nightly strolls down this area. Headmaster advised all students to stay indoors during this time while the electricity was being fixed, just for safety. Was his breathing increasing, or was it the wind? Must have been the wind, surely…

“Thomas??? Are you still there?” He heard his friend yell over the friend. Ah…right…he was on a call…

“Sorry…I got distracted…We…should talk about that interview you’ll be having this weekend.” Thomas quickly changed the subject, locking and covering his window tightly.

I had to get away. I have to get away. Watching. He’s watching me. I’m being watched. Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out.Get out. Get out. Get out.Get out. Get out. Get out.Get out. Get out. Get out.Get out. Get out. Get out.Get out. Get out. Get out.Get out. Get out. Get out.vGet out. Get out. Get out.Get out. Get out. Get out.Get out. Get out. Get out.Get out. Get out. Get out.Get out. Get out. Get out.Get out. Get out. Get out.Get out. Get out. Get out.Get out. Get out. Get out.Get out. Get out. Get out.Get out. Get out. Get out.Get out. Get out. Get out.Get out. Get out. Get out.Get out. Get out. Get out.Get out. Get out. Get out.G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸̮̒G̶̟̒́̇è̷̹̟̍͗̈͗t̴̖͉̿͗ ̵̧͐̒͒͐o̶̹̘͌͋̌u̵̹̬̯͇͖͆̂̏t̸̨̽̇͋.̷̗͛̇ ̸

It had been a few days since the phone call. Thomas still didn’t know how to process it all. The man introduced himself as Maverick, and that he ran a sub-group that was a part of the government called “The Cranes.” He apparently caught the man’s attention when he noticed him having one of his stress breakdowns at the public park weeks ago. He was intrigued by this, sensing something peculiar about Thomas.

“I had to study your being, I’m terribly sorry for the stalking.” Maverick had stated during the call. He didn’t clarify what else he had done, but that didn’t really matter to Thomas. What caught his attention was the idea of working for him. Maverick basically offered a job opportunity within his group, saying it would not only pay high, but also give him the thrill he was looking for. ‘I…I guess I like thrill.’ Thomas thought as he studied for his upcoming exams. The more he thought about it, the more he realized maybe being a teacher wasn’t exactly the best option. It’s not exactly the highest paying job, and not very exciting either (unless he got amazing students who he could get along with). It all seemed like fun, however, what made his life bearable before were his friends. They were the thrill he needed whenever times were boring.

Ding

“?”

Thomas picked up his phone, checking what the notification was about. It was from Maverick.

{message}

M: Oh, right! If there is anyone you would like to recommend The Cranes to, please let me know! I am willing to hire them if they are interested! They can also have outside jobs since it’s not typically full time!!

{message end}

“...” This was really weird.

…

Although, if he did take the offer, at least he could have his friends with him. But Jasmine had always had the dream of being a teacher as well; she absolutely loved teaching history. In fact, she was going to sign up to be a teacher helper to get some more information and learning skills to be a teacher. And Ryan wanted to pursue his dream of being a professional photographer, he was already steps closer to achieving his dream. While Ryan’s job would be more relaxed, possibly meaning he could also work with him, Jasmine would most likely need to work full time. And he really liked her, she brought the light into the group.

Sigh “Oh well.” He spoke to himself quietly, softly smiling as he closed his books up for the night. Oddly enough, for the first time in weeks, he felt calm while in bed,

“I can’t fucking believe they rejected me…I HAD BEEN STUDYING SO HARD!” Jasmine muttered as she rested her drunk head on her arms. Thomas sighed as he grabbed her glass from her, placing it in the sink. “That’s enough drinks for you…” Thomas stated, turning around to his friend chugging the bottle itself. “Jasmine no! You’re going to get sick!!” Thomas yelled worriedly as he snatched the bottle from her. She groaned in annoyance as she groped for the bottle, slumping back down after realizing it was no use.

“Ughhh….you’re no fun…” Jasmine muttered, scrunching her hair as she muttered more incoherent sentences. Thomas sighed as went through his cabinet, grabbing the painkillers for her later.

“You need to rest, you are unwell.” Thomas softly spoke to her, helping her up to his bed. He laid her down, placing the blanket over her. As he turned to walk away, he felt a hand grip his sleeve.

“Mmm…can’t you stay here…?” Jasmine asked curiously. The blonde man chuckled softly as he held her hand, also placing the water bottle plus pills on the nightstand.

“I have to study for my exams. I’ll come back later, alright?” He spoke, rubbing her back hand to comfort her. She scrunched her brows as she turned to face the other wall, mumbling about how she also studied, and yet got rejected, also something about race that he didn’t pick up.

Thomas walked back to the kitchen, cleaning up the counter Jasmine had been destroying earlier in her drunken rage. As he cleaned up the spilled messes, he heard his phone vibrate off the counter. Placing the rag down, he walked towards his device, checking what the notification was.

{Message} M-Hey! Just a friendly reminder that you may invite friends to join you in our family! There’s more thrill in having close ones with you! {Message end}

“...weird.” Thomas muttered, turning off his phone before going back to his rag; this mess wasn’t going to clean itself.

“Well, I think it’s a cool idea, you should really consider taking up the job.” Jasmine stated as she held a cold cloth to her eyes. Thomas chuckled a little as he flipped through the channels, trying to find a dumb cartoon they could watch together.

“C’mon, you know it can’t be that easy. Plus, remember the weird way this guy found out about me?? I wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t stalked you and Ry as well!” “Stop, that’s actually not funny–” Jasmine stuttered out as she sat up, immediately laughing right after she saw the expression on her friend’s face.

“Hey! You always do this, Jas! Quit laughing at my face!” Thomas humorously lectured, playfully shoving her. She giggled as she laid herself onto him, wrapping her arm around his.

“Please, how could I not laugh?? You always made the dumbest reactions!” The raven-haired woman teased. The blonde man smiled softly as his face flushed pink, grasping her hand.

“Oh well, guess I can’t really blame you for that.” he spoke

pǝ ɥ ɔʇɐ ʍ ɓuı ǝq ǝɹ,no ⅄

“....” A cold breeze brushed over his face. The windows were closed, they were locked. The air conditioning was to the side, not in front. His heartbeat began to increase, his neck burned hot, sweat formed on his face. ‘It was cold but it was hot. It was cold but it was hot. It was cold but it was–’

“THOMAS!” Jasmine yelled out, shaking his shoulder.

“....” The room was just red.

No…

The sky was red.

Why was…

“H-huh.?” He stuttered, rubbing his eyes.

“What is up with you lately?? Ever since that guy…Mark was it?? Or Ricky…Whatever his name is, ever since that day, you’ve been acting so weird…” Jasmine spoke, rubbing her thumb against his back hand. Thomas didn’t reply, he just sat in his spot, staring at the window. Why was red shining through it..? Why did this always happen…what was wrong with him…

“I know I always complained about the weirdness of it, but honestly, I’ve always been having these weird fits of…blankness. It has just been more frequent that it’s happening.” “...Have you spoken to your therapist about it.?”

“...no…n-not yet at least..” “Well, you should. I didn’t really care about that Rick guy before, but I’m starting to think that experience is negatively affecting you…maybe you shouldn’t work for a guy who’s first encounter with you was pushing the trauma deeper into the wound.” Jasmine stated, placing her other hand on top of his. Thomas finally looked over to her, and he couldn’t help but feel his face flush red as he gazed into her golden eyes. She was really caring towards him, same case for him. They always had each other’s backs no matter what; it was always like this ever since middle school.

“...Thanks for the advice…I’ll make sure to talk to my therapist about it next session…” He spoke slowly, eying the window before grabbing the remote. “Do you wanna watch some shows before we head to bed?”

Dinner was too much to make that night, so Thomas decided it would be better to just go out for the night. Just a quick in and out trip to the sushi restaurant down the street, that was all. Issue? It was 8:30, and it was already pretty dark. While the headmaster advised the students not to go out after dark, they weren’t exactly on a curfew. A mere reminder just for safety. Of course, just the thought of going out there gave Thomas a hint of thrill, so with the already creepy vibes from the mysterious man just pushed the factor up higher.

Why can’t you understand? I’m only trying to help. Listen to me.

As he walked, he felt his heart pound harder and harder. His face burnt up as he took a new step forward, his hands clenched themselves as he began to shiver, his spine kept getting chills, the wind blew against his face. Face. Face….A face…he could feel his face, but it wasn’t there. A face…what was his face? Did he have a face? Was he supposed to have a face? He brought his hands up, touching his nose. He did have a face, but it didn’t feel like it was there. Was his face really there? There was no indicator, other than his hands. How could he trust his hands? Were his hands real? Was this real? Was he…

“Yeah, they totally messed up my order…oh well, doesn’t hurt to try some new things every once in a while.” “...” The silence was starting to kill him. Thank God for the random person coming out of the restaurant..

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ

ew the writing is kind of awful here LOL

#school bus graveyard #webtoon #origami cranes #sbg #ryan sbg #mr. thomas #jasmine sbg #maverick sbg #scrapped fanfic #scrapped idea #thomas walter #stinky #sjhgseirhe #fanfic #horror #i wish i got to the gore....#it would have been cool

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