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exilethegame · 2 years ago

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Writing Update (11/28/22)

Hello everyone!

Unfortunately on Friday I had the wonderful pleasure of catching the flu. On one hand, I've been stuck shivering and coughing all day. On the other hand, my fever-induced psychoses gave me wonderful material to write with in the future.

Because of that, I wasn't able to get much done this week, though I was able to get a jump on some scenes before I got sick!

This past few weeks I've managed to write 5k words making Chapter 5, pt. 2 51k words long!

As of now I'm working on Sabir + Nikke's scenes simultaneously so I can bounce back and forth between them whenever I get bored. The scenes are "simple" enough when compared to Vethna + Amilia's that it's easy for me to do and usually allows me to write a bit quicker since I won't be able to run into writer's block this way!

Ideally, I'll be able to finish both of their scenes by the midpoint of December, but we'll see. I also then need to revisit Amilia + Vethna's scenes to add in extra dialogue + flavor text based on things MC might've done if they went to speak to Sabir/Nikke first, since I find it enjoyable when all the characters acknowledge one another.

Once I get this check-in scene finished, I'll then be able to move onto chronological + companion scenes, which should be pretty smooth sailing. I put on the tumblr's actual website (it might only be visible on a computer) an estimated release for Part 2 which is Quarter 1 of next year-- so anywhere from January - March 2023. I feel confident about that window and will likely shrink it down to more specific dates the more work I get done.

That's all the main stuff! I also included some vocabulary down below for what I personally mean when I'm referring to the "check-in" scenes and such for those of you that are interested. Otherwise, that's all, and thanks for reading! :)

Chapter 5 (Part 2) Progress Scene 1: Linear Scene 2: Hobbies (Finished -- 10/10 Branches) Scene 3: Hobbies Scene 4: Check-in (50% -- 1/3 Branches) Scene 5: Chronological (75% Done) Scene 6: Chronological Scene 7: Companion Scene 8: Companion

Check-in: A check-in scene is when MC is given the choice to speak to the characters "one-on-one." MC can always choose what order to speak to the characters in, but otherwise it breaks down into two more subtypes.

A Check-in 1, which hasn't been seen in-game yet but will be in Part Two, requires MC to speak to every NPC before the scene can go forward. There may also be certain dialogue choices with each character that must be picked in order for the scene to go forward. In scenes like this, main-plot information will be included as every MC will be forced to see it regardless of their relationships or personality.

A Check-in 2 allows MC to choose who they speak to, sometimes under a condition where MC must choose a limited amount of characters to speak to. This means sometimes MC will be able to talk to everyone with ease, and other times (Like in the War Room) MC will be forced to choose who to speak to out of 2 or 3 characters. These type of check-ins will be more common, and they'll also contain information important for side-quests. They'll allow MC to built up trust/respect with characters even if MC + them don't get along, which will then get them to tell MC more about themselves... which, chances are, will open up some unique storylines in the future. The "side-quests" will open up additional scenes for MC in the future where MC can influence how they end, and the ending of these side-quests will then influence the main story (usually). They're not required-- and sometimes MC not getting involved can even be better-- but they're there!

Companion Scene: A companion scene is when a single scene can include any given character in it-- meaning in some playthroughs the scene will have Vethna in it, in others it will have Amilia. So essentially I'm rewriting the same moment of time several times over again for every companion who could be in it. The character who will be in the scene can sometimes be chosen by the player directly-- other times it will be a matter of what MC's relationships are. Sometimes a scene is limited to being with MC's romantic partner or best friend, other times a scene can be played with anyone who MC is amicable with, other times a scene can only be played with whoever MC has the lowest affinity with, etc. It's the closest in style to a classic sort of IF structure-- "You're tired and lonely, only one person comes to your mind to spend time with. That person is..." type of beat.

Hobbies Scene: A hobby scene is a scene that changes depending on what MC's hobby is set as. For example, an MC whose hobby is cooking might have a scene where they're helping make dinner for the group at night while another MC whose hobby is exploring might be sneaking out and climbing things they probably shouldn't be climbing... Sometimes these events will be done with companions as well! Not always, of course... otherwise I would have to be writing 60 variations of scenes which is... not possible <3

Chronological Scene: I just use this to reference a normal span of writing where the scene doesn't vary based on relationships but on choices. So I'm only writing variations for the choices you make as MC-- not for the stats that are behind the scenes! These types of scenes are significantly easier to write than the ones above. Even though I'm needing to write the multiple ways a scene can play out, it's not quite as repetitive as the check-in scenes are, nor do they take as long to finish as the Companion + Hobbies scenes.

Linear Scene: I don't write much of these in comparison to the others, but it's exactly what it sounds like. These tends to be scenes from other character's POV where there are no choices-- and, if there are choices (Like the Freedom removal scene in Chapter 5 pt. 1) then they don't have any actual affect on the scene and how it plays out. These are incredibly easy to write, and usually I'm able to finish them in a single sitting!

That's all for this week. Thanks for reading! :)

#writing update

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justalonelyslytherin · 2 years ago

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Spelling Mistakes

Pairing: Ari Levinson x female Reader

Summary: Ari is the new barista at your usual coffee shop and keeps screwing up your name on your cup to get your attention. What are you going to do about it?

Warnings: fluff

Wordcount: 1.6k

If you enjoyed reading this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging. I don't allow for my content to be copied, translated, or reposted on other websites/apps. Please don't steal my work.

A/N: This was requested by the wonderful @chase-your-dreams-away, hope you like it 😊

Dividers by the talented @firefly-graphics

Standing at the counter of the small coffee shop she was staring down at the cup made with her order. She knew it was her order because there had only been one other customer and that was a young student, who had already gotten his drink.

“Everything alright?” She looked up at the inquiry. Before her stood the tall, beefy barista, wiping his hands on a dishtowel and leaning with his hip against the other side of the counter. She furrowed her brows and frowned.

“You misspelled my name,” she told him, slowly picking up the cup and looking at the blatantly wrong spelling of her name. It wasn’t a particularly hard name. At least she thought so.

Ari, that’s the name of the newest barista in the café she regulated, put his hand over hers slowly turning the cup until the scribbled name was pointing towards him. He leaned forward and looked intently at it.

“Huh,” he mummed, looking up at her, “next time I’ll get it right.”

She continued to frown at him. It left him cold. He just smiled at her unfazed. Slowly she huffed and turned around with the cup in her hand. As she walked over to the corner where her bag was, she took a tentative sip of the drink. At least he had gotten her order right.

For a guy who had her order memorized by the second time she ordered with him, he struggled a lot with her name. The first time she had called it an accident, the second time it must have been a coincidence. Now she thought he was doing it on purpose. She had no proof but it for sure felt like it was on purpose.

For the love of god she couldn’t figure out why. It bothered her that she couldn’t. Did he not like her? Did he find her annoying and a bad customer? Did she tip too little in his opinion? Did he want her to stop coming here? She liked this place. It was her comfort space. Her safe haven.

Looking back up once more from the space she sat at and sipped her drink, she glanced over to the bar. Ari was busy behind it, cleaning and sorting things through. As if he could sense her eyes he looked up. When their eyes met he smiled at her. He even had the audacity to wink. It made her look away immediately, wishing that Rachel would be back soon to work her regular shifts again.

Rachel and her were friends. She had been the one to show her the place, randomly handing her a flier on the streets. The pretty blonde woman and her encouraging words had intrigued her so much she had shown up the next day to check out the small café. By now she had her schedule memorized, always choosing to come when she knew the woman was behind the counter. Not only because Rachel had memorized her order by heart but also because she always took the time to chat with her while fixing the drink. It had become a habit for her to stay put at the bar and chat.

What a surprise it had been when she had shown up at her regular time two weeks ago only to discover no blonde behind the bar. Instead the tall, incredibly well built and tan hunk of a bear had stood behind the counter, smiling at her and introducing himself as Ari. Ari, the new guy who filled in for his friend Rachel. She had broken her foot while surfing and he was back from a year of backpacking through a desert to fill in for her.

He was doing it on purpose.

She was now sure of it. She had spelled the name for him, slowly saying every syllable as she had watched him write the name letter for letter. It was still misspelled when she had gotten to the counter to get her order.

He had smiled at her but she had been so fixated on the name, she hadn’t noticed. His smile faltered as she turned around without looking up or reacting, trudging towards her bag and the many papers splayed over the small table. The next time she would try a nickname.

That worked for a while. She had chosen to use flowers. These names he had written correctly, always doodling a mini version of said flower beside the name. It had made her smile and interact a little more with him, even made her forget the spelling fiasco for a while. Until after a week, on a particular stressful day, she had forgotten and told him her actual name again.

Standing in front of the counter the name stared back at her. It was like a punch in the face, even if it felt like a comically well-known routine. To think he still came up with a new way to deface the name everytime.

“Everything alright?” Ari leaned against the counter, both elbows on the edge and looked at her. It took her longer than normal to react. As she looked up at him without having touched the cup he was surprised. She looked so hurt and saddened, it made his heart pang.

“Do you do this on purpose?” She asked with an impossibly small voice. So quiet he had to strain his ears to properly understand her.

“What?” He still said in confusion. Her face twisted, some anger mixing into the swirl of emotion.

“Are you doing this on purpose?” She asked him, much more forcefully this time. Her shoulders shook, eyes hard and glaring.

“Writing my name wrong. Everytime. Even after I correct you. Everytime. I even spelled it for you and you got it wrong!” Her outburst surprised him so much he didn’t know how to react. She took his non-existent reaction as a form of confession and it was enough for her.

“If you don’t want me to return, just say it instead of this passive-aggressive bullying.”

Grabbing her cup she turned around and stomped towards her table. Instead of sitting down she collected the papers, angrily showing them in her bag before she walked out with the cup and her bag. The bell of the door announcing her departure kept ringing in his ears.

“Wait! Hey, wait!”

A blur of colors rushed by her side only for Ari to jump in front of her. Hair out of place and a little breathless he blocked her way with his hands held up.

“Please wait and let me explain.” He looked apologetic. Truly sorry. She didn’t want to, too hurt and ashamed to but he got the better of her. His puppy eyes made her resolve crumble so fast, she only sighed and gave him a small nod. His sign to explain.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think it would bother you so much.” He winced at the glare she sent him and the way she crossed her arms before her chest.

“Not be bothered by it? YOu wouldn’t be bothered by that?” She complained and he had to agree.

“It was a stupid idea I know…but I liked the way your nose scrunches up whenever you looked at the misspelling. It’s cute.”

“Listen, the first time was really a mistake. I was too distracted by how pretty and cute you were and I figured if I kept misspelling your name it would give me a moment longer with you.”

Her anger vanished. Washed away by his words. They left her reeling. He thought she was cute? And pretty?

Ari seemed to read her mind. He started to smile. That crooked little one that made her heart secretly flutter.

“You are the prettiest and cutest little thing I’ve ever seen. The moment I saw you for the first time I knew I wanted to get to know you. Maybe take you out sometime…I just didn’t know how to ask.”

Now that made her splutter.

“I can tell.” Her smile gave him hope.

“W-what?” She squeaked, feeling the blood rush up her neck as she got warm. Ari looked sheepish, scratching at his beard as he stared down at his shows.

“Guess I’m not very good at that.” Her snickering made him look back up.

“So, you’ll forgive me?” He asked, perking up at the possibility of it.

“Yeah, but only because I think you are cute too.” That made him grin, but there was one more thing he had to ask.

“And you’ll continue to come to the café? Rachel would kill me if I chased away her favorite customer.” That made her laugh. Ari decided it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

“Only if you write my name correctly from now on.” He could agree with that, nodding enthusiastically.

“Come on,” he told her and took her hand. She was confused but followed him back to the café. Bringing her towards the counter he was quick to jump over the small swinging door. Back behind he grabbed another cup, but not before he had taken her cup from her.

“Hey!” She protested quietly. The wink he sent her made her quiet down and smile softly. She watched him work behind the counter. He looked comically big.

It didn’t take long for him to place another cup in front of her. When she turned it around her name was spelled correctly. But that wasn’t what had made her heart flutter. Under her name, Ari had scribbled his own. Together with his number.

#sly's 200 #ari levinson x reader #coffeeshop au #ari levinson x female reader #ari levinson au #ari levinson fluff #ari levinson fanfiction

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shootingstarwritings · 3 years ago

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Chemical Reaction

The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed.

“Ahhh!” Michelle cried out, slamming her phone onto the table she and her friends were having lunch at.

At first, neither of them took a glance, just happily munching on their meals until Michelle cleared her throat and said, “Umm, UTV is having a concern next month! In our state!”

“AAAAHHHH!”

Finally, the response it deserves, Michelle thought as her friends joined in the shrieks.

“I’ve been waiting years for them to tour this dump,” Michelle’s friend, Cindy, said. “Can you believe it?”

“I’m practically dying,” their other friend, a girl who preferred to go by Nebula, said in a monotone voice. “But like, in a good way. Never thought UTV would ever have a comeback tour and stop by here in the armpit of the nation.” Nebula took the phone and eagerly began to read through the website details.

Cindy set her boba tea down and let out another quick shriek. “I was just watching their last tour the other night. It must be fate that this is happening.” She took Michelle’s hand, oblivious to Michelle’s blush, and cheered. “Luckily we got UTV’s number one fan as a bestie, huh, Nebby?”

Nebula cringed at the nickname but didn’t respond. Her attention too focused on the phone as her grimace grew. “Uh, Nebby? Everything ok?” Michelle asked.

“No, it isn’t. This concert’s being held on the other side of the goddamn state and neither of us have a car.” Nebula slammed the phone on the table and crossed her arms. “The universe just loves giving me hope just to dash them at the last second.” Looking up at the sky, she said, “Wouldn’t it be easier to just kill me already?”

Michelle gasped and took the phone back. Nebula was right. It’d take hours on the highway to reach the concert site and on top of that they’d probably need to stay a night at a nearby hotel to save up on having to do two back and forth trips. None of their parents would trust the three with cars or staying a hotel by themselves. By now, the fantasy of UTV playing in front of her was slowly growing further and further away—just out of reach. “This… can’t be happening.”

Cindy scowled and slammed her hands on the table, not caring at the glares she kept receiving. “Fucking—goddamn—motherfucking! Ahh!” At first it seemed as though she would exploded, but settled for merely lying down on the table, sighing. “What’s the point of being 18 when you can’t even drink or have a car or anything?”

“Such is the plight of the young woman,” said Nebula. “We have rights but we don’t have rights.”

“Then let’s take our rights back.” Michelle stood up from her chair, glaring defiantly at whatever god or demon decided to fuck with her chances to taste UTV’s sweat live on concert while they played. “You guys forget about my special little brew?”

Nebula and Cindy stared at her blankly before gasping. They both grinned, sharing an excited glint in their eyes. “Girl, you never fail to disappoint me,” said Cindy, shining like the sun.

“And Michelle gives us another ray of hope,” Nebula said like a prayer. “Hard to believe a saint walks among us.”

“Full moon’s in a few weeks. So we got plenty of time to get the potion ready.”

“But, who you gonna take over this time?” Cindy asked. “Our folks’d get suspicious about one of them suddenly be willing to chaperon us for a UTV concert. If it was the fucking Beetles, maybe...”

“Oh, I won’t be taking over any of our parents,” said Michelle, smirking as she visualized her target. “Just watch, girls. I’ll get us a car and a little chaperon for us.”

Michelle’s older brother, Frankie, was on the verge of graduating college. Pursuing a degree in Business and minoring in Econ, he was a gifted entrepreneur and already had a small business with some buddies from the same program. Not only that, but he had seriously bulked up in the years spent in his university’s newly built gym.

And all of that was the reason why Michelle had never hated Frank as much as she did now. Every time he went to the town’s gym with his fuckboy friends, he posted it online for the world to see. And, unfortunately, Michelle had the misfortune to witness friends and family gush over her brother through their brown-nosing social media posts.

However, Michelle had the opportunity to nab that all for herself. This was the first year Frank was gonna stay with his family for the summer, and Michelle wasn’t going to let that opportunity slide. The concert was a simple excuse to take advantage of that and help her friends out at the same time. A win-win for all except her bro.

On the night of a full moon, Michelle brewed the potion to use next time Frankie came back from the gym. UTV’s concert was coming up soon, but she had already reserved the tickets and hotel room by snatching up Frankie’s credit card while he wasn’t looking. “To make up for all the birthdays he missed,” she told herself.

Frankie returned a few hours after Michelle’s plan was in motion. “Hey Michelle!” he said, roughly ruffling Michelle’s hair as he arrived from the gym. She knew it was unintentional, but he was always rough with his affection. “How you doing?”

Michelle shrugged. “Going about it day by day. College’s looking more and more unaffordable by the second.”

Frankie grinned and laughed. “Hey, don’t worry! Worst comes to worst, I’ll help mom and dad pay for your tuition. I really want my li’l sis to enjoy college like I did.”

Michelle beamed at him, glad to see he didn’t suspect anything. “You must be parched after spending so long in the gym.” Taking out a sports drink container full of her potion, he tossed it to her eager brother. “Here. My treat.”

“Hey, thanks!” Without even checking what was inside, Frankie threw his head back and chugged most of the contents. Gullible as always, Michelle thought, only barely managing to suppress her smirk. “This shit taste fan-fucking-tastic, Michelle. Buy me some more if you get the chance.” Frankie ruffled her hair some more before making his way over to his room.

“Ten-mississippi, nine-mississippi,” Michelle counted down after a few minutes passed. Once she got down to zero, she walked over to her brother’s room and pressed her ear against the door. A thud and a low moan soon followed. Perfect. She threw the door open and found her brother lying on the ground and struggling to reach the door. “Hey there, bro,” Michelle said, grinning madly at her prey.

“Mi-Mi...” Frankie tried to speak, not having the energy to do so. “Heeeeelp…”

“Don’t worry, Frankie,” she said, walking around him and staring down at his naked, muscular back that would soon be hers. “That pain’ll end soon. And then I’ll feel so much better.” All his brother could even say was a moan of agony. “Don’t worry your dumb head over it. Just lie back and enjoy.”

He couldn’t even say anything in return as Michelle kneeled down and pressed her hand against his back. After a bit of force, Michelle’s hand fully sunk into him, as though his body was liquid. Frank let out a pitiful moan as his sister penetrated him, but she paid him no mind. In fact, Michelle enjoyed it. “I’ll be gentle,” she giggled.

Frankie let out another moan as Michelle placed both of her hands and feet inside of him, phasing through his skin with little resistance. “Wh-Whyyyy?” he managed to utter, squinting and blinking in the unbearable uncomfort that the possession process caused. His breathing was reduced to quick gulps of air and groans of agony bordering on pleasure from bondage.

“Because it’s my turn to have all those privileges!” Michelle shouted as she pressed more of herself into her bother. “It’s my goddamn turn to be the golden child. It’s my fucking birthright you piece of shit!” Frankie grimaced as his sister slowly sank further into the depths of depravity.

Hearts and souls mixed into one; a cocktail of ecstasy and terror as Michelle fully phased into her own brother. Frankie turned over, his back to the floor as limbs coiled and his core rose and fell with endless convulsions. “Lemme goooo…!” Frankie tried to say again.

Michelle ignored his screams. Instead, she focused her resolve while she navigated his core and soul. Arm in arm, leg in leg—Michelle oriented her now intangible, phantasmic form to drive into her brother’s much larger body. Physical sensations were slow but eventually came to her. The pleasurably soreness of the gym alongside the strain of resisting possession gently washing over Michelle. She flexed her fingers as her brother moaned in panic.

“I-I can’t feel my hands...” he said as Michelle began to flex and feel the strong, firm muscle just beneath his skin. “Michelle, I can’t feel myself. Please…”

“Ssshhhh, relax, Frankie,” Michelle whispered as the her brother’s limbs warmed under her control. “Oooh!” she said, wincing with pleasure as the lovely soreness that comes from a nice and productive day at the gym nearly overwhelmed her. In that brief window, Frankie made a desperate dash towards the door only to fall flat on his face. Despite his will, he sat criss-crossed and started clapping, as if to mock his escape attempt.

“What’s wrong, bro?” said Michelle, matching her brother’s inflection as she spoke, “Just think of this as a sorta work out. Look at how much you’re sweating.” Feeling frisky, Michelle put her shirt over her nose and took a deep whiff to her brother’s disgust.

“Ohhhh, oh god, you smell like such a boy,” she cackled, so uncharacteristic in the normally chill Frankie. Michelle leaned back and lied down on the floor, moving and shaking her hips, toes curled and thighs rubbing against each other as an erection grew. Frankie continued moaning, but Michelle could feel his resistance weaken as the friction grew.

“P-Please, go ahead,” Frankie said, his quivering lips flipping to a lewd smile. “F-Fuck, use me like a doll, Michelle.” Michelle grinned. All of her victims, for the most part, were ‘stained.’ Bits of Michelle’s soul always managed to worm their way towards her victims. The preacher in her old Church group, the phys ed. teacher, and even a local officer were all perfectly fine with becoming tools for Michelle. Now, her brother would be the same way. “Just use me like a goddamn costume. Take me over. Fuck my brains out ‘til I can’t even remember my name. JUST—NNGGGH—JUST FUCKING USE ME!”

Frankie shot load after load of cum, staining his gym shorts even more than his trip to the gym had. “Ohhh,” Michelle sighed, stretching her new core and flexing her stolen limbs.

Each muscle stretched with a satisfying pop! Not just that, but the new weight and the height that Michelle was now endowed with gave her a brand new appreciation for her own home. All of a sudden, Michelle needed to duck to go through the doorframes as she strode through her house. “Mmm, real nice. Damn straight,” she laughed with her brother’s low baritone. “Damn, bro! Lookit these fucking tits,” Michelle said as she bounced her pecs. “I could give such a good titjob with these things. You really were letting your assets go to waste.”

With a quick slap on her new ass, Michelle took her phone and began texting her parents and friends. In just a few convincing words, UTV’s concert was within reach.

“HO-LEY-SHIT,” shrieked Cindy as they drove to the hotel. “Michelle, I dunno how you do it, but you’re a goddamn miracle-worker.”

Michelle spares a quick glance at her brother’s handsome face before focusing back on the highway. “Well, y’know me,” she said, enjoying the low rumbling in her chest. “I’ve got the magic touch,” she said with a snap of her fingers.

“And the magic muscles,” said Cindy, running her hand down Frankie’s thick thighs. “God, your brother got so lucky with these genes. Like, everyone’s gonna be drooling over your bro’s big-ass body!”

“If they’re not busy drooling over UTV,” Nebula said, spread over the backside, arms folded in front of her chest like she was resting in a coffin. “Speaking of drooling, Cindy, turn it back a notch. Michelle’s still driving and I’d rather not end up in a coffin yet. Not ‘til I have the money to buy an expensive one.” Cindy immediately pulled her hand back to Michelle’s chagrin.

“Yikes, my bad!” said Cindy, tittering. Had it just been a joke, Michelle thought before turning to focus on traffic again. “Guess I got carried away. Sorry Mi-mi.”

Mi-mi...

“No, no, it’s no problem,” she said, shrugging awkwardly in this body that wasn’t used to it. Frankie melted away and Michelle felt back to that awkward girl that used magic to artificially give herself that confidence again. The rest of the ride was mainly Nebula and Cindy chatting back and forth with Michelle occasionally chiming in—just as it always was. Even in her brother’s body, in the body of a priest, an officer, and even a teacher, Michelle was Michelle. And thus, she was not confident, powerful, and she was certainly not Cindy’s lover.

An endless series of “I’m not,” thought Michelle, glaring at the road ahead.

It wasn’t long before they arrived at the hotel and left their stuff. “Only two beds,” Nebula noted. “We can share, Cindy. Frankie’s body’s kinda huge. It’d be like a soup spoon with a kitchen spoon.”

“Why do you have to mention spooning?” Michelle muttered, staring down at the ground.

Cindy said, “Sure, sounds good! I wouldn’t mind not getting crushed, tbh,” as if she didn’t hear Michelle.

“Well, let’s get going,” said Nebula. “UTV time!”

“AAAAHHHHH!” Though slow at first, Michelle joined in her friends’ shrieking, causing an imbalanced but still welcomed baritone to join in the excitement.

The concert, as expected, was great. UTV’s fusion of pop and metal combined with their looks filled the concert hall to its limit. People of all kinds from co-eds with bright futures to homely, middle-aged moms came from all over the state to listen to the comeback tour.

The one who stood out the most and kept getting conspicuous yet lustful looks was Michelle. She moved her borrowed body to the rhythm, breaking into a sweat. For the moment, caught up in the harmony, she forgot about Frankie and Michelle and only enjoyed the music. The eyes she caught remained unnoticed, even Cindy’s.

Once the concert wrapped up, Michelle sat by some nearby bleachers, stretching her sore muscles. “Damn, didn’t think dancing was like a full-body workout.” She looked around, trying to find her friends. Somehow, Nebula and Cindy wandered off without her realizing. “Nebby! Cindy!” she called out, forcing herself to stand up tall as she searched for them.

“Uhhh...” A chill went down Michelle’s neck as she heard a low yet familiar moan come from behind. She turned around and saw a half-conscious Nebula being supported by a grimacing Cindy.

“Mi-mi! Heeeelp!” Cindy said. Michelle ran over and almost threw Nebula to the roof with her new-found strength. “Oh, my bad...”

“Uhh, I’m sooo sleepy,” said Nebula with a long, drawn-out yawn. “Take me to the hotel room.”

“What happened?”

“Drank too much,” said Cindy, sighing. “She’s a sleepy drunk. Always was.”

“It was real goooood,” mewled Nebula.

“You’re gonna have to carry her,” said Cindy. “Dunno if you noticed, but uh...” she gave a weak flex, showing off her twiggy arms. Michelle doubted Cindy carried anything heavier than her purse.

“No prob,” said Michelle. Not for the first time, she was glad that her brother had such a large back. Carrying Nebula was like carrying a school backpack.

Nebula let out a small yawn and hugged Michelle close. “You’re like a giant pillow,” she muttered, nuzzling close to Michelle’s neck.

Cindy looked on with a blank expression.

“W-Well,” said Michelle, her face hot, “Let’s get going.”

“Yeah...”

The walk to the hotel was a silent agony. Cindy just looked to the side, dodging questions with one-word responses. And Michelle wasn’t the greatest conversationalist, so all she could offer was, “So how ‘bout that concert?” and, “Y’know I think Zac looked pretty sweet tonight,” before falling into silence as well.

When the three of them finally arrived at the hotel, Michelle took special care to tuck Nebula in. “Well, looks like we’ll be sleeping together,” Cindy muttered. Michelle reddened but agreed. “What, not even gonna say anything?” said Cindy, raising her voice. “You think I’m that gross?”

“N-No…!” said Michelle, eyes glued to the floor.

“Well, I’m gonna go take a shower. See ya in a sec,” Cindy said. Carelessly and without shame, she threw off her shirt and bra to the side before strutting to the bathroom. Did she want Michelle to get an eyeful or…?

Michelle sighed and sat down on the empty bed. She stared up at the ceiling, her head a complete mess. What was Cindy trying to do? Seduce her? Or was she just messing with her?

I’m not gonna stand for this, Michelle found herself thinking, surprising herself. If she wants a dicking who am I to say no? Only the polite thing to do. Without realizing it, Michelle had been rubbing the hard on in her brother’s shorts. A few moans left her borrowed lips as she envisioned Cindy’s naked body, breasts swaying back and forth. Then, she flicked her brother’s nipples and shuddered as electric tingles wracked her body. “Ohh, hurry up, Cindy.” Michelle hadn’t understood what a sex drive really was until she dove into the body of her older brother.

Just before Michelle ripped the shorts off and just started whacking it right then and there, the bathroom’s door opened. Cindy stepped out wearing nothing but a towel. “Wow, I thought I took the hot shower,” she said, cocking an eyebrow at Michelle. “You’re looking redder than a tomato.”

Michelle swallowed and allowed her body to go with the flow. She stood up from the bed and smoothly sauntered towards Cindy. Her towering height only helped give her the edge as she leaned against the wall and said, “Sup, girl. Feelin’ lucky tonight?”

Cindy looked down at Frankie’s erection. A naughty glint appeared in her eyes and she said, “I thought you’d never ask.” She leaned in and kissed Michelle without warning.

For a moment, Michelle was ready to call it quits and retreat, but the raging stallion that churned inside of her brother’s loins pushed her forward. “Yeah...” she moaned into Cindy’s mouth. The hormones and excitement of a first kiss and a jock’s raging sex drive fused into a man that hungered. She lifted Cindy up and carried her over to the bed, their lips never splitting. “Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you,” she said, surprised at her gentle yet passionate words. Her brother—and now her—was a real gentleman. “I’ll be gentle...” she whispered.

Cindy whimpered. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Michelle swallowed. The spell had warned what sex with another person while possessing would lead to. The union of two souls into one while one soul was hijacking another would lead to an inseparable fusion. Not just Michelle, but reality as a whole would be changed forever.

“The meeting of two personalities…” That Carl Jung quote was still fresh on her mind, ever since the day she had read it on that spellbook. However, despite the fear and hesitation that Michelle should have felt in that instance never materialized.

“Both are changed forever,” Michelle said to herself, smirking as she realized that she would finally discard the shy girl always dragged herself down. Always afraid to try something new or embrace opportunities.

Michelle peeled the towel from towel from Cindy’s body, reveling in the little show she was making for herself. First the thighs, then the hips, and finally the cute stomach and her breasts. “Like what you see?” teased Cindy. “Well? Don’t leave me hanging, Mi-mi. Lemme see your bro’s goods.”

“You mean my goods?” said Michelle as she lifted her shift over her borrowed shoulders. “C’mon, just say Frankie, sweetie.” She leaned in and kissed Cindy once more, rubbing her thighs with one hand while removing her shorts with another.

Giggling, Cindy said, “Sure, Frankie,” before gasping as she caught sight of the large, erect cock just hanging in the air. “H-Hey, make sure you take it easy, ok?” For what must’ve been the first time in her life, Michelle witnessed a sheepish Cindy. “Never had anything that big in my life.”

“I told ya. I’ll be careful.”

“…Okay, I trust you.”

Michelle began with a few fingers. Cindy’s moans pushed her to continue. Once she was wet and comfortable, Michelle finally began to thrust inside of Cindy, getting a few moans out of the girl.

“Damn, you’re tight,” muttered Michelle.

“It’s not that, stupid,” said Cindy, “you’re way too big.”

“Sorry, sorry—“

“Just shut up and fuck me!”

Grinning, Michelle just said, “Whatever you say, ma’am,” as Cindy rolled her eyes. She worked into an even but still powerful rhythm. Her brother’s hips moved like a natural, only picking up speed when Cindy, through clenched teeth, demanded more. Meanwhile, Michelle took the liberty to explore every inch of Cindy she had looked but never touched out of lust and envy. Now, it was just pure pleasure and a desire to elicit more moans out of her partner. Confidence in her brother’s muscle memory fueled Michelle further.

“F-Fuck, Mi—Frankie, keep going—AH—keep going. Harder!” Cindy moaned and leaned back against the bed as Michelle increased her thrust.

The bed creaked and shook. From the other bed, just a few feet away, Nebula stirred before going back to sleep, unaware of Michelle’s actions. But she didn’t care. All she could focus on was ramming herself even deeper inside of Cindy and even deeper inside of Frankie’s soul. The boundaries between “I” and “he” thinned as the climax built up in Frankie’s loins.

“Say my name,” said Michelle.

“Frankie.”

“Again...” said Michelle, thrusting particular deep inside of Cindy. Cindy’s eyes nearly rolled to the back of her head as she stuttered out, “Fr-Frankie!”

“A-AH FUCK,” said Michelle. She could feel her ball churning and her core stiffen. “One more time. Say my goddamn name! With feeling.”

Cindy clenched her teeth, her legs trembling as Michelle slammed into her particularly hard—nearly lifting the bed from the floor. “Your name is Frankie!” she shouted as she climaxed.

“FUCK YEAH IT IS!” Frankie roared to the heavens as he came.

The following morning went by as a blur, but Frankie didn’t mind. The book warned about some level of jetlag once reality shifted. It wasn’t everyday that a wizard completely changed the world in his favor.

“C’mon, Frank,” said Nebula in her usual deadpan voice. “UTV’s gonna play again today. Heard that they were gonna dedicate this day to one of their music coaches or something.”

“Slow down, Nebby,” Frankie chuckled. Cindy was clinging to his arm, humming to herself as she leisurely strolled to the concert grounds. It was as if a miracle had landed on her lap and she was determined to indulge in every second of it. Frankie sighed but didn’t mind. “Got a clingy girl over here.”

Nebula grimaced. “Can’t believe I agreed to be the third wheel in this tour.” She turned to stare longinly at a poster of UTV. “Think I can snag one of them if I try hard enough?”

“Nebby, a woman can achieve she desires,” said Frankie, licking his lips as he caught his own reflection from a nearby window. “When two folks meet, who knows what’ll happen?”

#male possession #straight stuff #brother possession

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kaseyskat · 3 years ago

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY @karamelys!!!!! as you (must have) anticipated, here’s a little birthday ficlet for you!

Marcy doesn’t know what had gone through her mind when she applied for the gig.

Well, that’s mostly a lie. Her entire life thus far has been one freelance job after another, in various different ways. She had built a website for a developing company just two months ago, and the paycheck from that one had been nice enough to keep up with rent for awhile, but sitting at home by herself was only pleasant to an extent. Eventually, she was talking to her plants again, and that’s when her best friend dragged her out of the house and taken her to the auditions for her newest production.

Sasha Waybright was born for the stage. Marcy Wu was most decidedly not.

But Sasha was also the best at getting what she wanted, and she was so persuasive. Somehow, in a blur of time that Marcy hardly remembers last week, she had convinced Marcy that it would be fun to meet new people in a stage production. You don’t have to act, but I know you have all that experience running backstage, she had said, and with that logic, Marcy had found it increasingly difficult to say no.

So now here she is, with her name printed next to light technician, even though the last time she’s worked with a lightboard was when she was in middle school.

Sasha’s already chatting with her new coworkers, flaunting her new position. She got the lead role again, it would seem; not that Marcy was really all that surprised, her Sasha always gets the lead. still, being social isn’t really on Marcy’s game plan for this show, and she turns away from the crowd of actors to trudge upwards into the tech booth.

To her surprise, there’s already someone in the booth, fiddling with cords and wires. The woman has headphones around her neck, fluffy hair tied into a messy low ponytail, and she’s humming a song that Marcy doesn’t recognize as she moves around the booth.

Marcy tries to be inconspicuous, really, she does. However, the tech booth has stairs leading up to the boards, and she’s so focused on watching the occupant that she isn’t watching her feet. One foot catches the end of the stair, and she tumbles forwards, flying with a screech. She’s no stranger to falling, but it is embarrassing, the way she crashes to the ground, her bag nearly sliding off of her shoulders.

When she goes to lift herself off the floor awkwardly - and she contemplates just laying there for a moment, wallowing in self-pity - there’s an offered hand waving in her face. Marcy takes it out of habit, and the woman pulls her to her feet with a little laugh.

Her smile is gorgeous, Marcy realizes. And then: oh no.

“The stairs can be pretty steep, you gotta be more careful,” the woman says, concern and amusement both coloring her tone. “I haven’t seen you around here before, did you apply?”

Marcy swallows, and then she nods. “My roommate, Sasha-”

“Oh! You’re the roommate Sasha talks about!” The woman’s eyes light up, and she snickers. “Sasha’s the most primadonna actress I’ve ever met, but she talks about you sometimes. Marcy, right?”

Sasha talks about me? Marcy’s heart flutters a little bit. “Yeah,” she affirms. “Uh. Marcy Wu. I know my way around tech.” Lame, that was so lame, oh god-

The woman laughs, though. “I sure hope so. Our last light tech kept missing cues, it drove us all nuts. I practically ran both boards by myself on opening night.” She keeps her grip on Marcy’s hand, and gives it a little shake. “My name’s Anne, by the way. Anne Boonchuy.”

“Nice to meet you,” Marcy says, shyly. “I’m guessing you’re sound tech?”

Anne nods. “I did acting for a bit, but… well. Bad luck followed me like a plague. You won’t believe how many sets I’ve broken, I think the director wanted to kill me.” She’s still holding Marcy’s hand, and Marcy eventually just closes her other hand around it, leaning forwards on the balls of her feet. “But I really like the theater! So I swallowed my pride and moved to tech, and, well. Here I am.”

“Tech is cooler anyways,” Marcy snorts. “But I think it’s real brave to do acting. You would never catch me in front of an audience, no thanks.”

“Really?” Anne’s eyes go playfully wide, and she bats her lashes. “But you’re so cute!”

Marcy’s cheeks heat up.

“Relax, I’m teasing,” Anne laughs, and she’s beaming so brightly that Marcy can hardly judge her for playing with Marcy’s feelings. “We’re gonna be working together for a bit, gotta get comfortable with each other real fast. Want me to show you the boards?”

“Please,” Marcy forces a little smile, and Anne eagerly jumps forwards, dragging Marcy across the entirety of the booth to where the boards are.

“The lightboard doesn’t have a name, but I’ve named the soundboard Bessie,” Anne informs her. She finally releases Marcy’s hand to run both hands over the soundboard, her eyes closed and a satisfied expression on her face. “Bessie and I go way back, we’re tight.”

Marcy snorts, and she sits at the light board, running her fingers lightly over the knobs and switches. The slides are all labeled, and she experimentally fidgets with one of them just to watch the way the stage light flickers.

“You have so many areas,” she murmurs, mostly to herself, as she examines the board and the little numbers. “This is going to be so fun.”

“Heck yeah it is!” Anne grins, and when Marcy looks at her, she’s beaming again, eyes wide and sparkling in the dim lights of the booth. “I have a feeling we’re gonna work great together, Marcy.”

And despite the fact that she didn’t want to be here in the first place, despite the fact that Sasha had physically dragged her to the auditions and would be gloating over this at home for eternity, despite all her inhibitions and fears and social awkwardness… Marcy finds herself smiling as well. “Yeah, I think so.”

#marcanne #kasey writes stuff #marcy wu #anne boonchuy #this is now an entire au that lives in my head #which was accidental i just wanted to write a marcanne meet cute #but its There #happy birthday!

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invisibleraven · 3 years ago

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The Ghosts of Christmas Eve

@jatp-adventevent Day Nineteen: Crooked Tin Soldier <-AO3 link

Pairing: PeterPatter

The boys never died AU

Luke would always say it was pretty hard to scare him, but being forced to be in a toy store a few weeks before Christmas absolutely terrified him. Everywhere there were crazy kids running around, tired and stressed parents grabbing everything off the shelves, and harangued employees who looked like they had lost the will to live long ago. If it weren’t for Reggie, he would never have set foot in the place.

Reggie wanted to get something super cool for Rose's new little girl, Julie. She would only be a few months old by Christmas, but Rose was one of their closest friends, and they all doted on Julie, so an awesome present was essential. Luke had been fine finding something online, as a lot of stores had websites where you could buy things from now. He, Alex, and Bobby had all gone that route, wanting to avoid the hectic shops as much as possible.

But not Reggie, who said you couldn’t really tell the quality of a product if you got it off the internet, wanting to ensure that whatever he got Julie was well made and suitable for a baby. Then he had broken out those big damn pleading eyes of his, begging Luke to accompany him, and well, Luke was always weak when it came to Reggie.

Thankfully, they had a game plan, going straight for the stuffed animals, figuring that was the best sort of toy for a small infant. Reggie clutched onto Luke’s hand, pulling him through the throngs of people towards the section, which was fairly picked over, but Reggie was undeterred. He rummaged through the pile that was left, lifting up toy after toy, assessing each one, sometimes asking Luke’s opinion. Luke didn’t think Julie would care one way or another, but he gave a thumbs up or down for each one Reggie held aloft anyway.

Finally, Reggie lifted one up triumphantly; a stuffed golden retriever toy that looked perfectly cuddly and just right. “Looks just like you Reg,” Luke quipped, earning a playfully shove, but Reggie was still smiling, so he counted that as a win.

They were making their way out of the store when Reggie got distracted by the large Lego display. There, in all her miniature brick glory, was the Millennium Falcon. Reggie stopped and stared at it, mouth hanging open. “Man, I would have loved to have that as a kid.”

“It is pretty sweet, though I don’t recall you being all that into Legos as a kid,” Luke said.

“You know what my parents were like man, no way would they let me waste money on something like that. And they weren’t about to buy me something with a ton of tiny, easily losable pieces. I asked, believe me. I got by playing with Alex’s, he had this one space station set, man I must have built it and taken it apart to build it again a hundred times. Was so sad when he got out of them and then his parents gave them all away to some cousin or another.” Reggie then gave a little melancholy sigh before shrugging and pulling Luke towards the cash register, but Luke’s eyes stayed trained on the Lego display until they left the store.

That year for Christmas, the guys all gathered at Rose and Ray’s house to exchange gifts, given they had space compared to their tiny apartments. Julie was sitting in her mother’s arms babbling away, and when Reggie shyly presented her with the stuffed puppy she let out a loud giggle, grasping it with her tiny fist. “It’s perfect cariño,” Rose said, pressing a sweet kiss to Reggie’s cheek. He flushed but his eyes never left Julie, and Luke wondered how much Reggie wanted that; the marriage, house and children. They were rising up as a band, so their lifestyle didn’t really lend itself to that nuclear household kind of life. Maybe after they put out the next album Luke could look into the two of them settling down a little more.

Gifts were quickly passed out, everyone exclaiming their delight and thanks to each other. Luke left his gift for Reggie until last, handing him the rather large box and smirking as Reggie tore off the paper. “Lu-Luke…”

“That’s the right one isn’t it?” Luke asked, gesturing to the Lego set in Reggie’s hands. It was a space station from the late 80’s, a simple set compared to the Millennium Falcon that was also there. But Reggie was still stuck on the Lego set that he had so coveted as a child. He threw himself into Luke’s arms, plastering his face with kisses.

“You-You got me my very own Lego set. You’re the best!” Reggie exclaimed, pressing one more kiss to Luke’s mouth before he gleefully sat down to pull out the instructions. Luke sat back, satisfied that he had made Reggie so happy, even if the rest of them were looking at him confused, except Alex. Alex gave Luke a small, warm smile, reaching his fist out for a bump.

“How did you even find that?”

“Ebay! Was sadly more expensive than the Falcon, but he’s worth it,” Luke replied, then sat down next to Reggie, the two of them happily building away as Julie babbled away, providing the perfect background noise for Lego construction.

#JatPAdvent2021 #my stuff #writing #fanfic #ruke #peterpatter #julie and the phantoms

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buchananbarnes1991 · 4 years ago

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Unus Annus Sentence Meme Starter

“Hey buddy buddy buddy buddy!”

“Our long time colleagues are 419 hours a day deny you here!”

“Peoples dream, must first be full of blood!”

“When we arrived in my backyard, we stopped the fire.”

“We quickly eliminated the enemy, and the fight was depressing.”

“Boy am I hungry!”

“Zip zap zop!”

“I don’t know if this was your idea, but we’ll roll with it.”

“This wouldn’t be the first time like, ‘hey I’ve got an idea.’ when we told you it weeks ago.”

“With the guidance of a guardian angel, you can do anything.”

“What am I teaching you how to do?”

“You don’t need to make it! I’m making it!”

“Have you washed your hands? You should wash your hands.”

“You can have the knife when you need the knife.”

“Close the door and never go back!”

“I want you to do something for me. Take a balloon, stretch it out..nice and wide.”

“Some of us are more gifted than others.”

“Okay, so what are we doing here? What is this?”

“I think that the way that I’d kill you is..’take you by the hands. come this way. I’ve got something to show you. just something you HAVE TO SEE.’ “

“In highschool. I dated a girl...her name was, Abigail. Very smart and driven. I was a stupid boy.”

“I still hadn’t let go, but they called me to tell me. She’d let go.”

“She looked down at the ground and then looked back up me. She giggled a bit and then said ‘Oh, don’t you know? I have feelings for Troy.’ “

“When you’re a late bloomer and you spend most of your time alone in a dark room with various ‘websites’, it turns out that feeding my entire adolescences with perverted thoughts from various unsavory sources makes a distorted impression of the act of making love.”

“After about thirty minutes of dry thrusting, I found myself incapable of completion.”

“The first time I ever had sex, I had to fake my own orgasm..just to get it over with.”

“I too was a late bloomer. I didn’t know anything about intercourse or foreplay or anything.”

“We heard the tent unzip, her thirteen year old brother came through the tent! He didn’t see us. But, we were there. He said ‘Dinner’s ready.’ Under the protection of the sleeping bag we were replied ‘OKAY!’, He exited and I-- *giggles* exited.”

“I think that’s enough therapy for one day. Remember, it’s okay to talk about embarrassing of your life.”

“You stand here..I’m gonna take my shoes off.”

“I need to climb around you.”

“Using teamwork and trust and...t-t-t....team work, you get one person from one end of the body, all the way around to the same end.”

“You think you know us, but we only show you what we want you to see.”

“Let’s get climbing.”

“I thought we were gonna watch a movie.”

“And then I PILE DRIVE YOU’RE SPINE...paralyzed for life.”

“I AM ALWAYS STABLE. Don’t even try to unstablize me.”

“Felt like an emotional burden unloaded.”

“Death comes for all of us and we’ve gotta prepare.”

“It’s a beautiful world, with a lot of caskets.”

“I’m just thinking about America...it’s not a great time to think about America.”

“Can we see some different caskets? Can you show us some metal ones, some wood ones?”

“Let’s start with the highest! And then we’ll work down to where we’re comfortable.”

“Why is Mahogany like the universally known wood? It’s used in all the movies, everyone talks about it. If they want quality, they want a Mahogany.”

“Obviously it’s a beautiful wood, but what makes Mahogany so special?”

“With Mahogany if you look at it. If you pass your eyes to the side, it changes. It goes with you.”

“You are supposed to be buried in dirt. From dust to dust.”

“I don’t want it to be too comfortable. I’d like to stay alert.”

“I don’t know, what does it mean to be afraid? I’m not afraid of death.”

“I don’t like the feel of velvet. I mean, I’ll touch it.”

“Mmh....velvet...��

“That’s the thing! Like old production stuff was built to last, FOREVER!”

“For now you can kneel.”

“They’re Nigerian dwarf goats. They’re gonna be your yoga partners today.”

“I twisted a man into a pretzel. I could do the same to you.”

“I twisted myself into a pretzel.”

“It’s so much more fun to do a plank with a goat on your back.”

“The goats come to you. The motto that we like to have it ‘trust the goats.’ “

“Oh, wait. Wait! I didn’t know we were competing.”

“When I did hot yoga. I kicked everyone’s ass.”

“There’s a lot goatin’ on.”

“You flinchy bastard.”

“Alright, there’s a goat there.”

“I always tell people that they will fire their massage therapists because goat massages are way better.”

“Yeah, it’s real firm.”

“Ow, oh god. Your tallons!”

“Oh, tight pants..tight pants!”

“Those are quitters who think that you have to have the perfect conditions to do things but if you can do things in times of adversity that’s when you know you’re really committed to a cause!”

“Anyone want kisses?”

“It’s okay to show emotions.”

“CRY LITTLE BITCH, CRY!”

“No one’s crazy enough to do it!”

“We knew this year was going to be hell.”

“Hey! Seven days..”

“There’s always still time for things to go wrong.”

“We’ll save them for the future.”

“No, there’s no future.”

“I hope I die in a hilarious way. I hope my death can be told as a joke, like it’s so funny how I died. People can get one last joy. One last laugh.”

“I’m not afraid of death, but I am afraid of dying.”

“Okay, we only have our sixth sense to see with. Okay? Much like Bruce Willis in the show Sixth Sense, spoiler, I know it’s new. He sees dead eggs everywhere.”

“You can do it with dominoes too, but be careful with that one cause once to get a hundred or more dominoes and you spill ‘em all over, it’s gonna take all afternoon to set ‘em back up.”

“So you better fucking see with your brain or else you won’t be able to have a good time.”

“Ouch ouch ouch! That’s not an egg.”

“I think you need to go a little slower.”

“Oh...Puppies!”

“Should we turn on the emergency camper light?”

“I’m just such a neat freak.” “You know we need to try and escape.”

“What a profound man, that shot out the load that is Tony Stark.”

“This is a literal don’t show it. Oh god, all of his nudes are right there!”

“Gone gone, forever.”

“Two idiots cause ten care pile up from buttplug dropedge.”

“Hook car batteries up to my nipples? I’ll say yes every time!”

“I’m not a masochist. I’m really not. I’m glad I have this uninterrupted moment to talk about this. I’m not a masochist. I’m just curious.”

“I’ve never been hit by a car, outside of my car? What’s that like? I DON’T KNOW!”

“Sometimes, I am an idiot and..I match your intelligence level. THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT!”

“We’ve been edging father time for a year.”

“Recognize my face, thank you.”

“Oh it was terrible. You didn’t tell me about all the bears along the way.”

“Nice camel toe.

“Do you want me to get nurse Tracy?”

“When we tried to crush those melons, SHE TOOK TWO!”

“I was thinking the other night, what if the next melon is [insert muses’s name here] skull?”

“I just like doing what I’m told.”

“A man of few words, a man of action.”

“Are our faces being used as Capchas’ now?”

“Thank you god, thats’s a good idea.”

“God said we could!”

“Doesn’t matter what you do, to keep it from ending. Once it ends. It’s gone forever.”

“I don’t know you but you’re here, a lot. I guess you’re fine.”

“I couldn’t get it off, I felt like I was gonna rip your skin off.”

“YOU WERE GONNA RIP MY SKIN OFF.”

“We got all this time that we can relax! We’ve got like a week to relax...”

“Neither of us have ever been pepper sprayed. Let’s get pepper sprayed!”

“It’s burning as if there’s some hot oil.. on my eyes.”

“My eyes are okay now.”

“This fucking sucks so bad.”

“I would not recommend getting pepper sprayed.”

“When I was a young lad. All I had was my imagination and the woodland creatures.”

“You shot me twice! I get to shoot you with a paintball at some point in the future.”

“There is no easy!”

“Math wasn’t my strong suit, nor was anything.”

“He’s an idiot but he can read well.”

“Look at me in the eyes boy, you’ll never be stronger than me.”

“How do you have time for anything, do you not sleep?”

“Your shirt needs to be off.”

“I think you just want me to take my shirt off.”

“Ugh...I’m fine.”

“I need gloves, I need gloves, hang on, I gotta get gloves!”

“I don’t wanna do anything with drainage.”

“What bone would you say hurts?”

“That’s what the picture said to do, breast feed your patient.”

“Your bed’s not very comfortable.”

“THE GONGOOZLER!”

“It not over, it’s close.”

“In six hours, we’re done.”

“It’s hard to say goodbye, but it’s important.”

“Beautiful, a sailor’s dream to come across the mermer.”

“DELETE ME!! CUT ME OUTTA HERE!!”

“I’m being an asshole now.”

“It’s not hope, it’s delusion.”

“You can’t speed your way into heaven!”

“Have you ever looked at your tongue too long in the mirror and it no longer looks like it belongs to you?”

“Biology is just a constant nightmare.”

#Unus Annus #Sentence Starter

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keltonwrites · 3 years ago

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I'm not sure if that's a good thing

“Well you’re definitely the first.” This past week, we screened-in the eastern facing porch on the side of the cabin. The porch slopes to the South, with the brick-on-dirt floor crumbling in that direction as well until it reaches uneven slabs of stone acting as steps down to the “yard” below. A mixed material retaining wall wraps beneath the steps to the south facing garage, holding up one corner of the narrow deck on the front of the house. The deck, in the heat of a high altitude summer, droops off the house like it’s daydreaming about the winter snow’s embrace. It’s safe to sit on, though I would not recommend leaning on the railing.

The side porch takes the brunt of the wind. Our wooden rocking chairs have been rocked some 20 feet into the yard more than once in the two months we lived here. In the myriad of threats we heard about the weather, most people included the wind. We all know how I feel about this ongoing weather intimidation tactic. I asked, “what speed are the gusts?” “Oh, they get up to 70 miles per hour on some days.” This was the first quantifiable piece of weather information someone had offered — an actual number we could react to with data and our historical personal experiences of various weather events. And our reaction was: uhhhh…. OK???? Look, I get it. No one’s preaching the skin benefits of -20 degree wind gusts at 70 mph, building snow drifts against your house in the span of minutes that Cooper could die in. I am not going to pretend that’s pleasant. But 70 mph? Any wind I’ve driven faster than does not intimidate me. I used to rally the horses at 12 years old in winds over 70mph to get them in the barn before the latest tornado whipped through. I helped shutter the resort in the BVI as the Category 5 hurricane rolled in. Even in Topanga, 70 mile per hour gusts were not uncommon in Santa Ana events. We had our single pane windows shatter more than once from debris in the wind. We taped cardboard up and went to sleep. That “70 mph” was all I needed to hear to confirm our next project: we were going to build a catio for these cats, and we were going to do it on the pre-existing porch structure to save time and money. We spent a week framing out the structure. We had to carve into the logs of the house to embed the wood supports for the framing.

And from there, every piece of wood was custom carved and cut to fit around the existing timber supports. The existing porch was so wildly uneven that there are gaps between each piece of old wood and the new framing. Our plan is to mix all the wood chips from the project with mortar/chinking and stuff the gaps — a good solution for the log cabin look. We built a plywood pony wall up to 28 inches from the interior of the porch, which gives a height of ~4-5ft from the exterior ground below. It’s capped with a 2x6” railing for even the fluffiest of cats to find a perch. The exterior will be wrapped with corrugated metal that we’ll quick-age to match the metal that wraps the bottom of the cabin. On the interior of the porch, we’ll use shiplap to hide the framing.

The screens themselves can withstand winds up to 120 mph, but to-be-determined if they can hold the weight of a growing maniac cat who has already tried to climb them. In the event the screens succumb to cat (or wind or snow or neighbor judgment) we’ll reinforce with metal mesh. We’re going to maintain this screen porch regardless of what the screen is. We had the pleasure of running into one of our more industrious neighbors the other day, and Ben asked him, “hey we’re building a screen porch. Is this a terrible idea?” He laughed. “Well you’re definitely the first.” But he liked it. Great way to diminish wind into the house. Simple way to regulate the temperature with massive south-facing windows. And indeed a practical outdoor safe haven for cats in predator territory. Just because you’re the first doesn’t mean you’re foolish — just foolhardy. There’s plenty of that here. This town has the typical mountain town’s truncated version of a colonizers’ history: “established 1881.” But it was plenty established prior to that by the Uncompahgre Band of the Ute Nation, removed by the U.S. Army on September 7, 1881, nearly 140 years ago. The government relocated the Uncompahgre Ute People to Utah, and one year after the Ute were forcibly removed from their ancestral land, San Miguel County split off from Ouray County and was made its own political subdivision in the newly-formed State of Colorado. In 1879, the ore-laden valley already had 50 people living in it, with a new narrow gauge railway only 2 miles away. By 1885, it was a town of 200 people. There was a hotel, a couple saloons, a pool hall. Winters were treacherous; the valley was and is prone to avalanches. But where there’s gold, there’s gumption. The power needed to run the stamp mill to process ore drove innovation. Timber was scarce at such high elevations, so a wood powered steam mill wouldn’t cut it. But the San Miguel River just a few miles down from the mine looked promising. Thus began the development and construction of the Ames Hydroelectric Generating Plant. It was a hit. In fact, it was so successful that the Ames Plant led to the adoption of alternating currents at Niagara Falls and eventually to being adopted worldwide as a viable power solution. The plant remains, but the gold rush obviously didn’t. By 1940, the U.S. Census declared this little town I call home as tied for the lowest population in the country: 2 people. By 1960, it was one of four incorporated towns in the U.S. with no residents. But the joke was on the Census — the town’s single resident was just out of town the day the census came through. 1960 population: 1. By 1980 the population grew to 38, 69 in 1990, and about 180 now. (Plus 51 dogs according to the town’s website.) With modern amenities, it’s easier to be here. Studded snow tires, satellite internet, solar panels, instant coffee. No matter the hardships, there’s the reality of the present. In the 1880s, as the town boomed, the Ouray Times declared, “it will be at no distant day a far more pretentious town than it is now.” That day hasn’t exactly arrived, but I guess it depends on what you consider pretentious. I don’t think the town claims any airs of excellence beyond what’s true. In fact, the town hardly claims anything at all. There’s no sign indicating it’s even here. There’s just the old side and the new side. The new side, the Eastern half, was drawn out in the early 1990s, some 100 years later, and is separated from the Old Town by an avalanche zone—preserved open space for hiking in the summer, preserved open space for surviving in the winter. The town forbids short-term rentals, no one has a fence, dogs roam free, and all the houses have that cabin look to them. A boulder nests in a grove near a trailhead in the center of town with a plaque paying respect to the Utes who called this valley home. There’s no industry here. No businesses allowed. If you want a $7 latte, you can drive the 14 miles required to get it, assuming there’s not an avalanche blocking your path. You can, however, buy a pink lemonade in a

solo cup at the permanent lemonade stand run by the local feral child mafia. Crystals (rocks) can be purchased for an additional cost. We bought one, hoping to buy favor at the same time. The town plan has a few guiding principles, and it’s all in the name of preservation. We must preserve: 1 - the quiet atmosphere 2 - the rustic character 3 - the natural setting

And finally: 4 - protect the health and wellbeing of the people here No snowmobiles, no ATVs, no drones. In fact, the only sign of the outside world here are the passers-through. When you take the dirt road through town to the end, you enter National Forest, and you can hike over the pass saddle at nearly 12,000 feet before descending down the other side into Silverton. The pass road climbs rutted through an aspen forest before scaling across a scree field and then lurching over to the other side. Every day, it seems like 30 or so Texans and Arizonans in lifted and loud Jeeps with unused mods climb over this mountain in the comfort of their air conditioning, simply to drive down the other side. You could hike it, ride it, run it, and ski it, but they don’t. They rev their engines, kicking up dust in a town of feral children and roaming dogs, staring at us instead of waving. I’ve lived here for two months and look how salty I am. I’ll fit in yet. But today, there is a temperature that whispers of perfect trails and the dwindling of ogglers driving 35 in a 15. It’s already snowed in the mountains we see from our kitchen. Today, like a dedication to the Septembers of our youth, you can feel a chill in the air. A temperature akin to pencils and sweaters and reinventing yourself. A temperature that doesn’t exactly sing “screen porch” but could if you had the right slippers on. That’s what I did this morning: put my slippers on and sat there in the cool mountain morning air, thinking about the cemetery behind our house, about the Ute tribe, about the miners, about the mailman who died on Christmas in 1875 on the pass, about the 5 people who died in avalanches here just last year, about the people in their cars on their phones driving through, and all the people who’s very first question to us was, “so are you gonna live here part-time or full-time?” Maybe it will be a hard place to live. But at least we’ll have a screen porch.

Every week I'm writing about moving to log cabin in a small town at 10,000 feet. Subscribe here for free: tinyletter.com/keltonwrites

#colorado #small town life #home renovation #amwriting #creative writing #newsletter #a little bit better

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tatertotthethot · 5 years ago

Text

The Doms Next Door 2.0

THIS IS A TEMPORARY REUPLOAD FOR THIS CHAPTER CUZ TUMBLR IS RAN BY A BUNCH OF BOTS. 2.1 HERE

Warnings/AN: frequent, casually cursing; comical, gay Jimin; insecure reader; steamy flirting; tattoo/sexualized Tae 🙃. Enjoy~ (TAEKOOK EDIT ABOVE IS ARTKOOK DONE BY NONCONMAN ON INSTAGRAM)

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Your tires came to a stop outside of the tattoo shop you've seen online— a brick building, covered in spray paint and street-style art. A sign buzzed over the awning of the entrance doors, with the built-in UV lights and graffiti-styled font displaying the name of the place in neon-red letters. Kink For Ink! The name alone was what first caught your attention last week, when you Googled "Tattoo shops near me" and it pulled up a list, with "Kink For Ink" being the first option. It just seemed so uncanny and fitting at the time, considering the previous run-in you just had with the sex-crazed neighbors a couple nights before. You couldn't help but to click the link to their Instagram.

A profile came up with 53.4k followers, which immediately blew your mind... but you quickly saw why. Every tattoo and piercing, no matter the body-placement, skin-type, or quirky design, was vividly appealing— certainly done by the articulate hands of certified experts. Even in the comments of the piercings that were posted, people were praising them for the "minimal" amount of pain they experienced, despite the fact that some of piercings were done in places you couldn't even fathom the thought of having a needle jammed through.

It said in the bio that the shop is owned by the two artists that work there— Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jungkook. You couldn't find out much about them, all their pictures showed was their work. You even went back to search for a personal account of their own, but nothing came up. You then went back to the bio and clicked a link to the official website, hoping to find out something, but you were met with a disclaimer rule at the top that automatically deemed your chances of even getting your piece done by them, slim-to-none.

• No walk-ins allowed.

• Every request/idea must be sent in through the DMs of our Instagram page. You will only be accepted only if it spikes our personal interests.

Yikes; You were instantly discouraged by this. The piece you wanted was something so common and cliché, that you actually got the image out of a child's coloring book.... It was the cartoon layout of the glass vase and enchanted rose, from the Beauty and the Beast movie. Cheesy, yes. But it was something of personal, nostalgic value. You remember when you were little— roughly around 3 or 4 years of age— when your parents started fighting and would spend all day screaming and throwing things at each other, putting you in a constant state of anxiety. But then you'd go to bed at night and pop the VHS tape, and the movie never failed to put you in a peaceful state of mind— a hopeful one. It's remained as your all-time favorite love story throughout the years. Which, is ironic, considering that the relationship itself was different, but almost as dysfunctional as your parent's. However, the fact that even the Beast was capable of change, and everything wound up so perfect and happy in the end, makes your heart happy. And even now, at age 19, it still puts you in your feelings. The previous remake of a movie is what actually inspired you to get the enchanted rose as a tattoo, after seeing it in 3D not too long ago. But you're only willing to shell out up to $200 for it, at most. You've just started college, and even though Jimin's parents own the house and let the two of you live there, rent free, you're still responsible for half the utility bills from month to month. Blowing every bit of money you have saved up, right at the start of the semester, would just be irresponsible. But $200 was manageable, and you're looking for anything that'll give you a little extra "oomph" to break you out of this introverted shell you've always known. Pushing it off would just delay it, and you were ready for change. The nose piercing you want is just a small little thing that'll hopefully add a bit of flare to the features of your face. These two guys could probably do the piercing/tattoo with a blindfold on and a hand tied behind their back. So, if it meant that you'd be able to get these things done in confidence, without having to worry about the outcome, you figured it wouldn't hurt for you to at least ask, even if they straight-up ignore you. So, after spending an unnecessary amount of time overthinking the wording of your text, you finally constructed a message in your notes and DM'd it to business page, after sending them a small, simple outline of the cartoony rose, and pressed send.

• You: Hello! I've been wanting to get this tattoo done for a very while now, and was hoping one of you will be willing to do it for me... along with piercing my nose? I know it's a very mediocre and cliché piece, and a nose piercing can be done anywhere. But I'm new to the area and I've never gotten a tattoo/piercing done before and I haven't really checked out any other places either because I found this page first. And from what I can see, you guys are pretty efficient and CRAZY talented. So, I trust it'll get done right.... only if you want to! I'm willing to pay $200 for this, but if it costs that much for just the outline I've sent then that's fine as well. But I understand if neither of you want to do it cuz that is really cheap compared to the ones I've seen lol. But either way, thx for ur time 😁

A few minutes went by and you had just unlocked your phone to check the message again, when the word "seen" popped below the message. You held your breath for a second— but seconds turned to minutes, and time went by with no reply, what-so-ever. You figured maybe you sounded a little too immature to take seriously; kind of like a prepubescent 12-year-old asking someone out for a dance... and you blew it. Which was disappointing, but predictable. So fuck it. Maybe it's a sign; you shouldn't get it after all.

11pm rolled around, many hours later. You were now hiding beneath your covers, beginning your "amateur threesome" exploration on PornHub. You were ready to see what this whole "2 guys, 1 girl" thing was all about. But just when you were about to type it into the search bar, you were interrupted by an Instagram notification dropping down from the top of your screen.

"KinkForInk sent you a message."

You audibly gasped, eyes turning to saucers as you clicked on the notif and switched over to the Instagram app.

• KinkForInk: Hi (Y/N). This is Tae, one of the artists of the shop. The tattoo you sent in is worth roughly $100... but I want to run an offer by you in hopes that you'll be interested.

— Your brows scrunched in oddity, stomach fluttering. An offer? For you?

• You: Okay, sure. What's that?

• KinkForInk: I've been looking for someone willing to showcase the custom design I've come up with, specifically for a much more... exclusive version of the Beauty and the Beast tattoo you sent. And if you'd be down for letting me and my partner put it on you, it'll be free. No charge. BUT you'll also have to sign a contract saying that you'll do a little bit of modeling for us once it's done. You think you'd be in to doing something like that, even if you get it?

— Your head spun for a second, reading the message over and over again until you could fully wrap your mind around what he was saying.

• You: Hold on... YOU wanna put a tattoo on ME so that I model for you? And it's FREE? Are you sure about this? I'm not even model material lol.

• KinkForInk: Yes, yes, and yes, you are. You'd be perfect for this.

• You: How do know that? Is it a face tattoo? Cuz I only have 6 selfies on here and you can't see anything past my shoulders.

—"Seen" came up as soon as you hit send, but a couple of minutes rolled by with no reply to the message, nor was he even typing. Maybe you came off a little rude. But it was already sketchy and it was a logical question.

— An image suddenly popped up: a screenshot of your Facebook profile. Then another— and much to your horror, it was the photo Jimin tagged you in last week, when the two of you were swimming at a local community pool. You were wearing a simple two piece, sitting at the foot of the lawn chair Jimin was also sitting in, as his legs were visible on either side of you and his lap was practically framing your ass. The photo was at an upward angle and looked so scandalous— but really, you had just asked Jimin to put sun screen on your back and he didn't want to stand up because the pavement was too hot against his bare feet. But you actually liked the picture at the time; it was just a silly joke and your ass actually looked quite nice from that angle. Plus, everyone knows nothing sexual actually goes on between the two of you, for obvious reasons. But Taehyung doesn't, so you couldn't help but dreadfully cringe when you saw the caption of the screen shot.

"Babymama 💦🍆"

• KinkForInk: Is this you??

• You: Yes, that's me. The caption is a joke tho... pay no mind to that. But this is like, really happening? You really think it'd look good on me?

— Why that picture though? You couldn't help but wonder.

• KinkForInk: Yes. Like I said, you're perfect for this piece. Are you down to at least see what the tattoo will look like? We don't expect you to be experienced with modeling or anything, but if you listen to us and cooperate, you'll do just fine.

• You: Yes I wanna see, and I'll do the best I can if I decide to get it... I'm just a bit shy, is all.

• KinkForInk: You'll be in good hands. I promise.

• You: Okay... are you going to show me??

• KinkForInk: Can't send it over a message, I don't want it plagiarized or the concept stolen. But the piece itself isn't necessarily crazy or anything, just more creative. I'd be more than happy to show you at my shop some day this week, if you'd be willing to swing by.

• You: Yeah, I can do that. When should I come?

• KinkForInk: Are you available after 5 tomorrow?

• You: I am, I get off at 4:30.

• KinkForInk: Great. Be here by 5:30, and make sure you've eaten in case you like the piece and wanna get started. It's pretty big for a first timer and gonna take a lot of time and patience. It'll have to be done in sessions but I hope you have a fair enough pain tolerance to at least get the outline of it done first.

— It can't be any worse than a bikini wax, you thought, shivering at the memory. That a story for another time. You decided on an alternative scenario.

• You: I give blood from time to time... but that's easy and doesn't really hurt that much. I think I can handle it though... maybe. I honestly don't know lol, I'm sorry 😣. But I can try my best. Can I ask where it's supposed to go?

• KinkForInk: That's okay, I'll work with you. It's supposed to go down the middle of your back. Starts between the center of your shoulder blades, and trails down the length of your spine to your lower lumbar. You'll see how it looks once we transfer a template on your back. But if you don't like it, there will be no hard feelings from my end. I can still do the tattoo you want if that's the case, free of charge just for your time.

• You: Oh no, you don't have to do that! I'd still pay!

• KinkForInk: Not if I don't accept your money. Trust me, I'm not worried about it. The nose piercing is gonna be $30 regardless, though. JK isn't so lenient.

• You: Of course. Will I have to take my shirt and bra off for the tattoo?

• KinkForInk: Yes, and for the pictures once it's done.

— Your mind blanked at that; thumbs froze over the keypad. He was typing again.

• KinkForInk: Don't let that discourage you. Again, you're in good hands. You can bring something to cover your chest. And the pics will be if your back as well.

• You: Okay, I can handle that. So 5:30 tomorrow?

• KinkForInk: Yes, please don't flake on us!

• You: Lol, I won't. I'll be there.

"They're gonna knock us the fuck out and sell our organs to the black market," Jimin declared. He had parked next to you outside of the shop, and was now sitting in the driver seat of his car with his door locked and windows all the way up, refusing to get out. You were standing right outside his door, still having to talk on the phone. "And is this Tae-guy an AllState representative or something?"

Jimin is petty. You wanted him here for moral support— which he's usually reliable for— but this time, he's just plain salty right and doing everything he can to remind you of that. Reason is, he's been begging you to get a matching tattoo with him ever since your 18th birthday, and you've always refused because of what he wanted to get.

Cupcakes. Jimin wanted to get matching cupcake tattoos... in honor of Cupcakke the legend. Sorry, but H E L L no.

You rolled your eyes, growing frustrated. He only has enough time to pop in and confirm that these two aren't gonna kill you, and then he's gotta head home to get ready for work. You were already supposed to be in there. It was 5:33pm, 3 minutes past the time.

"Jimin, you're the one that insisted on coming along! And now you're making me late!" you ranted. "I'm going in without you."

"Hold your horses, hoe! I'm finishing my blueberry slushie," He retorted, sassily bringing the straw to his mouth and loudly slurping it into the phone. He then abruptly flinched away from the straw with a disgusted expression, nostrils flared, body locking up; lips drawing into an air-tight knot that was so extreme and unnatural, it caused an ugly snort to break out of your nose.

He smacked his lips in exaggeration to the taste, face falling back into stone as an eyebrow arched over the top of his aviators; unamused and saltier than before... Like you were at fault for that, too.

"Or... Blueberry-ass, I should say."

That forced another giggle out of you as Jimin stiffly rolled his window down, phone still pressed to his ear and eyes still scowling at you behind the inspector shades. He bit down on the straw and withdrew it with his teeth before dumping the dark-blue contents of the drink out of the window, making it a point to shake the styrofoam cup empty of every drop before tossing it over his shoulder and into back seat. He then spat the straw out of his mouth with an audible "PLUUUUH!" of a French accent, and waited until the window rolled all the way up again, just so he could hang up the phone. You scoffed at this as you shoved your phone back into your pocket, scornfully watching Jimin exit the car and slam the door behind him. He snatched his glasses off his face as his cotton-candy hair swayed in the breeze, revealing his scornful eyes right back at you as he gestured for you to lead the way in exasperated manner— as if you were the one wasting his time now.

"Go on, lead us to the grave," He shooed, a snippy little shit. You sauntered away, walking up the side of the shop, then paused just before reaching the glass entrance door, when you remembered how much of a coward you are. You've never even stepped into a parlor before, and supposedly, this was a famous one. Which makes it more and more surreal when you think about it.

"Are we doing the mannequin challenge now? Is that what we're doing?" Jimin sardonically inquired.

"You go first, I'm nervous!" You whisper-hissed.

"You don't want me to go in there first— I'll show out," he reasoned, simply stating a fact.

"Please don't," you whined.

"Then, again, I'll show out?" He reiterated, as if to say duh. "How else am I supposed to break the ice? I look like Timmy Turner's Fairy-Gay- Parent."

You gave him a wary look... he's right. You sighed, slightly kicking your foot in distracted defeat. Fuck, you hated making an entrance to new places—

"Hold up— is that Drake?" Jimin suddenly blurted, holding his hand up to silence you. You honed in on the muffled track playing from behind the glass door, and Jimin's face soon light up like a Christmas tree before he spun around you, unstoppable.

"Jimin, NO—!"

"KIKI, DO YOU LOVE ME—?!"

It was already too late. The door was flying back behind him as he Milly-Rocked his way into the shop, leaving you no choice but the chase in behind him.

"—ARE YOU RIDING? SAY YOU'LL NEVA-EVA LEAVE FROM BESIDE ME— hello there."

You were panting, coming to a stop right behind Jimin, where you instantly latched on to the back of his shirt as you met the face of the man behind the studio counter. And, as corny as this is gonna sound: the world actually stilled for a solid beat... or maybe you were in the verge of cardiac arrest.

A pair of glossy-Black eyes looked up at the two of you; A series of silver-studded earrings trailed along the outer cartilages, peaking out beneath a head of soft, layer-swept hair. It was a Carmel-tinted blonde in color— thick and shaggy, and neatly spilling in waves around a headband that proudly sported a high-dollar brand-name you've never seen anyone wear in person before. G U C C I, it read— Meaning that the headband alone was probably worth more than some of your college text books, put together. It sat just a few inches above a pair of dark brows, that oddly brought out the shape of his cat-like eyes— irises like polished marbles. His ample lips had a sharp, well-defined Cupid's-bow, and a natural shade of pink that fit the porcelain appearance of his melanin-kissed complexion, to the finest degree.

And here you are, looking like an actual bum. You had just enough time to clock out of work and head straight over here to make it in time. You didn't even have any makeup on, and the only thing hiding your raggedy hair from those captivating eyes is your old baseball cap from high school. It took a second for him to take the bold presence that was Park Jimin— who was also frozen to the spot as he openly checked the guy out. He was hunched over the counter, a v-neck hoodie covering the rest of him with a thin, loose-fitting material. It was Black and allowed a full visual of his tan neck, and prominent collar bones. And it certainly didn't hide the fact that he had a pair of wide-set shoulders, either. A pencil sat in his hand— one that was laced with masculine veins, and lot of decorative ink. There was a silver ring on his thumb.. and a very heavy-looking Rolex watch.

The man cracked a grin at Jimin— a boxy one that dimpled in at the corners.

"Love the hair," he humorously began, twisting a quirky eyebrow at Jimin. You subconsciously snagged the bill of your hat as your eyes went a little wide at how mature the man's voice was.

"Love the watch," Jimin retorted, then reached around and gripped you by the wrist before pulling you into full view beside him. "You wouldn't happen to be Taehyung...?"

"Mhm," the man hummed, absentmindedly moving his wrist at the mention of his watch. His eyes cut over to you, and you swore you could see a minuscule reflection of yourself in his eyes, before they flashed back at Jimin and blinked. "You must be the babydaddy?"

Blood rushes to your ears. It's really him... a guy who looks like a high-dollar model himself, asking you to be his canvas model. Your own conscious didn't even know what to say right now. So you stayed quiet and still as Jimin took charge... which was a mistake.

"She wishes, but no. I'm the best-friend— and a gay one, at that," Jimin replied, and you knew he did that for his benefit. Thot. "I'm just here to make sure you're not gonna sacrifice her to Satan, or anything of that nature. I need her around in case I ever forget the Netflix password."

Taehyung chuckled at that, mouth opening to reveal a row of teeth shinier than Chip Skylark's. But then, you caught something behind his teeth that caused your gut to leap. A silver ball... a tongue ring. Your thoughts clouded over for a second.

"Well, I can assure you, she's safe with me," he said, looking over at you again. You blinked, nothing more. His brow arched at your lack of response, but this time, it was done more handsomely as he was still smirking at you. "Still, you don't look too thrilled to be here... You sure you wanna do this?"

"She's just nervous because you're really fucking hot," Jimin announced, unyielding. "You should feel how sweaty her hand is."

"Don't listen to him— I'm gay too," You lied in panic, trying to defend yourself from the absolute truth Jimin spoke just then. You snatched your hand away from him and jutted a finger at the door, eyes beading and lid twitching as your nerves ran amuck. "Goodbye, Jimin."

"She's a lonesome hetero," Jimin told Taehyung, assuring him with a face that showed no bluff. "One look at her camera roll, and you'd see for yourself—" You were yanking him away by the arm now, in a tug-of-war game that Jimin obviously could've won if he really wanted to. But he figured you suffered enough and eventually let you drag him out of the shop, waving bye to Taehyung before turning to look at you with beading eyes.

"I think he wants to fuck you— text me as soon as you can," Jimin uttered with unmoving lips as before he walked to his car. You stopped for a second, noticing he was actually being serious. How could he possibly think that he wants to fuck you, just from that small encounter? And what is the odd sensation currently coiling in your stomach? Things grew awkward again when you re-entered the shop, coming to a stand at the same spot... only alone now. He was still amused, it seemed. And so calm and cool despite this odd, intense look in his eyes. It gave him a Casanova effect, where all he had to do was give you that look and it'd instantly make you blush.

"He seems like a fun person to be around," he noted, somewhat honestly, but more so making fun of the red-hot appearance of your face.

"He's a pain in the ass," you muttered, trying to conjure up a smirk but hardly even able to speak properly from how dry your mouth was. It felt like there was a white-hot iron expanding in your throat. "I'm really sorry about him."

"Don't be. I'm just glad you're here— thought you'd chicken out." You nervously wiped your clammy palms over the back pockets of your jeans as Taehyung got up from the barstool behind the counter and approached you on the other side of it, a whole head-and-a-half taller than you. He was wearing black cardigan jeans and matching combat boots.. his headband and jewelry the only thing not black on him. And oddly enough, he made it look fucking fantastic.

"Mh-mm," You hummed, not trusting your voice. You've never needed a sip of water so bad in your life— he even smelled expensive.

"Well, It's very nice to meet you," he formerly began, and you mustered up the normality of placing your (dried) hand into his much larger one, as he held his out to you in greeting. And boy, was he close. So close that the heels of your spine itches to lean back from the proximity.

"It's nice to meet you, too. I'm really sorry if I'm acting weird. I'm just nervous." — Your mind struggled to stay focused on your words, arm tensing at the skin-to-skin contact. You were extra-effected by the firmness in his grip. You really wanted to look down at all the bold ink you saw dashing across the veiny surface of his tanned hand, or see if those were images or scripted letters on the knuckles of lengthy fingers... But you were held captive by those God-blessed eyes... And that fucking tongue ring. It was infecting your head in ways that weren't necessarily healthy for your current state of mind, as you saw it peering in and out at certain words.

"And physically shaking," Taehyung pointed out, brows twitching down at your trembling hand in his as if he was concerned for it. But his smirk gave off an odd sense of fascination to the involuntary symptom, like it was cute or something? Hm. He glanced back up at you, causing your dehydrated throat to bob as his other hand came to clasp over the rest of yours, swallowing it completely from the wrist down. "Intimidated?"

"V-Very," you spluttered, a small slither of saliva copulating down your throat as you looked back up at him. He absentmindedly rolled his tongue ring over the button row of his teeth as he watched you with tainted eyes— undoubtably getting cocky with that damn grin of his and proudly teasing you about your reaction to him. It gratified the effortless sex-appeal he had. You were even beginning to imagine that tongue ring elsewhere, and you literally just met him. Then, as you felt the band of a ring move along with the pad of his thumb as gently ran it across your trembly knuckles, chills shot up all the way to your shoulder. Oh... oh wow. You glanced down at his knuckles on reflex this time, and saw a four-letter word scripted in black ink across the bottom row of his knuckles, and another word scripted on the middle section of his fingers. A silver band on his naked thumb. STAY TRUE, it said.

"And why's that?"

"I.. feel like you're a celebrity," you sheepishly admitted, your other hand wedging into your back pocket as you had to stop yourself from reaching for the bill of your hat again. Is he flirting? The words seem too innocent for the way he was making you feel. It was getting so hot in the oven of his massive palms, and he wasn't even squeezing you hard enough to cut off any circulation, but yet your fingers were beginning to tingle.

"Mm, no. Just a little popular, really," he granted, teetering his head a little as he pondered the thought. You could see his vocal chords contract in his sleek neck as they project his smooth, pungent voice. "You still trust me?"

"Mhm," was all you could muster. He'd gotten even closer, to where his hand had gone into a prayer stance around yours. You were aware of how wide your eyes had gone from the awe you... you knew this was just the beginning. He was going to be very handsy throughout this whole process. But in a very twisted way, you were more than okay with that. Even if it meant you were at risk of fainting from actual dehydration. Maybe you were in over your head. But you couldn't will yourself away from this now. And then, just as a wide, heart-stopping smile edged out on that mind-numbingly handsome face, the door at that back of the room swung open, and heavy-metal rock blasted through the quiet vibe of the scenery and caused you to jump a little at the disturbance. Taehyung shot a wicked smile over his shoulder, and his next words nearly knocked you out right then and there as you beheld yet another, breathtaking sight.

"Oh, there you are," Tae eagerly acknowledged, one hand still holding yours as he walked around to grab your with the other, presenting you to the.. hulking presence in the room. "This is (Y/N), our next little experiment."

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juju-on-that-yeet · 3 years ago

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Recovery

Whumptober Day 31: Today’s Special: Torture Prompt: Experiment

Although the egos finally have Oliver back from Enigma Data, they’re forced to keep him in The Cell as he still has no memory of his old life or relationships. When memory backups fail, Bim offers his magic as one last hope. (cont. from “From Dusk till Dawn”)

Warnings: None (this is barely whump tbh, I took the prompt in a very not-torture direction sakjfhsdjfsdk)

Read on AO3 (Full Whumptober Series)

Enjoy!

It’s still late at night when Dark, Wilford, and the Googles return to Ego Inc., so late it’s almost morning. But despite the hour, a few egos have stayed awake to see how the rescue mission went. The moment the leaders and Googles come through the door, the group rushes to them, eyes on Chrome, still supported by Plus, and on Oliver, still unconscious in Google’s arms.

Dr. Iplier is one of the egos who waited up, but he hangs back as the others approach the Googles. His main purpose was to make sure Dark and Wilford didn’t get maimed on the rescue mission, and after seeing them both no worse for wear, is much calmer than the other egos he’s been waiting with. He doesn’t leave, though, looking at Oliver and Chrome with some worry.

Yandereplier and Yancy are there, too, and Yandere nearly knocks Chrome over from the force of his tackle-hug. Yancy is calmer, but not by much, giving Chrome a forceful embrace of his own. Neither is deterred by Plus, who scolds them both to be careful. Chrome, though, reacts with only mild surprise, and makes no move to hug them back. His brows furrow, like he knows he should recognize the two people hugging him. Yandere notices the lack of response first.

“Aka-kun?” he asks, pulling away. He lifts his hands, cups Chrome’s cheek. He can feel the parts where Chrome’s skin has worn away from tears, feel the metal now at the surface. “You didn’t forget me, did you?”

“You…” Chrome murmurs, still thinking hard, “I don’t remember your name, and you don’t look familiar, but something…” He lifts a hand to cover one of Yandere’s. “Something feels right. You’re my friend, aren’t you?” He looks at Yancy. “You both are.”

It’s both everything Yandere and Yancy wanted to hear, and none of it. Chrome speaks the words in a faraway fashion, knowing what he says is true despite lacking the memories to back it up. That lack shows in his eyes, which still fail to flicker in recognition, still fail to capture Chrome’s normal personality and love for his friends. Yandere and Yancy both notice, Yandere especially.

“Yeah, I am,” Yandere manages, before bursting into bittersweet tears. Yancy doesn’t cry, but he looks like he wants to.

Meanwhile Bim, the final person who stayed up waiting, beelines for Oliver the moment Google steps through Ego Inc.’s threshold.

“Ollie,” Bim gasps, tears already in his eyes as he rushes to his side, reaching out a tentative hand to stroke his hair. “Oh sunshine, sunflower, I missed you so much–!”

He kisses Oliver’s cheeks over and over, free hand grabbing one of Oliver’s to hold. Google stands stoically, allowing Bim to fret and weep over Oliver. Bim completely ignores Google for a good minute, until he notices the charred spot on Oliver’s neck.

“Wh-what happened to his neck?” he asks Google, still sniffling.

“Plus used an Enigma Data taser to…incapacitate him,” Google says carefully. Seeing Bim’s shocked expression, he continues, “Oliver had no memory of myself or any of us. His only goal was to kill me, and he might have succeeded had Plus not stopped him.”

“Oh,” Bim mumbles, going quiet with thought.

One thing is clear, not just to Bim but to all the egos in the room: Just because Oliver and Chrome are back in Ego Inc., it doesn’t mean that this ordeal is over.

~~~

Less than a week later, Google is in the control room, staring at a set of screens. The data in them would take a human hours to read and days to fully analyze, but Google has practically memorized every line of code already. The data isn’t from a project, a piece of tech, a website, or even from his own coding.

It’s a snapshot of Oliver’s mind and all the data inside, every line down to the last character. But none of it is normal. His time with Enigma Data, all the ways they fiddled with his hardware and software, have mangled each line beyond recognition. It’s a wonder Oliver can still walk, or talk, or do anything at all without suffering catastrophic errors.

Chrome’s mind wasn’t nearly so complicated. It was in the process of being changed, but all he needed was a data backup to clean up the bad code and restore the memories he’d forgotten. He woke up after the backup with his full memory back, including the time he spent at Enigma Data after being taken. He remembers, still, how it felt to watch a lifetime of memories nearly slip through his hands like water, how it felt to look at his loved ones and barely recognize them, how it felt to see their grief and feel almost nothing. Despite how his experience has hurt him, his injuries are healed and his personality is restored, and he’s gone back to living his life as normal.

But Oliver is a different story.

The data backup didn’t work on him, which is why Google looked into Oliver’s data in the first place. He and his brothers tried to untangle the mess inside Oliver’s head, but it proved too huge even for them to tackle. It’s not just the software, not just the code that’s bad, but the hardware, too. Screws are missing, wires are crossed, plates and nodes have been removed and put back in the wrong places. Chrome had had a few hardware issues too, but nothing on this level, nothing so pervasive. Even if they could stand to wait the weeks it would take to get the missing parts Oliver needs, even if they could stand to spend months replacing all the broken parts and fixing the broken code, they can’t do it without risking Oliver’s death. His brain is a precarious Jenga puzzle; one wrong move and the whole thing will come crashing down. Infuriatingly, if Oliver were to die, if he came back afterwards, his mind would likely be perfectly fine once he woke (if he woke). That’s how returning from the dead works for egos; it would do no good if they came back still sporting the injury that killed them. Google, of course, refuses to entertain that thought, to consider the possibility of Oliver dying, and his brothers feel the same. They’ve gone so far to get Oliver back, and they aren’t giving up on him now.

But their options are shrinking by the day. Plus suggests they try reconnecting Oliver to the network before the backup, instead of after like they did with Chrome. That fails. Chrome suggests inserting only a few core memories, in hopes that they can help rebuild faulty neuron connections and allow the rest of the memories to be returned. That fails. Google pores over Oliver’s twisted data, looking for a way to fix it, as he and his brothers try to brainstorm other solutions. They all fail, and by now, even their superpowered intelligence is struggling to give them any more ideas. After days of working, thinking, and reading code 24/7, even while charging, the well is drying up, and Oliver remains out of reach.

Google finally closes out of the files, copied from the last time they had Oliver shut down on the workshop table, and leaves the control room to clear his head. He shouldn’t need to, being a genius android, but somehow he feels the need.

It figures that his feet lead him into Ego Inc.’s basement, where The Cell sits, where Oliver currently resides.

Google built The Cell himself a long time ago. Dark wanted a place to keep egos that were volatile, dangerous, at risk of hurting others or themselves. His own void works for short stints, but he felt that a place to keep an ego long-term was necessary as well. It’s been used rarely, but now, it’s where Oliver spends all his time. He was put there before he woke from being tased, and as much as Google hates to admit it, it was a good thing that he was. Because the moment he woke up, he tried to break free to finish what he started with Google and get back to Enigma Data. He can’t be trusted not to hurt the other egos or run away, so for now, Google’s little brother is stuck in this tiny prison.

When Google goes to him today, he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor. He regards Google with a poisonous glare, but doesn’t bother standing. The mark on his neck is gone, having been fixed even before Google’s many injuries were addressed. He’s given up trying to brute-force his way out of his prison, and Google imagines that he’s going through a process similar to Google’s own. Just as Google’s spent these past days going through Oliver’s coding for ways to get him back to normal, Oliver must be puzzling over how to escape his imprisonment, going over every possible escape route, analyzing the inside of his room and looking for weak spots. They’ve each reached a block and are now at a stalemate, and neither know what their next move should be.

Google had known that taking Oliver home wouldn’t solve everything immediately, but he hadn’t known it would be this hard.

Despite being so embroiled in his thoughts, he still notices the sudden sound of footsteps descending the stairs to the basement. Just by the sound of the shoes (fancy dress shoes), he knows exactly who it is that’s come to see Oliver. He isn’t surprised when Bim approaches and comes to stand next to Google.

“Hey,” he says weakly. He can’t manage a smile in greeting, and Google doesn’t blame him. The bags under his eyes are pronounced, his face is pale, and his hair is rumpled instead of meticulously gelled back. He hardly looks at Google, staring at Oliver like he hopes to see recognition on his face. Instead, he receives nothing but Oliver’s cold, indifferent stare.

“Why are you down here?” Google asks Bim. “Nothing has changed, surely you know that.”

“I could say the same to you,” Bim says wryly, finally looking at Google.

“I’ve been staring at his code for hours now,” Google replies, “I needed to step away for a moment.”

“Is it helping?” Bim asks, only a little sarcastic.

“No,” Google answers. He pauses. “I knew it wouldn’t.”

“What else is left to do?” Bim asks him sadly, “I don’t know what you guys have tried, but you’ve tried a lot of things, right? So…”

Part of Google doesn’t want to tell Bim what's been plaguing his thoughts these past days, but he knows he owes something to Bim, that Bim deserves to know what’s happening. Google usually finds Bim pretty annoying, but despite that, Google can’t ignore how much Bim loves Oliver and how good he’s been to him since they got together. Bim should know, at least, how much Google and his brothers have tried.

“We have,” Google says, “Every method we thought of, we tried, and none of it has worked. The code and hardware are so damaged that they can’t accept the memory files, and the internal structure is too precarious to fix by hand. We’re brainstorming new things to try right now.”

A long pause as Bim thinks.

“What happens if you can’t fix him?” Bim asks.

“We will fix him,” Google says sharply, “We won’t stop trying until we do.”

“I’ve never seen it take you guys this long to solve a problem,” Bim mumbles, “Even when it was just you here, I’ve never seen you have to try this hard to fix something. If it’s this bad, maybe the only way to fix the code is to…” Bim sighs, shaky, and it takes him several long moments to give voice to his thoughts. “…is to give it the chance to fix itself.”

“No,” Google growls, stepping towards Bim threateningly, glaring down at him with bright, angry blue eyes. “That is not happening, and you’re lucky I don’t snap your neck for suggesting it.”

“Like you haven’t thought about it, too!” Bim counters, eyes blazing with his own anger. “You’re a super-smart android, there’s no way it never crosses your mind!”

“We’re not doing that, never in a million years,” Google mutters, voice steely.

“Then what will you do!?” Bim shouts, “What else is there?? If everything in his brain is twisted up too much to pull apart, then what–” He gasps, stopping short.

“What?” Google mutters.

“I just–” Bim says, suddenly so deep in thought that he cuts himself off again. “Maybe…pull apart…I thought of something. Something that could fix Oliver.”

“Hm,” Google says. He doubts Bim could’ve thought of anything that Google and his brothers haven’t already, but he decides to hear him out.

“I could fix Oliver!” Bim exclaims, “I could use my powers to put his brain back to normal!”

There’s a long pause. Bim stares at Google expectantly, grinning widely. Google stares back, unimpressed.

“That’s moronic.”

“Oh, come on, hear me out!” Bim whines, now frowning. “Look, my powers allow me to pull things apart and combine things together, right? Who’s to say I can’t pull apart all the twisted wires and stuff in Oliver’s head and put everything back together how it should be?”

“You don’t know the first thing about our mechanics,” Google snaps, “How would you know what pieces belong where?”

“I don’t have to know,” Bim says, “I just feel it. That’s what I do whenever Anti gets inside one of your heads.”

“That’s not the same,” Google mutters, “And every time you’ve tried to use your powers for something not related to Anti, it’s backfired completely. Didn’t you almost kill Eric trying to fix his broken arm? How can I trust you inside my brother’s head??”

“It is the same!” Bim protests, “Anti’s as technological as you guys are. Whenever he’s in there he makes himself a part of your brain. Yet I can always pull him out, because I can feel the difference, I can just feel what belongs and what doesn’t. This won’t be like Eric’s arm, I know it won’t.” He looks at Google, eyes bright and glimmering with emotion – and determination. “You know I love Oliver. You know I wouldn’t do this if I thought I would hurt him. I can fix this, I know it. And what other choice do we have? This is the only thing you haven’t tried. If I’m wrong you can say so, but you basically told me yourself that you’re out of ideas.” Bim sighs. “Let me do this. Let me help him.”

Google glares at Bim, though his mind churns with the possibility. He doesn’t trust Bim’s control over his powers, he fears what a single error on Bim’s part could do to Oliver. At the same time, he has to admit that Bim is right on one thing: they’re virtually out of options. There’s no ideas left but this. And if Bim is right about his description of dealing with Anti, then maybe fixing Oliver’s head isn’t so far removed. Maybe there’s a chance. Maybe it’s the only chance.

“…I need to discuss with the others,” Google finally says.

“So you’re on board?”

“I’m tentatively considering it. I’m not making any promises.”

“Good enough, I guess, coming from you.”

The whole time, the whole conversation, Oliver himself watches the pair through the walls of The Cell, silent and glowering.

~~~

Bim expects the younger Googles to push back against his suggestion, and while they do, they don’t protest as much as Bim thought they would. It turns out that they’re tired, too, their optimism has also run dry, and they’re willing to do anything at this point. That doesn’t mean they aren’t afraid, though. That doesn’t mean Google isn’t worried. Bim can see it clearly, despite how much they try to hide it under cool stoicism.

For one thing, they insist on being there when Bim goes into Oliver’s head, standing on one side of the room, eyes trained on Oliver’s still form on a workshop stretcher. They’ve shut him down to prevent him from trying to escape or hurt them, and it kills Bim to see him like this, knowing how little of his love is there now.

But Oliver’s not all gone. He’s in there somewhere, the memories are just waiting to be unlocked, and Bim is the one who will unlock them. His words to Google weren’t empty bravado, he knows he can do this. Oliver’s backed up memories, the ones from before his capture, sit in a deceptively tiny USB drive laid beside him on the stretcher. It’s a more powerful USB than any human could get their hands on, storing terabytes of data, Oliver’s every thought and experience. It’s only a copy, of course; Oliver’s memories are on the control room’s main supercomputer, too. But Bim can hardly believe it, that before him in this tiny object is everything that makes the man he loves who he is, and in turn, every detail of Bim’s relationship with Oliver, even the little things his own human mind has forgotten.

It’s all here, laid bare, ready for Bim to put together.

He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, lays a hand on Oliver’s forehead, and begins.

At first, he can’t detect much at all. It’s harder to start when there’s nothing concrete to start from. With Anti’s takeovers, he can immediately pick out Anti’s unwanted presence among the neurons. With Eric’s arm, he could instantly find the break in the bone. The anomalies were obvious and clear. But Oliver’s mind right now is one huge anomaly, and for a few moments, Bim can hardly tell what’s what among the connections and wires and neurons that fill his mind’s eye, the vision his magic grants him.

But Bim doesn’t let himself get discouraged, and after a few moments, errors become clear. He can see twisted wires, see misfiring neurons, see the flaws in both hardware and software. And once he sees the flaws, he can start to fix them. He starts slow, untangling and straightening wires carefully, pulling together separated connections cautiously, aware that a wrong move could be disastrous. The Googles, as intelligent and meticulous as they are, could never have done this without tripping a wrong wire or nudging a faulty plate. As he works, he can see data alerts, the same things Oliver would see if he was awake. Bim can hardly comprehend them, but he doesn’t need to. He has his instincts and magic to guide him through the maze of Oliver’s mind.

The more Bim does, the easier it gets. He starts addressing multiple components at once, pulling apart twisted data and pulling together frayed edges, hitting his stride in Oliver’s mind. He finally moves on to the tougher fixes, the ones that are more than just wires. He unscrews and transfers the plates that are in the wrong spot and puts them where his instincts say they go. He pulls data chips out of cracks and slots them where they belong, pulling the unneeded cracks back together afterwards. The error message gets shorter and shorter, the listed problems become fewer and fewer. Bim has no idea how much time is passing, and he hardly cares. All he knows is that he’s getting closer.

Finally, there’s nothing more Bim can do. There’s parts of hardware that are beyond Bim’s ability to fix. Things like missing screws can’t be replaced; Bim can’t make them appear from thin air, and he of course can’t take them from elsewhere in Olvier’s head.

He can only hope that what he’s done so far is enough to make Oliver’s brain accept a memory backup.

He opens his eyes again for the first time in what could be minutes or hours. The three Googles stare at him expectantly, waiting for Bim’s word. Instead of speaking, Bim looks down at the USB, the little chip that contains his boyfriend. He picks it up with the hand not on Oliver’s forehead and shuts his eyes again, preparing to combine. Combine the contents of the USB with the mind in which they belong.

His eyes fly open again involuntarily, and he gasps. The Googles all startle, taking a step forward, but Bim shakes his head, signaling that he doesn’t need their help. The Googles stop, still wary, but Bim hardly notices.

His mind is being flooded with memory.

As he puts together the data on the USB and the near-empty storage space in Oliver’s mind, his own mind becomes the conduit through which each memory passes on its way to be combined. It’s too fast for Bim to keep track of, too advanced for his human mind to process. All the details of every memory, the details Oliver could see and feel and hear that Bim can’t, all of them wash over Bim as he directs the flow of memories into their proper place. Though he can’t perceive much of these memories, he can catch glimpses of details. What the sunset looked like to Oliver. What his favorite song sounded like to his advanced auditory system. The burst of joy that went through him whenever he saw one of his brothers. How Bim’s hand, the same one that rests on his forehead now, felt in his own. Bim could cry and laugh in equal parts at how these bits of Oliver’s memory make him feel, and maybe he would if he weren’t so focused on making sure each memory finds its proper place in Oliver’s mind.

After what could’ve been a hundred years or only a moment, the USB runs empty, and Bim has nothing more to combine, nothing more to separate, nothing more to fix. Aside from those tiny bits of hardware that the Googles will have to repair, Oliver is complete. At least, it appears that way. Bim won’t know, none of them will know, until Oliver wakes, if he wakes. He should, once Bim lets him go.

Bim blinks the lingering images of Oliver’s memory out of his eyes, lets the USB fall out of his hand onto the stretcher. He feels exhausted now, yet his hand still rests on Oliver’s forehead. He’s afraid of what will happen when he leaves Oliver’s mind. But everything felt right, everything he did felt good, it all worked out like he’d known it would. He can only hope he wasn’t deceived by his own overconfidence.

Carefully, shakily, Bim removes his hand from Oliver’s forehead. The other Googles peer closer from their spot across the room, expressions severe yet hopeful. The tension in the air is thick enough to choke.

After a moment, Oliver’s eyes open.

“Ollie,” Bim whispers, though he’s still too nervous to smile.

Oliver sits up, rubs his head with one hand. His face is confused, distant, but as seconds pass, it becomes more shocked, more anxious, more full of Oliver’s characteristic expressiveness.

“Ollie?” Bim repeats, questioning this time. Oliver looks at him.

“Bim?” he asks, voice shaky, eyes filling with tears.

“Yeah,” Bim whispers, already about to cry. He reaches out to touch Oliver’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “I’m here, Ollie. You’re okay.”

Oliver’s face crumples, and he hugs Bim tight, so forcefully he lifts him a full foot off the ground. Bim hardly notices, letting his feet dangle as he hugs Oliver back, comforting him as he sobs with relief and guilt.

“I f-forgot everything,” Oliver wails, “I forgot about you–”

“It’s okay, sunshine,” Bim soothes, crying nearly as hard, “You’re okay, I love you–”

That’s when Bim hears the rapid footsteps of the Googles approaching. Oliver hears them too, and gently puts Bim down as his brothers swarm him, wrapping him up in a many-armed embrace. Bim steps back, wiping tears off his face and allowing the four brothers to reconnect. The other Googles don’t cry (maybe they would if Bim weren’t in the room), but emotion is still clear in their faces.

“Red,” Oliver gasps at the sight of Chrome, “Red, oh my god, I’m s-so sorry, I’m so so sorry–”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Chrome tells him, voice tight as he hugs Oliver.

“Blue, y-you too, I hurt you,” Oliver sobs, “I hurt you b-both, and Yancy and Y-Yandere, I’m sorry–”

“They’re fine, we all are,” Google murmurs into Oliver’s hair, “Chrome and I are okay, Yancy and Yandere are alive and well.” He kisses the top of Oliver’s head. “What matters now is that we have you back.”

“We missed you,” Plus whimpered, the Google closest to tears aside from Oliver. “We’re sorry it took us so long to find you.”

The conversation goes much the same way for a while, apology after apology being given and refuted by Oliver and the other Googles. Oliver stays sitting on the stretcher, surrounded by his brothers as they soothe him, and Bim stands apart, though he doesn’t mind it. He looks on with joy, relief, and more than a little pride knowing that this was his doing, that he was the one who was able to save Oliver.

At long last, this ordeal is finally behind them, and all is right in Ego Inc. again.

#markiplier fanfiction #bim trimmer #googleplier #google oliver #my writing #fanfic #markiplier #kristin says stuff #whumptober2020 #AT LONG LAST IS FUKKIN RIGHT #now i can get back to unravel 👀

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delaixplaysgames · 4 years ago

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Gift Cards (Minagi Tsuzuru x Reader)

Ship: Minagi Tsuzuru/Reader

Rating: sfw (one swear word)

WC: 2,901 words

A/N: The second reader insert I’ve written and I’m still not good at it lol. But I’m having a fun time! I’m also the absolute worst at giving stories titles and ending stories. Apologies in advance!

You visited the school library very often. Everyone was too preoccupied with whatever they were doing (whether it was studying or procrastinating), so it was a good place to study and work on assignments. You recognized some faces that also visited frequently; some of them were in your classes and others just came so often that you knew their faces.

However, there was one specific person that always caught your eye. You didn’t have any classes with him, but he came to the library so often that his face became recognizable. Seeing the way he was so focused on his work was admirable. It was kind of cute to see his whole face light up when something started clicking in his head. And seeing him occasionally doze off a little while working was funny, too.

Long story short, he was extremely charming. He looked like the kind of person who really looks out for others. You wouldn’t be surprised if there were other people with crushes on him.

At some point, you started sitting in the same area as this university student. It’d be weird if you sat too close to him, so you’d always sit at a different table on the opposite side of him. That way, you could still steal glances of him diagonally and from far away. Was it a bit creepy? Yes. Did you still do it? Also yes.

You eventually found out that his name was “Tsuzuru” when two other men (both of them were extremely well built and just a bit intimidating) came across him in the library one day. You overheard them talking about Tsuzuru’s next script.

His next script? So he’s a playwright… Well, if he’s in this area, then does he write for a theatre troupe on Veludo Way?

After Tsuzuru packed up and left with his two friends, you discreetly looked up “Tsuzuru Veludo Way” on your phone. Surprisingly, you were able to find his name on the Mankai Company website, where you found out that Minagi Tsuzuru was both the personal playwright of the troupe and a member of their Spring Troupe as well.

You gently slammed your head on the table, trying to not make too loud of a noise. This was definitely starting to approach stalker territory.

Months of watching Tsuzuru from afar passed. You kept sitting in the same area as him in the library when you had the chance. You watched a few of Mankai Company’s plays, especially if Tsuzuru was one of the actors in the play. However, you still couldn’t work up the courage to just go up to him and initiate a conversation with your crush.

He was so immersed in his work in the library that it was hard to approach him. When you’d leave the Mankai Theater, you’d chicken out and run out of the theater before the actors come out to thank the guests for coming. You were fairly sure that he still hasn’t noticed your creepy behavior. As relieving as it sounds, it doesn’t erase the fact that it’s creepy. You were much too shy and nervous for your own good, but you knew that you had to take the initiative one day.

One early morning, on your way to your favorite area in the library, you found Tsuzuru completely asleep at his work area. You smile to yourself at the sight as you set your things down at a different table. This area wasn’t crowded at all. In fact, it was just the two of you so far. It must’ve been a perfect time for him to sneak a nap in.

It must be hard balancing writing scripts and school work… Plus, he probably has rehearsals with his troupe. Yikes, Minagi-san needs a coffee… coffee?

You reached into your backpack and grabbed your wallet. Inside your wallet was a gift card to a nearby coffee shop that you received from your aunt not too long ago. You haven’t used it at all and you figured that Tsuzuru needed this much more than you.

You grabbed a cute dandelion themed sticky note and pen from your backpack, wrote a message as neat as you possibly could, and stuck it onto the gift card. You get up from your seat again and nervously make your way towards Tsuzuru. You were mentally begging him to not wake up as you approached his little station and slowly slided the gift card on top of his laptop’s keyboard.

You sighed in relief, knowing that your mission was successful, and snuck another look at Tsuzuru’s sleeping face. He looked so peaceful and cozy with his head nested in his folded arms. You smiled again at the sight, sincerely hoping that he’ll enjoy the free coffees he could get from the gift card. Happy with the good deed you did, you turn back around to return to your seat.

And then you realized the flaw in your plan. There was no one but you and Tsuzuru in that area. If you stayed around and Tsuzuru woke up, then he would’ve figured out that it was you who left him the gift card. You quickly stuffed everything into your bag and dashed to a different part of the library.

“Tsuzuru? Hey, Tsuzuru?”

He felt someone shake his shoulder a bit and groggily blinked his eyes. He yawned a bit and looked over his shoulder to see who woke him up. “Huh? Oh, hey, Fushimi-san. Guess I must’ve dozed off.”

“You did another all-nighter to finish your paper last night, right? Are you alright?” Omi clearly looked concerned for his health.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I was reading some lecture notes and ...Huh?” When Tsuzuru went to gesture to his laptop screen, he noticed a gift card on his keyboard. The card had a pastel green sticky note with dandelion seeds blowing away from the flower at the bottom. “Where did this come from? Did you put this here, Fushimi-san?”

Omi shook his head. “Nope. I didn’t do that, but there’s a note on it. What does it say?”

“Let’s see… ‘You seemed a bit exhausted when I passed by and I think you need the caffeine more than I do! I hope this can keep you running through the day, but don’t forget to get a good night’s sleep!’” Tsuzuru flipped the card over and saw that it was a card for a coffee shop close to campus. “There’s no name on here, but wow, this is really nice of this person.”

Tsuzuru looked around the study area, but it was just him and Omi there. They must’ve come while he was asleep and before Omi woke him up. He really wished the person left a name or something; this person deserved a big thank you because he desperately needed the coffee.

“Maybe they just wanted to do a good deed for someone who needed it,” Omi suggested.

Tsuzuru scratched his head, still stuck on the idea of thanking the mystery person. He put the idea to rest for the time being and slipped the gift card and the note into his wallet. The gift card could get him at least five coffees from this shop. If this person was kindly giving him the money for coffee, then he better not waste it.

Ever since then, you got into a bit of a habit of leaving little gifts for Tsuzuru every once in a while. It’d only be at times he left his seat in the library or was asleep like he was before. Whenever you went to watch a Mankai Company play, you’d leave a little something in Tsuzuru’s gift bin. You doubted that he would even notice it, but you made sure to use dandelion-themed message cards or sticky notes when you wanted to leave a message.

You also made sure to leave the area as quick as you came. You were fine with just leaving him little presents once in a while and not being recognized for them. If you had the chance to see him find the gift, you felt enough satisfaction from seeing him smile. It felt like a good way to show how you felt for Tsuzuru while not being hindered by your shyness. Just knowing that he appreciated them was enough for you.

One Saturday night, you went to watch another great play at Mankai Company featuring Tsuzuru as one of the actors. It was always a treat to see him on the stage and see how his stories unfold. Whoever was in charge of the outfits and hair styling really knew how to make Tsuzuru look even more charming than he already was.

Since finals week was slowly approaching, you decided to get him another gift card to the same coffee shop from before since you had a feeling that he’d need the caffeine. You put it in a dandelion-themed envelope and left a card telling him how much you appreciated all the hard work that he put into his writing and his acting. You also told him to get some rest when he gets the chance since he’s probably exhausted from the busyness between school and the troupe this week.

After the curtain call ended, you followed the flow of the guests flooding back into the lobby. A lot of the guests liked to stick around to personally greet the actors, but you just wanted to leave the present in Tsuzuru’s bin and head home.

You just pulled the envelope out of your bag when someone else accidentally bumped into you. It was just hard enough for you to lose grip on the envelope and it fell to the ground.

“I’m so sorry, I really didn’t mean to!” the person said apologetically, leaning down to pick up the envelope for you.

“No, it’s fine! It’s not a big-“ You clammed up the moment you realized who was picking up your envelope.

It was the one and only Minagi Tsuzuru who was kneeling down and holding your gift to him in his hand. He looked up at you with a bit of worry.

“You aren’t hurt anywhere, are you?”

You weren’t able to form a decent sentence and just shook your head. The fact that Tsuzuru was actually talking directly to you wasn’t settling in your mind. You probably looked absolutely insane with the deep blush forming on your cheeks and the steam practically coming out of your ears.

He smiled. “That’s good.” He was about to hold the envelope up for you as he got up when he noticed that his own name was on it. “Wait, this is for me? Thanks so much! I really appreciate it!”

“U-Uh… y-yeah…”

“I’ll be sure to read it when…” His voice trailed off when something caught his eye. He was silent for a moment and then realized that he left you hanging. “O-oh, sorry. I just saw your handwriting and thought about how nice it looks.”

You looked up at him with wide eyes. “R-really…?” It was kind of embarrassing to hear your crush compliment something about you.

“Y-yeah, it’s really easy to read. You have good penmanship. You know, I feel like I’ve seen it before on some other cards that I’ve gotten here…” Tsuzuru peeked up at you. “... Or at the library.”

“H...Huh?” Your heart stopped immediately. He didn’t just say that, did he?

“You… you always use letters and sticky notes with dandelions on them, don’t you? After noticing that, I kinda started recognizing your handwrit-”

“U-Um!” You quickly interrupted him, shaking from both anxiety and fear. “I-I… R-Really sorry, but I… I’ve got a test on Monday that I, uh…. Gotta study! Bye!”

“W-wait!”

You weren’t able to hear him out because you ran out of the lobby as fast as you possibly could, leaving Tsuzuru absolutely in shock.

The following Monday, for lack of better terms, you felt like absolute shit. You spent a good portion of the weekend moping over the fact that Tsuzuru completely found out who you are and most likely thought you were creepy. The other portion of the weekend was spent studying for the test in order to stop moping over Tsuzuru.

You started regretting starting this habit and cringed at yourself every time you thought of it. It didn’t matter that you passed your test thanks to all those hours of studying; your crush found out about all of your weird antics! You felt like your love life hit an absolute low.

You found yourself passing by the library, something you always did after your last class. You stopped walking for a short moment before deciding to just walk past the building. As much as you wanted to go in and sit in silence, you were scared that you’d come across Tsuzuru. Mentally unprepared for that humiliation, so you sighed and started to go head home.

“Hey, wait up!”

You didn’t think much of the voice and kept walking away until someone grabbed your wrist. You turned around and saw Tsuzuru stopping you in your tracks. Both of you were quiet; Tsuzuru was catching his breath and you were too surprised by his sudden interaction. His eyes were serious and it looked like he didn’t want to let you out of his sight any time soon.

“Um… M-Minagi-san?”

His eyes widened and that serious look in his eyes was replaced with a more embarrassed one. He quickly retracted the hand holding your wrist and stuffed it in his pocket. “U-uh, s-sorry! I-I just left the library to wait for you outside but then I saw you leaving so I, uh…”

“Y-You were gonna… What?”

Tsuzuru nodded shyly. “I was looking for you this morning, but you never came around. I had a feeling you were trying to avoid me, so I thought it’d be better to try my luck and just wait outside this time.” He laughed shyly. “Guess I got really lucky, huh?”

You rubbed your arm awkwardly. He might’ve felt lucky but you felt the exact opposite of that. You weren’t in the mood for any reminder of what happened on Saturday. “U-Um, did you need me for something?”

“Yeah. I wanted to give you something.” He shuffled through his backpack and held out a small envelope. “I...It’s a gift card for that coffee shop. I’m sure you didn’t know this, but I actually love going to that shop. I wanted to return the favor, so uh… here.”

You took the envelope and looked at it in surprise. Of all the things you thought he’d say, you didn’t expect him to give you a present. “Um… thanks.”

“Oh, and these, too.” Tsuzuru pulled out a small treat box from his bag and held that out to you. “They’re cookies. You said that you had a text today, right? I figured you might want something sweet after a test.”

“Y-You made these, Minagi-san?!” The cookies that you could see from the plastic window looked professionally made.

He laughed. “No, not me! Someone in the dorm I live in made them. He’s really good at cooking and baking. He made a lot, so I packed some for you.”

Your cheeks felt warm. You really weren’t expecting any presents from Tsuzuru and having his attention like this was somewhat embarrassing. “Y-You didn’t have to… I’m just your average fan and--”

He smiled softly. “I did it because I wanted to. You always put really nice letters and notes on the gifts. Maybe it’s because you see how stressed I can get in the library, but you always seemed to say the right things or give me something when I need it the most.” Tsuzuru scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “And as creepy as this sounds… I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while now. Even before you started leaving presents for me. I just didn’t know how to start a conversation with you.”

You laughed a bit. “That’s nowhere near as creepy as leaving presents for someone you’ve never talked to.”

“Well, it’s just as creepy to accept presents left at your seat by some mystery person,” he retorted, laughing with you. “Speaking of which, I think it’s time I learned your name. You already know mine, and I can’t keep calling you a mystery person forever.”

Finally relieved that he didn’t find you freaky, you told him your name.

“(Full Name)-san, huh? It really suits you.” Tsuzuru liked the way your name rolled off of his tongue and he was almost tempted to say it again just for the sake of it. Just thinking of your name brought a smile to his lips. “Well, you already know it, but my name is Minagi Tsuzuru. It’s nice to formally meet you, (Name)-san.”

You chuckled, thinking about how you never thought things would lead up to this. “It’s nice to formally meet you too, Minagi-san.”

He saw the way you smiled and he felt his cheeks warm up a bit more. “Are you doing anything after this? You see, I happen to have a gift card to that coffee shop, too,” he said in a joking manner. “Do you want to grab a coffee and talk a bit more there? I’ll pay for your coffee.”

You laughed at his little joke and nodded. “If I can pay for yours, then I’d love to!”

#Minagi Tsuzuru x Reader #a3! x reader #a3! imagines #Minagi Tsuzuru #a3! act! addict! actors!#act addict actors #reader insert #still don't know what to tag this lol

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