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pillowbo · 5 years ago

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The Gigantic Chihuahuas

The sun rose over the hilltop, still invisible to the cratered bowl that half of the city had become. The gigantic chihuahuas roamed the city streets, as they picked off the few last remaining survivors that clung to life in the sewers down below. One approached a manhole cover and dug into the metal seal with impossible strength, and with one sniff of its powerful nostrils two men were sucked out into the open air above.

They scattered in the streets, but one was caught under the dog's paw. Immediately blood splattered the street, as the man was ground into the asphalt with a sickening crunch.Just then, I thought about the sounds that my then small best friend made when she grabbed a treat from my hand. They were little bone-shaped biscuits.

She loved them, but that was before. This was our reality now, as we lived with the consequence of our horrible mistake. It all began in lab #1503 outside of Cambridge, Massachusetts. It was one sunny morning, a day just like today, when I pulled up in my gray Jeep Wrangler to the parking garage of the laboratory.

The crate in the passenger's seat seemed to shiver. I felt the constant vibrations through the crate as I carried it up into the entrance of the building.

"Today's the day," my partner said.

She beamed as I set the crate down onto the table. I looked through the discreet opening. A patch of brown showed through the breathing holes.

I opened the crate. The brown and white spotted chihuahua shook violently, its eyes bulged as it blinked them in their sockets. It was as if they could barely contain them, as they shifted around the room to take in the small dog's surroundings. My partner already had the preparations made. I removed my clipboard from the drawer of the desk.

It occurred to me to make sure I was prepared.

"We're not ready for evaluation yet."

I gave a nod, put it back in the drawer.

"Oh, I know," I said.

The dog attempted to move its legs, as they were strapped down onto the table. She placed a clamp on its ear, just tight enough to be snug. It whined and whimpered, scratched at the metal surface with the length of its nails. That was as much movement as it was allowed.

"So, do you have the vial?"

"It's ready, yes," she said.

She walked hastily to the door of the supply room. It opened and shut, her figure just visible behind the thick, warped glass of the door window. She came back out with the vial in hand. The syringes were to the right of the subject. One shone clinically as I removed it from its container. She handed me the vial, filled with a transparent, purple liquid, labeled 'Solution B.

'"Read to me again our hypothesis," I said.

"Our hypothesis is as follows; the initial experiment resulted in a conclusive finding that if we could isolate the strand in a chihuahua's DNA that composes the information for their small size, we can replicate that within other species," she said.

"And what does our current experiment involve," I said.

"Just pull the plunger already," she huffed.

I turned to her with a disapproving look. She let out a sigh.

"To inject Subject A with Solution B, which contains the genes of a larger species to neutralize the expression of that gene, thereby creating a solution inside of Subject A which we would then extract. We would inject the resulting solution into a larger species, with the end result, as we theorize, would possibly make the larger species much smaller in stature."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," I said.

Indeed it was quite an exciting prospect, that one could shrink an animal through introducing the end product of this experiment intravenously, one solution which we would label as 'Solution C.' With that the experiment began. I pulled the purple liquid from the vial up into the tube of the syringe, then positioned it at the ready.

The dog continued its struggle on the cold metal surface as the needle poked through its skin.

"Alright, let's wrap this up, clean our supplies and go home," I said.

I had a leftover fajita in my refrigerator that was about to expire. Just as I turned, the room rocked with an explosive force. I couldn't believe the resulting monstrosity that now stood before my very own eyes. My partner screamed, but it was cut short in one, horrifying moment, as the monster crushed her head between clenched teeth.

Blood seeped in slow pools from its mouth, then gushed out of its gaping maw as it locked eyes with mine. My body wouldn't move. I was stunned into silent terror. In the end, the only reason that I had managed to escape was that the dog still chewed the corpse of my deceased lab partner.I finally shifted toward the door, on legs that felt like lead, and locked myself inside the supply room.

I don't know what happened next. The last thing I noticed was my hands, paled and sickly before everything went dark. When I opened my eyes, I stood shakily from the cold tile and braced myself against the flat door handle. Gunshots fired in the distance from outside. They filtered through the outer wall that bordered the supply room.

I dared to open the metal door an inch and peered outside, then stepped out into the hallway. There was nothing there.I stumbled numbly through the hall, my legs still asleep, then turned the corner carefully. The next segment of lights blinked on and off, then they went out completely the further along I went down the hallway.

The growls resounded up the dark exit stairs. A bead of sweat rolled down my temple and soaked through my hair, something that I only noticed at that moment. I was high on adrenaline. My ears had become acutely aware of every sound. The scratching noises trailed closer, then farther away underneath the first floor of the building.

If I could just get to the parking garage, I could find my car and get the hell out of dodge.Suddenly, there was a fierce, low-pitched growl. I turned slowly. The chihuahua looked completely different, as it now had a black and brown pattern. Deep red blood oozed from a brown snout that morphed into a snarl. My lungs exploded with a scream as I sprinted toward my Jeep Wrangler.

There were few other cars in the garage now. I turned the keys just as the deer head chihuahua put a massive dent into the front of my car with its long snout. My car rocked and then tilted forward before I reversed blindly away from the thing. I left rough skid marks as I peeled out of the front entrance.I drove full speed ahead into the waning sunlight.

It looked different because it was in fact a different dog, but this was something that my mind simply couldn't accept as I sped past snowdrifts, tinted light orange from the deep red sunset. I couldn't believe what time it was, either. Had I been passed out all day? My hands gripped white-knuckled on the steering wheel as I contemplated what all could have possibly happened during that time.

My fingers loosened in one hand, as it hesitated over the dial of the radio. The tense voices cracked before they became clear to me.

"The experiment leaked from an undercover source, just miles outside of the laboratory this morning," a man said.

Pages shuffled hastily behind the microphone. Another reporter cleared her throat. There were screams.

"We have received news that the epidemic has spread to New York as more dogs have been affected. We still have no clear report of what it is causing this exponential growth in the chihuahuas," she said.

My stomach dropped out and I feared I would need to vomit. However, I wouldn't slow down for anything. I nearly tumbled into a snowdrift as I made a sharp turn, then gunned the engine once more, my foot pressed down hard on the gas pedal. I suspected that the airports were in absolute disarray all throughout America, and there was no way I could board a plane here any time soon.

If I could make it to Canada before the borders closed, my silent hope was that, somehow just maybe, I could get off of the continent and survive. There was no way those things could make it across the ocean, right?

"We have just received yet another disturbing report, Diane," the man continued somberly.

Her sobs were stifled, though they made it to the microphone to my ears.

"The prime minister of England has just announced that the chihuahuas have dog paddled across the ocean, and have now breached the continent of Europe. All areas of Western Europe have now been quarantined until further notice. Eastern Europe to begin final evacuations tonight."

I slowed to a stop, as I bowed into the steering wheel. My head spun, not only from the breakneck speed that I had gone. All hope was lost. The chihuahuas had quickly spread the mutation to one another, although I wasn't quite sure the method. A rumbling sound filtered through the windshield. As I looked up, four of them stood a few yards ahead.

My eyes wandered slowly toward the end of the street. Into the next neighborhood, it was awful. Every single house was flattened to rubble until only fire hydrants remained. One of the four dogs was clothed around its tail in what I could only assume was a tiny sweater.They had somehow freed themselves of it, before they morphed into their monstrous size, but not before it slipped away from their now wagging appendage.

They bounded toward me. My car shook and jumped into the air as I steered desperately, but I didn't have enough time to get away before the car was caught clumsily in one of their mouths. One barked, which caused a deafening ring in my ears. Then they growled and fought fiercely over who would get the treat inside of their brand new toy.

Chihuahuas fighting, my god, it is one of the most horrifying things that one could ever possibly witness.They were ruthless in their attacks, as one went straight for the neck of the other who had me clenched in their jaw. They let go, a loud whine completely disoriented my senses as I fell to the ground in the mangled Jeep.

Thankfully I had the sense to grab the walkie-talkie that fell out onto the passenger's seat from the now opened glove box. I jammed it into my pocket as I rolled into a standing position. Blood splattered all over my clothes and into my eyes and mouth. I screamed as I ran, sputtered with the metallic taste in my mouth as I scrambled for shelter.

It had been my lucky day, as they were too busy with each other to notice my escape.I climbed down into an open manhole and into the sewers below. There was no way they could get to such a compact space, if I went far down enough. I hit a dead-end at a grate that closed off access to the rest of the tunnel from top to bottom.

A faint light fell in beams on the other side. I turned in the other direction. It was too dark to see what was down there, pitch-black. I considered my options. I could blindly stumble into who-knows-what until I got to the other side, or I could climb back up and take an equally daring risk for the slim hope of some remaining refuge above.

I started down the dark tunnel, my mind already made up. If I kept close to the wall, at least I wouldn't fall into the water. The stench made me wretch on a few occasions, and I didn't know for how long I wandered on down the seemingly endless tunnel. My foot hit something solid, and my heart sank in my chest. I felt hopeless again, as I thought I had hit another dead end.

However, the faint sound of water rushed in my ears from someplace right outside. I kicked at the solid surface, and it budged slightly. I peered out into the sliver of light that came through. I had arrived at the water treatment plant.There were bunkers hidden nearby, as my lab partner and I worked privately and had preparations made in case of an event.

Yes, we were very prepared for most everything. Neither one of us had been prepared for this. I felt depressed for a moment as I thought about my lab partner, how quickly she was gone to the merciless chihuahua horde. She was the true impetus for this project, the one who ultimately fueled Subject A to go forth and multiply in the most twisted way possible.

All that brain, to waste. I shook these thoughts from my head. I had to find our nearest bunker.It was just inland of the large body of water that bordered the plant. I crawled out from the end of the sewer and jumped the short distance to the ground. My shoes were wet. The water was slightly murky, but it was passable enough to wash the blood from my skin and clothes.

I struggled to climb up the steep cement onto the main highway. Finally, I stood on the edge of the road.

"Hey, you!" someone shouted.

I turned as I brushed debris from my clothes. A man in a Hawaiian shirt approached me.

"Have you seen the size of those things, man? I was like, goddamn!" I put a finger to my lips. He let out a laugh. "Nah man, they can't hear us, they're too up high now."

He pointed to a figure that toppled over a skyscraper in the distance. My jaw dropped as a strangled cry escaped my throat. He whistled next to me. The screams filtered through the shock waves as rubble met asphalt. Planes flew overhead with armed men. The chihuahua threw up a massive paw and smacked one to the ground.

Another resulting explosion rocked the earth.

"My god," I said, my voice strained.

The man held a pair of binoculars up to me. I gripped them in my hands.

"I took a few pictures with my phone, then everything went offline," he said.

I barely heard him speak, as I attempted to locate the general area of the bunker. If my assessment was correct, it wasn't far.

"You can really see the cluster-fuck with that thing." I handed it back to him, then uttered a quiet thanks. He ran after me, then followed at my side. "Do you need help getting somewhere?"

"No, thank you," I said.

Then I paused for a moment. My lab partner and I had stored enough food for two people to last for several years. That would either be more than enough time for this to blow over, or by that time I would have been driven mad with loneliness. In the latter case, I would then make preparations to kill myself. There would be nothing left to live for if the world continued on in this chaotic state.

I turned to him. I still wasn't sure whether I would ultimately let him stay in the bunker with me, but he could prove to be useful.

"Actually..."

We made it to the end of the next street as the moon rose high in the sky, clouded in thick tufts of smoke. Sweat and condensation collected on our foreheads as we moved quietly through the city streets, through the formerly populated area. We crouched down behind a dumpster when one sniffed the entrance to the dilapidated old Taco Bell.

The place was greasy and unkempt, the building itself ancient. It needed a wrecking ball taken to it ages ago. However, it remained one of the few buildings left untouched. The sweat dripped from my brow as my walkie-talkie made a cracking sound.I had attempted to contact someone. We moved carefully into the restaurant.

Finally, a voice filtered more clearly through the static.

"Hello?" they said. Heavy breathing interrupted their speech. "Hello, I'm here. Where are you?"

I took in a breath, then answered hesitantly.

"We're inside of a Taco Bell, not far from the water treatment plant in Cambridge," I said quietly.

The voice paused at the other end. For a moment I thought I had lost them.

"I'm inside of a Taco Bell too, but not the same one. I'm about a mile out of Worcester," he said.

I looked at the man in the Hawaiian shirt as I shook my head.

"Good luck out there," I said.

A chewing sound filtered from the end. My blood ran cold.

"Thank you, and this is a good fajita. I'm better off than most," he said, between mouthfuls of food.

I turned off the walkie-talkie and put it back in my lab coat pocket. I let out a sigh. We waited quietly in the dark. Two ears cast massive shadows in the dimly lit streets, the asphalt rumbled. An entire herd moved through the area. It appeared we would have to wait for a while longer. The man shivered violently in the thin shirt.

"So, where are you from, anyway?" I asked.

"I came off of my flight from San Andrés this morning," he said.

"San Andreas? That isn't far from my uncle's place in Modesto," I said.

"No man, El Centro. I'm from Colombia," he said. I blew out a silent breath in relief; I almost made a lame joke about his particularly narrow escape, as all Californians were in close proximity to the Beverly Hills Chihuahua."I didn't have time to get my coat from my luggage. Everything went to hell at the airport," he said.

I huffed, as I smiled slightly.

"What else is new?" I said.

He let out a snort. Then, I glanced at the floor to ceiling window. A single, dark eye blinked as it looked right inside at us. The man looked as though he were about to jump out of his skin. He paled as he toppled over the stool he was in and ran toward the bathroom. We made it inside as the paw smacked through and glass shrapnel exploded across the room.

I looked down as I noticed the blood that dripped into a pool on the bathroom floor. My lab coat was ripped, my arm badly cut.

"Well, there's no glass stuck in me, so there's that," I said.

The pain of the day was ebbed only by the constant adrenaline that coursed through my veins.

"Oh man, that looks bad. Here, take off your coat" he said.

Before I could protest, he had ripped off a section of his shirt. I did as he said, and he tied the cloth around my wound. Green palm trees on a yellow backdrop now striped my upper arm. I pulled my coat back on and dusted off the remaining debris. The gesture of kindness affected me, and I suddenly felt that I needed to be honest with the man.

"This is all my fault," I said.

He scratched the back of his head in the cracked mirror.

"What?" he said.

"My lab partner and I, we are the ones who are responsible for all of this chaos. If you couldn't tell from the lab coat, I'm a scientist. We were conducting an experiment this morning with the gene in chihuahuas that make them small, so that we could transfer that gene to larger animals," I said.

He peered at me. I expected him to scream at me, to maybe even want to kill me. I wouldn't blame him. No, I realized that aside from the adrenaline, my own cowardice was the primary thing that kept me alive in that moment. However, the man just seemed confused.

"But, why though?" he asked.

This prompted me, and I attempted to come up with a concise explanation.

"We thought that by taking, say a tiger, and making them small and cute, we could market them as high-priced pets," I said.

"Oh, because they wouldn't be able to hurt people anymore," he said.

"Right, since they would be small. Their bites would hurt, but not as much," I said.

"That's brilliant. It's too bad it ended up like this," he said. He stared at the door. He didn't even appear to be angry in the slightest toward me."I heard that if your cat were big it would try to eat you."

"That's true," I said. We stood in silence for a long moment. "Listen, there's a bunker that my partner and I had prepared, but she didn't make it. If you want to share," I offered.

"Do you have food there?" he asked.

I considered him for a moment. What if he tried to hog it all? I'm a terrible person, I do admit to that. Stingy, filled with greed of the prospect of profits that I could make from animals mutated against their will, had my plan gone accordingly. However, I still didn't want to die alone.

"Not much, some dog biscuits," I said.

He gave a shrug.

"Sounds like food to me," he said.

There was the slightest knock at the door. If we were to die here, I would at least die an honest person, accountable for my actions. However, I would not let the same fate befall him. I was determined to get him out of this, along with myself. No man deserved to die inside the bathroom of a Taco Bell. I looked above. The dusty air vent was within reach of the toilet from the squat ceiling.

I put the seat down so that I could climb up and crack off the seal. I pulled myself up, which still took quite a lot of effort. My body began to weaken. My arm burned and throbbed, but I made it into a crouching position inside the vent.I reached out for him with my hand, as he positioned himself on the toilet, right when the door busted open and teeth sliced the air.

The man let out a scream, so close to the pointed edges of the razor-sharp mandible. The pup managed to get half of its face through the door, but not quite far enough, not yet. I pulled at his hand, slick with sweat, gripped him with all of my might. He collapsed into the vent just as the pup inserted its whole head and got it stuck inside the entrance to the bathroom.

It writhed desperately, as it knocked its snout against the toilet. Water sprayed upward as we crawled away as quickly as the space would allow.Suddenly, the ceiling dropped out from under us. We crashed into the kitchen of the restaurant, our fall mitigated only by chips and tomato sauce. We stumbled and ran outside the front entrance, the herd mercifully had cleared, though there were a few that remained.

They bound forward in a directionless frenzy, as they chased after drones in the air. One caught in a dog's mouth as it shook its head and spat it back out. Its lips curled upward into a smile as it panted and shook its tail wildly. The stars disappeared in the sky as it began to approach dawn. The scene was almost peaceful, pleasant.

Then, I turned, and before I knew it a soldier with a green helmet and a rocket launcher approached.

"Get down!" he yelled.

We barely had time to react, but we managed to get behind a car before the blast hit. Chunks of meat and bone erupted across the street as the chihuahua exploded. Blood rained from above. The man next to me let out a horrified gasp.

"I guess that's one way to shrink them," I said morbidly.

The soldier let out a scream as another dog had him pinned by his uniform to the back end of his tank. The man took out a gun out of desperation and killed himself. We ran to the end of the street then passed the corner. The bunker was finally just up ahead.

"It's over here!"

I turned, and then my blood ran cold. My friend was backed into a crumbling pizzeria, another chihuahua drawn to blood. No, I thought. Not here, when we were so close to the end. I looked around and saw that a fire hydrant had been opened, still perfectly intact, of course. A snapped electrical line ran down, a subtle electric energy thrummed in the water's surface as it continued to spray.

I opened my lungs and called.

"Hey, Fido!"

It turned its massive head, piercing blue eyes locked onto mine. Its long, brindle fur bristled on its back, as it bared its teeth and growled. I was the one who made it what it now was. The chihuahua lumbered toward me, then chomped down. I just barely dodged the impact, as a seismic shock wave of electricity crackled in the air.

The dog reeled in shock before it reared upward. Silhouetted against the rising sun, it erupted into flames. I ran toward the man, who now trembled from head to toe.

"Are you okay?"

"Dude," he said slowly. He shook his head as he took in the scene. "That's fuckin' insane, man."

"We have to get out of here! Come on," I said.

I took his arm and he budged. We finally made it to the bunker, where we settled down, and that's how we ended up here now. Hopefully, this will all blow over soon. I can only share so many of my rations. My new friend ran out of biscuits to eat.

Linked stories never show up in the tags for some stupid reason, so fuck it I posted it here. And yes, it was a bitch to reformat this for Tumblr. Worth it. Hope you enjoyed! <3

#surreal stories #wattpad #wattpad stories #funny stories #wattpad short stories #short stories #crazy stories #monsters #beasts #dogs #chihuahuas #science fiction #surreal fiction

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lady-divine-writes · 7 years ago

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Klaine Advent - “Burn” (Rated PG)

After Kurt's bad day, Blaine comes up with a (slightly dangerous) way to make his husband feel better.

Until their daughter comes home. Then Kurt's day goes from bad to worse. (1718 words)

Notes: Written for the Klaine Advent 2017 prompt "drink", and inspired by a meme I saw on Instagram. Daddies!Klaine.

Read on AO3.

“Good King Wenceslas looked out, on the Feast of Stephen … Hey, baby!”

“Hey.”

Oh no. Blaine frowns with worry when he hears Kurt’s reply. His husband, who had been a vibrating thread of excitement earlier that morning - singing Christmas carols, and bouncing from room to room, quadruple checking that everything looked parfait - has gone monotone.

Blaine hangs up his coat and heads down the hall to the living room. It’s not a long walk through the pine green walkway, covered from end to end on both sides with framed family photographs, but with the massive amount of holiday decorations they’d put up this year, Kurt is a little difficult to see at first glance. But as he approaches the doorway, Blaine finds his husband slouching on the sofa, still dressed in his brand new Alexander McQueen suit. He’d loosened his tie, unbuttoned a few buttons, and kicked his shoes across the room. There they lay, overturned in front of the fireplace, too close to the heat to be good for the leather.

If Kurt is letting the finish on his shoes get ruined and one of his favorite suits wrinkle, his day can’t have been good.

“Uh … how was the photoshoot?”

“I need a drink,” Kurt grumbles, waving his fingers at his husband, signaling Blaine to get him one.

“It’s only two in the afternoon!” Blaine kicks off his own shoes and takes a seat on the floor beside his husband’s left leg so he can rub his foot.

“And?”

“And you don’t drink!”

“It’s never too late to start.”

Blaine focuses his knuckles on Kurt’s arch, knowing that’s the spot to hit when Kurt’s in a sour mood. “That bad, huh?”

“That bad?” Kurt laughs dryly. “You might say that. Look at the tree.”

Blaine gazes at their Christmas tree, overflowing with an eclectic collection of expensive heirloom ornaments and handmade creations by their daughter, and sighs. “It’s a beautiful tree.”

“It is, isn’t it? But did you know it’s uneven?”

“I did not.” Blaine tilts his head from side to side, trying to see it. He can’t. It must be one of those miniscule things that only photographers notice, like the fact that Kurt’s right ear is supposedly longer than his left.

“Well, not the tree so much” - Kurt scoots closer to his husband - “but the presents underneath it. Apparently it was bereft of presents.”

“But we have presents.”

“Not enough presents …” Kurt moans when Blaine hits just the right spot with his talented fingers. “Apparently, in order for me to be convincing in my role as Executive Fashion Editor at Vogue and earn my right to be featured in the center spread for Christmas, our tree needed more presents. Extravagance is the key. Excess.”

Blaine does a double-take of their tree, at the stacks of presents that weren’t there when he’d left gathered anew around the base. “I was wondering where the avalanche of gifts came from. I thought maybe you’d gotten motivated.”

“They’re not ours. They’re empty boxes,” Kurt mutters, sinking into the couch cushions. “They’re there to make our tree look fuller.”

“I feel sorry for the poor prop guy who got stuck wrapping all those.” Blaine snickers … until he feels his husband’s knee knock him in the ear. He looks up at Kurt glaring back at him, and his final snicker shrivels into nothingness. “Oh no! You wrapped them?”

“A-ha.”

“How many?”

“Roughly five dozen.”

“Oh, sweetie! Why!? Don’t they pay some schlub good money to do that kind of stuff?”

“Yeah, well, supposedly his wife went into labor,” Kurt groans, his head falling back as he pinches his eyes shut, “so he had to leave early … the jerk.”

“That bastard.” Blaine coughs to hide the resulting laugh because really, Kurt? He can’t blame the man for rushing off to be with his wife when she gives birth to their baby! But Blaine still sympathizes. There had to be someone else they could call in to do the grunt work. Isn’t that what interns are for? Speaking of … “Nice to see they left you to clean up the mess.” Blaine sighs, looking at the number of boxes underneath their tree. “We’re going to have to deal with these before the peanut comes home. We don’t want her getting the wrong impression about the size of her haul.”

“You know, all I’ve wanted to do since the crew left is set one of those little motherfuckers on fire with my mind.” Kurt squints hard at the box closest, checking one more time that he can’t. “Could you imagine how satisfying it would be to hear the paper crackle … see the sparks fly as it burns …?”

Blaine considers that. Even though he himself has never wanted to throw a wrapped present into a fireplace, other things come to mind: Calculus textbooks, the various cumbersome costumes he’d had to wear at Six Flags during his summer gig back in high school, a childhood neighbor’s obnoxious Chihuahua. He understands wanting the satisfaction of watching something you loathe devoured, consumed out of existence. A pop from the fireplace draws his attention there, to the fire Kurt had lit for ambiance, its single log still burning, breaking down in its cradle. He knows that burning a present in their fireplace probably isn’t the smartest thing to do, especially wrapped in metallic paper, but if it makes Kurt feel better, then where’s the harm in disposing of one?

He gets up from the floor. Kurt whimpers as he leaves, raising his foot to remind Blaine what he was doing and that it was important. But when Kurt opens his eyes, he sees Blaine by the tree, juggling one of the smaller fake presents in his hands. “Why don’t you chuck one in the fireplace then?”

Kurt sputters a laugh, but his brow draws together when Blaine stays put, tossing the package up in the air and catching it.

“Are you … are you serious?”

“Why not? I mean, it’s not going to be as fun as lighting it Firestarter style, but you’ll still get to see it burn.”

Kurt rises from the sofa. Without fixing his suit, he walks towards his husband.

“Come on.” Blaine hands the present over. “It’ll be great for stress relief.”

“What about sex?”

“We can do that afterward.” Blaine winks. “But, for now, let’s set some presents on fire!”

“I … I can’t,” Kurt says, but takes the present out of Blaine’s hands with a quickness that makes him giggle. “It’s just … it’s crazy!”

“It’s crazy that you had to wrap them in the first place! And for your own Life and Style shoot, too. Anna should be ashamed!”

“Shhh!” Kurt slaps a hand over his husband’s mouth. “She has eyes and ears everywhere! I wouldn’t be surprised if one of these presents is bugged!”

“All the more reason to burn them then, in my opinion.”

Blaine watches Kurt contemplate the gift in his hands, taking longer than he’d anticipated – long enough to start re-thinking himself. So he comes up with a solution to move this party along. “Well, if you’re not going to” – He reaches for the box – “then I’m going to …”

With an angry flash of Kurt’s blue eyes, Kurt tosses the empty box over the safety grate and into the fireplace. Blaine and Kurt watch as the fire engulfs the package, immediately eating away at the wrapping paper. Black holes form, their edges curling back, the entire thing throwing off a sprinkle of gold and silver. They watch the box burn until the paper is gone, the remaining cardboard innards collapsing into ashes.

“God!” Kurt moans so deeply it sounds sexual. “That felt better than I thought it would!”

“See? I told you this was a good idea.”

Kurt reaches past Blaine and grabs a handful of presents, shaking them to make sure they’re empty, and then tossing them into the fire. For a moment, the boxes overwhelm the flames, and Blaine thinks that Kurt may have snuffed them out – the power of the presents and their sparkly wrapping too strong. But with an impressive whoosh! the stack lights on fire. Even before those boxes are properly singed, Kurt grabs more.

“We can’t burn all of them!” Blaine laughs. “Our fireplace isn’t big enough! Plus, I’m pretty sure the smoke is going to be toxic!”

“That’s okay,” Kurt says, chucking one more in for good measure. “I’ll hide them behind the real presents. Then every time Tracy misbehaves, I’ll pick one up and toss it in as a warning!”

“That’s mean!” Blaine laughs.

“I’m just kidding! I’d never do that! In fact, we should probably stop now. Tracy’s going to be home any min---”

“Daddy! Papa, I’m … aaahhhh!”

Kurt and Blaine, huddled close together and laughing into one another’s shoulders, stop with a choke as the bloodcurdling scream of their only daughter fills the room. They turn and stare at the little girl, both mentally preparing with breakneck speed to field the questions and accusations that Tracy is sure to lob at them.

“Honey …” Blaine starts first, seeing as – in his pressed dress shirt and slacks - he’s the parent who doesn’t look like a desperate madman, as opposed to Kurt, who looks like he spent the afternoon sleeping on the sidewalk in a $2,000 designer suit.

“Wha---wha---?” Tracy pants, her eyes darting from Kurt, standing beside the fireplace with two presents in his hands; to Blaine, in the process of handing over one more; to the fireplace, flames climbing higher as the charred skeletons of other gifts burn to a crisp.

“Tracy” - Kurt puts the empty boxes carefully back on the pile and raises his hands in surrender - “it’s not what you think.”

“Daddy? Papa? I … ah!” And with that, Tracy faints, positioning herself in front of a nearby recliner first, then dropping into it with a hand thrown over her forehead. Kurt and Blaine look at their little girl, probably honestly devastated over the loss of what she thinks is a genuine present … but so obviously faking.

Blaine looks at Kurt.

Kurt looks at Blaine.

They open their mouths at the same time.

“That’s your daughter.”

#klaine advent 2017 #klaine advent: drink #frankie writes

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liberhoe · 4 years ago

Note

i am vibrating like a chihuahua but at intense speeds

elzi, watching me debate dropping more horny shit in her ask box: hoe dont do it

Kai trying to contain her horny:

#kai's friemds #lumw #elzi!!!!

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rahulroyuniverse-blog · 6 years ago

Text

How to choose The Best Dog Clippers

The most effective method to picking The Best Dog Clippers

Sooner or later, every pooch will require some kind of prepping, regardless of whether they are a smooth, short-haired chihuahua or a major, feathery Siberian imposing. A decent wash and trim won't just make your puppy look great, yet it can enable them to feel good, particularly in the sweltering summer months.

What To Look For In Dog Clippers

There are a wide range of decisions with regards to hound scissors, and it very well may overpower endeavor to pick the correct one. The best pooch scissors to purchase will have some one of a kind highlights, just as a fantastic in general rating from shoppers. When searching for your new pair of best dog clippers for home use scissors, attempt to locate the accompanying alternatives:

• Single-Speed Dog Clippers: the best choice for tenderfoot clients, these pet scissors are not warming up as quick as factor speed ones

• Variable-Speed Dog Clippers: propelled clients will love its flexibility, it is the best instrument to give an ideal looking completion to pooches' jackets

Engine's Speed and Power

When slicing through coarse and tangled puppy coats, your pooch scissors should slice through very easily. If not, they aren't sufficiently amazing to cut thick pooch coats. Such necessities are normally communicated in Rotations Per Minutes, or RPM. It's fundamentally how frequently in a solitary moment does the engine completely pivot.

The best proficient pooch scissors regularly offer a great deal of intensity and high turns every moment, except exceptionally rotational speed unavoidably creates much more vibrations and clamor. In the event that you are utilizing the scissors for some time at full speed, your pooch may even be discomforted by the warmth discharged by the scissors. So as a puppy proprietor or groomer, you have to locate the best canine scissors offering the correct harmony among power and speed versus commotion, warmth, and vibrations.

Commotion, Vibrations and Heat

Puppy scissors have an engine that is turning so as to move the sharp edges so they cut easily. Most purchasers imagine that all the more dominant the better however this isn't constantly right! The most dominant pet grooming will surely slice through any coat, even the coarsest, however it includes some significant downfalls:

• the sharp edge will warm up

• the vibrations will radically increment

• the commotion level may bother a few mutts

So in a perfect world, you need to purchase hair scissors adjusted to your puppy's jacket so you don't get tied up with a pointless excess. They should cut easily while staying calm and cool for more, and vibrate as meager as conceivable at low speed.

Lightweight

A lightweight pair of scissors implies less strain on the groomer's arm, which is dependably something worth being thankful for. Substantial models of canine scissors can truly exhaust somebody, particularly on the off chance that they are endeavoring to prepare a major puppy, for example, a Great Dane or a mastiff. At the point when your arm gets worn out, you can get messy, which can prompt an ugly cut or even incidentally hurting your dog grooming. You'll need to attempt to discover a scissors that can adjust both a lightweight model with a ground-breaking engine.

Corded versus Cordless Clippers

You may have considered different parts of the scissors and settle on your choice, yet at the same time thinking about on the off chance that you ought to pick a corded or cordless pooch scissors. Think about corded and cordless scissors will enable you to settle on which is best for your puppy.

Cordless Clippers

The first and most critical favourable position of a cordless scissors is that you won't be adhered to the divider while preparing your canine. Cordless scissors are a lot less demanding to move and they are lighter. This makes them an incredible alternative for tight regions with constrained space.

Another factor that you have to give careful consideration to in a cordless dog hair trimmer india is the battery life. Running a scissors through thick puppy hair expends heaps of intensity and it can make the battery rundown quicker. You have to give careful consideration to the sort of battery the scissors employments.

Corded Dog Clippers

With regards to corded scissors, battery life isn't an issue in this way it turns out to be increasingly appropriate for expert groomers who work a ton with scissors. In the event that you have a puppy with tangled, thick hair, at that point you need a scissors that won't bite the dust or moderate you down when preparing your canine.

A corded scissors will give all of you the power you need and it will likewise spare you time. By and by, corded puppy scissors have lines standing out of their base end, and these can here and there act as a burden when trimming a canine's hair. Corded puppy scissors are not the best choice for tight territories with restricted space, and they are likewise hard to move.

Andis Provide the dog hair trimmer india proudly made in USA products. They manufacture genuine quality high precision pet grooming products like Trimmer, nail clipper, deshedding and dematting tool.

#best dog clippers for home use #best andis clippers #pet grooming #best andis dog clippers #dog hair trimmer india #dog grooming #abk grooming

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ia4003blog · 6 years ago

Audio

Tales of the Unexpected presentation task: The Long Walk Home

There is a very good chance, according to Brenda’s phone, that it is going to rain within the next five minutes. And even if she hadn’t looked it up the air is frigid enough to sting your cheeks and the sky hung with thick, heavy clouds ripe to burst, the occasional spit of water spilling over the and hitting the gravel. For most people, people like The Boggler, this is cause to hurry home faster, before the weather breaks. Not Helena though, no, because she knows three things to be absolute truth. Number one: there are exactly 1002 steps between the peeling black primary school gates and her peeling yellow front door. She’s counted. Twice. Number two: Brenda The Boggler is a toad faced waste of space who deserves a spider down the back of her stupid tight skirt, especially as her bloated white legs skitter down the street, knocking over Year Ones and Yummy Mummies alike to get out of the approaching rain fast, dragging Helena behind her. Number three: today is the day that Helena Zoob will slay The Dobberginga, and even the dreaded Boggler won’t stop her this time. Slowly, and with the greatest care, she begins the spell, counts her steps with practiced ease. 1… 2… Stamp…. 4… 5… 6… Skip. She clicks her tongue and flickers her eyes from side to side, side steps the split in the pavement and remembers the rules. Step on the cracks break your mother’s back. She’s got no Mummy to speak of these days, but she’s not going to risk it, just in case. Spells are delicate things you see, and this one’s got to count. “Come on slow poke, hurry it up a bit yeah?” The Boggler is tugging on her arm insistently, big red clown grin fixed in place like she actually likes Helena, but then she does that slow, thin inhale, like Mr Cheshire next door’s little asthmatic chihuahua, all watery bulging eyes and wet shuddering breathes, and Helena knows she’s annoyed.

78 steps now… 79… 80… She steps on the weird lump in the pavement outside the church, remembers to whisper at God to let her get the spell right this time, let it work. (“Why the fuck Marnie thought we should send her to a C of E I’ll never know,” she heard three nights earlier, the Dobberginga rummaging through her special draw and pulling out her picture of Mummy, thinking she’s still asleep. She’d wanted to pull back the covers and fight for her treasures, her memories, and the Dobberginga isn’t what he looks like but she can’t make herself fight him face to face, not when he looks like raspberry kisses and cuddles and deep silly voices reading stories as she falls asleep, and she’ll slay him eventually, she will, just not right then).

“Well you’re a little snail today aren’t you?” The Boggler titters, high and reedy, boiled egg eyes caught on the heaviest, darkest cloud above them, black and bruised and fit to split the sky. Helena ignores her, focuses hard and clicks her tongue twice more. She may not know much, but she knows rules, the ones she heard from Mummy and the ones she learned in the playground. Pull a face and the wind will make it stick. Stepping under a ladder brings bad luck. Step on the crack, break your mother’s back. Actions have power. That is what will save her, what will bring back Dad and rescue Mummy from where ever the Dobberginga stashed her. If Mummy can’t save herself, it’s up to Helena. It may not have worked the first time, or the time after that, but this time it will, because she knows this spell by wrote now, and actions have power. She will give them power. She will be powerful.

626… 627… skip… 629… hop… Every step counts. Suddenly a fat drop of liquid hits her cheek. Then another. Then another. That wheezy, high inhale, and The Boggler’s grip suddenly tightens, pulls harder. “I’m not getting soaked to the bone for you, you little brat, now hurry up!” Her steps speed up, and by extension, so must Helena’s. 659, 660, 661… She can barely keep up, half tripping to avoid the split in the step outside the pharmacy, just managing the next hop in time.

715, 716, 717, 718… Faster and faster they walk, Helena digs her heels in to slow them down, clicks her tongue faster. Not now, not when she’s so close. She kicks out at the chewed glob of gum stuck to the fence at the end of her road, knows there’s not much time to get this right. 801, 802, 803, 804… She stamps her feet with every step now, eyes flickering in a frenzy, breaths heaving out in sharp, bright little gasps. Power thrums in her skinny little arms, vibrates on her tongue. She tastes copper. “… Hun? Helena will you stop that, we’re nearly home now.” The Boggler’s right and wrong, it’s Helena’s home but it will never be hers, will never be the Dobberginga that stole her Dad’s face’s, and today she’ll take it back. 998, 999, 1000, 1001… The sky bursts open overhead; she lets out a final kick of her legs as Brenda whimpers and scrambles to open the peeling front door and then, it’s over.

1002. “Babe? Babe we’re baa-aack” Brenda bleats out as she shucks off her coat, roughly tugs Helena’s arms out of hers; she barely feels it, too anxious to see who’s going to walk out, the Dobberginga or her Dad. It’s neither. Brenda lets out a shriek as she reaches the kitchen door, Helena following close behind. Immediately eyes catch sight of them, the legs poking out, stiff and awkwardly lolled, from behind the island counter. The room is prickling with electricity, Brenda’s sobbing screams drowned out by the pounding behind Helena’s eyes. She blinks. She breathes out. “It worked.”

#IA003 #storytelling #presentation #audio

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lady-divine-writes · 7 years ago

Text

Klaine Advent - “Fun-ishment” (RAted NC17)

After Kurt finds out that Blaine has been masturbating without permission, he decides to punish his pet with Blaine's favorite toy. (1168 words)

Written for the Klaine Advent 2017 prompt "inch", and dedicated to @itallstartedwithharry :) This takes place early in their relationship, when all of Kurt's rules have yet to be cemented xD Warning for bondage, ball torture, e-stim, and punishment.

Part 58 of Taking a Journey Together

Read on AO3.

Kurt strolls around the living room, a radiant smile on his face, flicking randomly the switches of a slim, black remote, his hands moving through the air as if conducting the music around him – the whimpers and moans of his beloved sub, naked except for a mesh jock, tied with arms outstretched to a dormant radiator, gagged with a black nylon stocking, the only part of his body free to roam his legs, kicking in a futile dance as the vibrator locked in his ass whirs indiscriminately under the command of Kurt’s sadistic whims.

Kurt isn’t watching Blaine, operating the device solely by sound, matching the pressing of the buttons to the symphonic music playing over a single wireless earbud in his left ear – Ravel’s Bolero.

“Dahhh, duh-dah-de-dah-dah dah-de-duh dah-de-dahhh,” he sings, waltzing and twirling with each high-pitched whine from Blaine’s throat. He cranks the vibrator to high for a few, torturous seconds, and chuckles at the guttural scream it produces.

“I’ve noticed you’ve become very attached to this new vibrator of yours – pun intended,” Kurt jokes, “as much as I’ve become attached to the noises you make because of it.”

He flicks it one more time to high, this time peeking over the sofa to the spot where Blaine squirms on the wood floor, close to tears. It probably doesn’t help that Kurt has attached a low voltage shock collar to his testicles - the smallest one he could find, made to fit Chihuahuas - which sparks off every time Blaine shifts position, knocking the locking arm of the vibrator, pressed into his perineum, against it. Blaine has gone completely rigid – head thrown back, digging into the metal boning of the radiator; eyes squeezed shut; chin thrust up; arms straining against his cuffs until his biceps bulge; butt planted into the wood with his knees bent and his heels digging in.

His scream rises in pitch, steadily climbing from rich tenor to thin, reedy countertenor.

Kurt, who lives in that range vocally, is impressed.

He dials the vibrator down to zero, watching Blaine immediately go limp. Kurt chuckles again, pleased. With this set-up, Blaine is his puppet, the speed of his reaction to the power-punch of vibrator and shock collar making Kurt immensely hard. Kurt walks by his exhausted sub - his poor boy’s chest heaving with each labored breath, his wrists tugging weakly at his cuffs, trying to pull himself up - contemplating how he can get relief for his own aching hard-on.

“I bet you thought that when I asked you which toy you wanted to play with today, I’d actually let you control it.” Kurt tsks. “My dear pet. You should know better by now … the same way you should know that toys are off limits when I’m not home. Hmph … masturbating without permission. Where do you think you are, pet?”

Blaine nods, a single bob of his head disturbing sweaty curls, mumbling something over the nylon stretching his mouth that sounds like an apology.

“You’re sorry?” Kurt mocks, slowly bringing the vibrator from zero to one, the tiny increase in vibration causing the muscles in Blaine’s arms to twitch. “That’s so sweet of you.” One goes to two, and the big toe of his right foot begins to tap. “But I’m afraid you’re nowhere near sorry yet.”

Blaine whimpers, on the brink of sobbing as he submits to the inevitable – two sliding to three, which makes his lower lip wobble; three to four, which tightens the muscles of his neck.

Four to five, and the moaning begins.

“That’s right,” Kurt coos, switching the settings from six to seven as Blaine’s hips stutter, searching for a happy medium between the hum of the vibrator up his ass and the static crackle of the shock collar - which Blaine doesn’t necessarily hate. “That doesn’t feel too bad now, does it? I bet it’s actually kind of nice, huh?”

Blaine gulps hard. He knows from the syrupy sound in Kurt’s voice he might be walking into a trap, but, for the moment, he doesn’t care. This feels too good – the combination of the vibrator massaging him deep inside and the crystalline spark of the collar spitting across his skin, tantalizing nerves, connecting his balls to his stomach to his nipples to his fingertips, leaving them with a slight numbing sensation. His eyes roll back and his head follows. Step by step the vibrations build in intensity. Blaine rubs is ass on the floor, like the dog he is, moving the vibrator inch by inch away from the shock collar and closer to where he wants it, where it will feel the most sublime.

Blaine’s brain short circuits, his hips gyrating, rolling the base of the vibrator along a convenient rut in the floor. He feels the familiar wash of heat from his cheeks to his toes, followed by a secondary wave of cool when that heat bleeds entirely into his stomach, fanning out to his cock and his balls. He feels like his spirit has left his body, hovering on a plane of pure pleasure. He hears Kurt hum again, the climax of the music he’s been listening to mirroring Blaine’s own blissful completion. Pulse and snap and buzz and crackle meet deep within his groin and he cums hard. He begins to drool, babbling a string of nonsense behind his gag so ridiculous, it makes Kurt laugh out loud.

“Uh-oh, pet. You’re in trouble now,” Kurt says, and that’s when Blaine remembers …

… he wasn’t allowed to cum.

Kurt told him that as he tied him up. He repeated it several times.

He was adamant about it.

He said there would be consequences if Blaine did.

That was over an hour ago. But the start and stop of the torment, the constant pulse and hum of the vibrator, it’s fluctuating frequency with no real rhyme or pattern, had erased it from his memory.

Blaine’s eyes snap open. Ecstasy ebbs away, replaced by a low thrumming panic, his heart pounding in his chest till his sides cramp and his ribs feel sore.

“Oh, Blaine.” Kurt approaches his quivering sub staring plaintively up at him. He lifts his socked toe and presses it against the swiftly softening lump in the front of Blaine’s jock. When he pulls his toe away, his sock is drenched in Blaine’s cum. He shakes his head disapprovingly. “Shame, shame, know your name. Poor Blaine. I’m afraid it’s going to be a long afternoon for you now.”

Blaine trembles, pleading with his eyes for leniency, mumbling words that trip and fall from his dry tongue and lodge in the folds of the nylon stocking, never to be understood. Kurt smiles.

“Have fun, pet! I’ll see you in an hour ... or two …” He slips on his loafers, grabs his keys and his coat. With the sound of Blaine’s begging following him, he switches the vibrator to high, tosses the remote on the sofa, and walks out the front door.

#klaine advent 2017 #klaine advent: inch #frankie writes #klaine fanfiction

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