#garbage bag for the garbage muse

[ms-demeanor]

Can you offer any advice for avoiding hoarding when part of the problem is that trying to deal with the clutter and garbage and dirt causes paralyzing anxiety? I want my house to be clean and cluttered because it's stuff I like, but instead it's full of trash and stuff that had a place but doesn't seem to fit back in it after being used.

I can absolutely offer advice about that.

Short TL;DR:

Select the room you want to clean and make a map of it.

Divide the room into small segments like "top of desk" or "cabinet under sink" or even "half of junk drawer." SMALL segments.

Designate bags "trash," "donate," and "consider later."

Schedule a time to work on cleaning each segment, don't just assume "i'll do it next week." Write down an assigned day for each area.

Go into your target area and sort things into those bags.

Optionally, create a bag for memento items to put into a specific memento box/book.

Take bags out of the space when they are full to make more room to work and to see progress.

Do the section for the day and stop. Don't get overwhelmed by a ton of stuff, stop when you've done what you planned for the day (unless you've got good momentum built up and continuing will energize you.)

Long TL;DR:

Go someplace where you are not looking at the mess. You want to draw a map of the room, but you do not want to be in the room. Work one room at a time.

Divide the area you want to clean into very small spaces. You aren't cleaning an entire desk, you are cleaning one drawer of a desk.

Take three containers with you for each section: one trash bag, one donation bag, and one bag of stuff to consider later.

Plan out time to work on the space. Don't say "I'll do the whole thing this weekend" or "I'll get to it after the holidays," sit down and write out a schedule. There's a version of this called 40 bags in 40 days that people do for lent (that was the version of this i first found and followed the first time i did it), but you could do it in ten days, or a hundred, just try to stick to working on each segment on the day it's scheduled.

In each space, keep the stuff that's obviously meant to go there in that space, so if you're cleaning a desk drawer and it has a stapler in it, the stapler can stay there but if the staples and paper clips and rubber bands are a mess put that stuff into the "consider later" bin. Same thing with papers; if you've got a bunch of papers and you may need to keep some and may need to trash some, put them in the "consider later"

THERE IS AN OPTIONAL BIN FOR PEOPLE WHO WANT TO HANG ON TO A MILLION MEMENTOS AND CONCERT TICKETS AND SUCH. I make them by getting gallon freezer bags and filling them up with business cards and concert programs and scraps of wrapping paper and birthday cards. This isn't quite "consider later" because it's probably stuff you know you want to keep, this is "I don't have a home for this thing right now but it's not trash" so this is a temporary home for that category.

Remove stuff from the space as you work. As you fill up a bag of trash or consider later or donate, take it out of the space so you aren't looking at it and you can see the progress you're making on the space.

Do each section as you come to it on your schedule and then call it quits. If you cleaned out the counter next to the sink and that was your area for the day, you don't have to worry about the area under the sink unless you have the energy and enthusiasm for it.

Philosophical musing about why this works

The reason this kind of plan works (for me) is by pre-managing several things. You know you're working with a limited area, you know what you're going to do with the stuff you find in that area (put it in one of your bags or leave it where it is if it belongs in that area), you're working on a limited time so this can't stretch out forever it's just a little chunk, you're thinking about the space as you build your plan so you're visualizing the anxiety inducing thing outside of the space that actually gives you the anxiety which hopefully allows you to detach slightly from the anxiety, and you're getting your steps lined up ahead of time so there's no muddle of "what do i do now, how do I get started" - you get started by grabbing your bags and you go to that day's scheduled section.

The whole thing is constructed to prevent you from getting overwhelmed.

I used to try to clean my room as a kid and I would find something that needed to get put away but I didn't know where it went so I'd spend a bunch of time trying to make a space for it and I'd end up getting lost in the weeds of imagining how I'd use the item and if the new place for it was accessible, and oh look at the items that I found in this other place where I was going to put this item and this method cuts off all of that. Where I am putting the item is in the bag, where it is going is the "consider later" pile and when I've cleared out most of the space I can consider where things go when I've gathered all the uncertain things into one place instead of continually unearthing them and disrupting the process of going through stuff.

What it means to Consider Later

The reason you're working room by room is because you should be isolating the consider later pile by room. If you're cleaning out the bedroom you may end up with stuff that belongs in the kitchen or the office, but you'll end up with a lot of stuff that belongs in the bedroom. When you've worked through all your segments, you can sort the consider later pile and now that you have all the objects together, you can consider whether some of them belong together in a space in the room.

For instance, when I first did this there were a lot of books that needed to go on bookshelves, but my bookshelves weren't accessible in the early parts of the process. So books from the floor and the bed and the nightstand went into the consider later pile and after the whole floor was clear and there was no trash on my desk and all the books I was donating had been pulled from my bookshelves, I was able to organize all of my books at once instead of stumbling across a book every four minutes and trying to shelve it.

That's what spawned the memento bags for me; there was a ton of stuff in my consider later bags that didn't precisely have a place but weren't trash and needed a place made for them. If I'd struggled to find where each item went as I cleaned it would have completely stalled me out.

I kept finding yarn as I went but I didn't have a dedicated yarn spot, so I just put yarn in the consider later pile and at the end I found a basket for it and put it on a shelf in the closet that had been cleared out when I'd donated old clothes. If I had tried to find a spot for the yarn before donating the clothes, I would have had to move it once the better spot opened up, so saving all the consider later stuff for later saved me from having to move stuff several times.

If you're in a small space or if you're living with people and you can't make a pile of stuff in another room for two weeks, at the very least remove the trash and donation bags as you go and designate an area for your consider later pile; maybe a laundry basket or something similar so that you can keep it mobile as you clean.

It's kind of like moving in to a new space. When you move in to an empty room, you have all your stuff in boxes and you need to figure out where it goes and that can take a while, but it's sometimes easier to find a place to put things in a new environment than it is to put things back "where they belong" because maybe you've added a dozen skeins to your collection and they don't belong in the little yarn bag anymore.

What to trash, what to donate, and what to consider later

Trash should be immediately obvious as trash. Anything that is trash goes in the trash bag right away.

If you find yourself thinking "but I might use this plastic fork that came with my value meal," or "this receipt may be important," put it in the consider later pile and don't think about it right now.

The donate bag should be for stuff that will still be useful for someone, but won't be useful for you. Clothes that you don't like, books you hated and won't re-read, toys you don't want to keep, all of that goes in the donate pile. If you think you might want to keep a piece of clothing but you want to make sure it doesn't fit, don't stop to try it on now just put it in the consider later pile and you can sort it into the donate bag later.

"Consider later" is for anything that requires more than thirty seconds of thought or effort to handle. If you're looking at your desk and you've got a keyboard for your computer on your desk that keyboard is staying there and doesn't need to be considered. If there's an empty takeout cup on your desk, that cup is going in the trash and doesn't need to be considered. If there's a receipt for your computer sitting on your desk, you may want to save that for record-keeping purposes but may not have a place to put it, so that is what you consider later.

Some guidelines on what is or is not trash

You might look at a sturdy plastic cup from a gas station and say "that isn't trash, I could use that, that's still good" but unless you have a specific purpose in mind for it right now, that is trash. If you wouldn't put it in a donation box to be used for some ambiguous future purpose, you don't need to keep it.

If you have a specific purpose in mind, like using an old milk jug to make a watering pitcher for your plants, it may not be trash. But only ONE is not trash; more than that is trash.

If you wouldn't need to have a hard copy of a paper and you have an electronic copy, it is trash. This means receipts for most everyday purchases like groceries and fast food. Don't keep receipts for items past their return period, don't keep receipts for items that you have a digital copy of unless that item cost over $1000.

Nice cardboard boxes (or good glass jars, or sturdy plastic takeout boxes, or cleaned food containers) that you don't have a use for are trash (or recycling, depending on where you live, but still in the trash category).

If you know someone who is specifically looking for an item (like maybe the neighbor kids are asking for cardboard tubes for a science project, or you work with a meal delivery group that could use extra packets of takeout utensils, or you have a friend who is into canning and has asked for jars, or if you make your own soup stock and need containers to put it in, or if you have a friend who is moving and needs lots of good cardboard boxes) then these items don't *have* to be trash but if you are just keeping them in your space and not giving them to people who want them or putting them to use yourself, they are just trash in your space and you should throw them away.

Memory Books/Memento Bags

I make memory books out of the little items i collect into one gallon storage bags. They allow me to hang onto the stuff that I want to keep because it brings me good memories without having a pile of random junk and sometimes without having to keep the item, or having to keep the whole item.

If the thing I want to keep because it brings me good memories is bulky, perhaps I can take a put a picture of that item to put in the book. If it is a worn out shirt, perhaps I can cut a patch off the shirt to put it in the book. If it is a card, perhaps I can cut out just the front of the card, or I can almost certainly just throw away the envelope and put the card in the book.

If you have things that do *not* fit into the memory book, like costume jewelry or rocks or a weird toy you got out of a coin machine on a really fun family vacation, you can also make a memory box; I have some of these and they've got a bunch of truly random crap in them, but I *like* having the nametag from the four hours that I worked at Denny's, or the keychain from when my mom took me to the morgue training class. It's fine to like these things, and to keep many of them, but you want to keep them someplace that they won't stress you out; that might be a display case for nice things, but it also might be a pretty velvet bag that you periodically pull out of a drawer and sort through like a magpie, or a wooden box that you painted.

You can also be selective about this stuff. You don't need every piece of costume jewelry your grandmother owned; keep the pieces you really like or the ones you have strong memories of or the ones that are very nice or the ones that are in good shape. But look, my mom was a teacher and she had a wide variety of goofy holiday jewelry that she wore in the classroom and I don't need to hang onto that. I don't need the big plastic ghost earrings that won't fit in my plugs, but I'll hang onto the spider brooch. She collected cheap watches - I don't need all of her four dollar watches, I can keep the nice ones, or the one that she got for ten years at her job. Do the same thing with stuffed animals and baby clothes and magazines and children's books. You don't need to keep all of it, and keeping all of it isn't going to help you remember that time more, or remember that person better.

Do you really want to keep it or do you feel obligated?

Youtuber Caroline Winkler (who has some great videos about home organization that I like a lot, in particular "this is why your home is a mess" - with the caveat that she likes closed storage and my ADHD ass loves open storage) has a really great tip on getting rid of stuff that works a LOT better for me than the Marie Kondo "Does this spark joy?" question and it's the Red Wine Test. Instead of asking if an item sparks joy, you ask yourself "If a bottle of red wine spilled on this (or if it was in some other way damaged) how hard would I try to fix it?" If you wouldn't try very hard, or if you would be *relieved* then you can get rid of that item. If one of the Venom mugs I have on the shelf fell down and broke, I wouldn't try hard to fix it. If my cat stuffed animal from when I was a kid tore open, I would immediately be looking for my sewing kit.

.... I should recycle those cheap teal glasses, actually.

Some general tips that may help to get you started that work for me and my ADHD and may work for you and your anxiety:

Start a timer for a short time. You don't have to clean your whole house, you are just going to pick up for five minutes. Then you can stop, and you only have to face a *little* bit of the anxiety.

5-4-3-2-1-go. Don't overthink it, count down quickly and then get up and do something. Keep going in as long a spurt as you can manage without getting too upset, but cutting down on the time for pre-game fretting might help with the anxiety.

Do the smallest amount possible. You don't have to clean this room, you just have to take one dish to the sink. You don't have to do all the dishes, you can just unload part of the top tray of the dishwasher.

Some general tips on trying to keep a space clean:

First, encouragement: It is a lot easier to maintain a clean space than it is to create one.

If you're thinking that something needs to be done and it can take you under five minutes to do it and it's right in front of you, do it. I do this with my dishwasher. It turns out unloading the dishwasher is the main thing that stalls me on dishes and keeps my sink full, so now when I'm waiting for the kettle or letting my tea steep, I unload whatever I can get done in that time. If I have the vacuum out and I did my living room but the hall and the bedroom could use a quick pass too, I vacuum them while I've got the machine in my hand.

Set success traps. Success traps are things that let you fall into succeeding by front-loading the effort (or executive function) of cleaning with planning. Trash collects in your living space? Put a bunch of little trash cans everywhere. Cleaning your bathroom takes extra time because you have to go get glass cleaner and paper towels from another room? Keep a bottle of glass cleaner and a roll of paper towels under the sink. You never sweep because it is a pain in the ass to get the broom out of the broom closet? Hang the broom from a mount in the kitchen. It takes too long to clean the counter because you have to pick up a bunch of makeup brushes and bottles and soap? Put that shit on a tray and now you only have to move one thing to clean the counter.

And for your specific question, with "things never seem to quite fit back where they came from" sounds like you're playing storage tetris, which is when things have a place and it is a *very specific and exact* place that doesn't have a lot of room around it. You may need to think about downsizing for your space, or, more likely, think about more efficient storage. That Caroline Winkler video I linked has some tips on this ("don't store things in a way that will make you angry like putting your common use objects on an out of reach shelf or you'll never put things back because it's hard to put them back" and "maximize your weirdo spaces" speak to your situation, i think) that I've put into use, particularly in my kitchen. It was hard to keep the counter clear because it was hard to put my stand mixer away because the rack for the stand mixer had a wok and a bunch of cast iron pans and a panini press and a chafing dish on it; I put the panini press and the least-used cast iron and the chafing dish and the wok in a more out-of-the way cabinet (because i basically never use them but they're very useful when I need them) and now that shelf has a little grill, my more commonly used cast iron, and my stand mixer so putting away the stand mixer is a lot less effort so my counter stays clear. I wasn't using the top shelf of my dish cabinet for dishes because it's too high up for daily use, but it's perfect for the rice cooker, waffle maker, and food processor that I use less than my dishes but more than my george forman grill.

And anyway, the TL;DR for all of that:

Work a little bit at a time, be nice to yourself, don't keep things that aren't worth keeping, and configure your storage in a way that works for you (by keeping your lifestyle, the way you use things, and how easy it is to put away into account before deciding that's where something lives).

Good luck!

[into-the-lokiverse]

Who You Really Are (Loki, God of Stories x Reader)

Summary: When all appears lost to an aspiring novelist, the God of Stories sends a message of hope.

(credit to @lokitvsource for the gif)

You weren't sure how much further you could go on, or if you could go on.

For years, one of the biggest things you desperately wanted in life was to be a novelist. To entertain with stories of magic, power, action, romance, and a little nonsense.

But lately, as you sat before your desk, exhausted from the day job you relied on to pay the bills, you just couldn't bring yourself to move forward with your debut story. The plot felt too twisted to the point even you could barely comprehend it at times. The characters once vivid, were fading into shadows and dust of their former selves. And the scenes you envisioned in detail started to feel...unreachable.

And yet, you couldn not stop scribbling notes at every random moment of inspiration. You clung to the memory of your characters.

Like a parasite or an infection, the idea of your story plagued your mind for weeks, months to the point where it never seemed to leave you. You could barely think straight about anything else, even cleaning.

Half-drank cups of coffee at every corner of the desk, loose napkins with random thoughts written on them, a garbage can full of tissues, candy wrappers, and tea bags, a folder filled with printed images of your dark-haired, blue-eyed muse, and a stack of books that you checked out for "inspiration" but hardly touched.

The floor surrounding your desk had a thin layer of dust, wherever there weren't fallen pens you hadn't the heart to pick up, or papers you abandoned.

Am I meant to be a writer, or am I simply possessed?, you contemplated over a cup of stale coffee. Am I truly, clinically insane with obssssion? Am I doing the right thing, or have I finally lost my mind? Maybe I'm just crazy...maybe I'm wasting my time, doing the wrong thing that was never meant for me.

Or maybe I'm just not worthy of being the person who...does things. The person who flourishes in doing something they love.

But just as you were about to put your head down on the one free space on your cluttered desk, you spotted a mysterious note in parchment.

It read,

I believe in you.

I believe in every part of you, even in that couple of paragraphs you've stuffed in your desk (which honestly should be cleaned, but you won't do it.).

I believe in you because I know who you could become.

Because I know who you really are. You're a talented, blessed individual burdened with a glorious compulsivity to write and far too much fear for your own good.

But who you really are, it does not matter. It is all about the stories. The adventures.

There is a last refuge for the unloved and the desperate, and the persecuted.

When life gets too impossible, when life gets too terrifying, find hope in this, my talented scribe. That when all else fails, remember that you are a branch on the tree of life.

And in the center of that tree, there is someone watching over you, protecting you like he's always done before, and will continue to do so.

Your branch is just beginning. So marvel me, and marvel yourself with all you do. My blessing is with you.

For all time always.

Loki

#loki laufeyson #loki (marvel) #loki god of mischief #loki of asgard #loki odinson #loki x reader #loki imagine #loki x y/n #loki x you #loki

[lemmetreatya]

garbageman!endeavour who notices how you only seem to remember to bring out the trash once you hear the truck rounding the corner of your street — sporting your fluffy pink gown and equally as fluffy pink sliders as you waddle out of your house with multiple bags in tow.

and because garbageman!endeavour is on road ahead duty, he always catches you do it whilst hes leaning against the brick wall of your apartment complex, sly smile on his face as you seem to struggle.

“need any help?” he’ll gruffly ask each time, and you always reject.

but garbageman!endeavour knows the only reason why you reject his help is through pride, because when you come up to him for quick chats after you’ve dumped the bags, your breath is always haggard.

“no. but ill tell you when i do.”

and garbageman!endeavour has to think twice about whether the way you bat your lashes at him, or the way you always comment about how big he is, means anything. it can’t, because surely you see the fat silver band that he always adorns on his left index finger and heed the frequent passing mentions of his kids.

but one week, garbageman!endeavour notices you’re out earlier but with no bags in tow and how the cut of your gown is much lower than it needs to be.

he nods you a good morning from the wall, no words leaving his mouth in case they end up betraying him but he didn’t have to — you were ready to do that for him.

”not gonna ask if i need any help today?” you muse

garbageman!endeavour cautiously looks between you and the garbage area behind you.

“you usually dont need my help”

“but today i do.” you say as you start to walk towards the side gate of your apartment complex building.

garbageman!endeavour knows he shouldn’t have followed you back there, and mentally apologises that his wife forgive him, because you don’t even have to initiate anything before he’s pressing you against the wall and laps his lips against your exposed skin.

it doesnt take long for things to escalate. garbageman!endeavour knows hes short on time and so hes frantically tugging the rope of your fluffy gown instead of simply untying it. when the gown parts, hes trying his best to get an eye full of your voluptuous body, even tells you to ‘leave it on” once he sees you trying to shrug it over your shoulder

garbageman!endeavour easily frees his cock from the restraints of his grubby work trousers rather than tug it down, his weapon long and flushed pink at the top. you want to marvel in it’s length and size but garbageman!endeavour isn’t giving you the time to as he quickly scoops you up with no qualm at all — one hand on your back and the other underneath your ass — and hovers you over his cock. he easily slips himself inside of you, and he lets out the most desperate moan because your cunt is so much warmer and snuggier than he could ever imagine.

garbageman!endeavour doesnt even let you adjust! already his hips are pistoling back and forth like an animal in heat, his big hands surprisingly holding you securely in his grip.

and you feel so thrilled yet so disoriented because who knew a man was strong enough to hold a woman like you without any support?! not forgetting how full you feel taking him because he fills you up in all the ways you couldnt imagine.

the two of you romp as garbageman!endeavour holds you mid air, your insides clench over his mighty cock and garbageman!endeavour is sure he’s seeing stars

the position isn’t sturdy concerning garbageman!endeavour is holding all your weight and so you latch an arm around his shoulder. but still, hes got you good enough that you’re able to use your other hand to clamp the fat of your breast and pinch at the perky nipple, the sensation euphoric in accumulation with garbageman!endeavour long thrusts.

but time is growing short because garbageman!endeavour can hear the churn of the truck and the shouts of his colleagues nearing your corner — but still — he’s determined to finish what he started.

“shi’. shit im gettin’ there.”

he feels your hand try to push away from him but your moans are just as wanton as his.

but garbageman!endeavour’s too committed, too pussy drunk to heed your signs seriously. because he’s so determined that he needs this. that he needed to leave you with a reminder of him, a reminder that you needed his help.

but in all honesty, you already knew this was going to be the outcome. clearly, seeing as he was a man with four kids.

“f-fuck, imma…i ha’v tuh—”

before you know it garbageman!endeavour is slightly hunching over as he unsolicitedly pours his wet seed inside of you, his groan guttural as he finishes loudly besides your ear.

garbageman!endeavour was a fan of the experience — surprised he didn’t feel much guilt afterwards either. the man was wretched enough to sleep besides his wife each night with no qualm or plagued mind about what he’d done.

that is, until a few months down the line, he notices how you still waddle to bring the garbage out front, but because of your rounding belly that peaks from underneath your gown.

#mha endeavour #endeavor #endeavour x reader #endeavour x black reader #my hero academia #mha #boku no hero academia #bnha

[flamingpudding]

Modern (Fenton) Ghost Hunting Part 1

Ties to: Post from under 'It started with a Ouija Board' found in the Masterpost

A/N: I got a little stuck with this and there is another bigger fanfic project I started working on that has me distracted. But I wanted to post at least part of this before I might end up in radio silence for three weeks cause I am visiting family out of country and have no idea about internet access there yet 😅

Danny was in a good mood as he slurped the ecto-shake his mom had made upon his return from the Zone. It was one of the more harmless and ghost helping food inventions his parents had come up with, once the truth was out of the bag when he was more or less forced to take on his kingly duties. Though his mom's ecto-fudge special (that was also one of the few ectoplasm infused foods not coming back to life) made for only him and Ellie was even better than the shakes. It wasn't better than their special family recipes their Dad loved so much but it came a close second.

He sipped on it more as he fell back into the couch as he flicked through some TV channels. His last trip to Gotham had been a month ago and he mused that he probably would need to visit soon to update Lady Gotham on the status of the Garbage Disposal Leaks. It was a pain to deal with but hey at least he, for once, got to be the mean guy to yell at the observants how they could have left these alone for over a hundred of years.

Seriously? If he could, he would stick Sam and one of her righteous rants onto them too.

So yea Danny was in a good mood he had gotten rid of another leak which only left a couple more to take care of and then put the observants into their place with another petty with hidden insults filled and Sam inspired as well as co-authored lecture.

He would give Lady Gotham a present for giving him such a great opportunity with this problem, even if that wasn't her intention. There was also a rumor in the GZ that Box Ghost and Walker had gotten beat up by Lady Gotham several times while he was busy, he would like to hear what that was about.

In all this Danny completely forgot about his encounter with the vigilantes and that his parents told him about a new business partner that was interested in their Fenton Ghost Tech that wasn't weaponry but focused on co-existence, like the Fenton (blob-)ghost feeder.

So when the doorbell rang and Danny went to open the door, thinking it might be one of his friends. He nearly choked on his ecto-shake as he came face to face with a person he only knew from paparazzi shots or Tucker's endless rants about their technology.

"Hello, I am Tim Drake-Wayne! I believe I have an appointment with the Drs Fentons? I am not too early am I?"

-------

Red Robin was on his wits end. After the first success he had used various more 'modern' summonings in hopes of getting their ghost to show up again. But most of them ended with the same white ghost or only one other ghost claiming their name as Box Ghost to appear. Strangely when they did appear, after about a minute after their appearance an invisible force started to attack them to which these ghosts instantly turned tail and 'unsummoned' themselves. They didn't even give Red Robin the chance to ask anything.

In the end after the third time of summoning that white ghost called Walker, the ghost peeked out from that portal once and the moment they spotted him sunk back into it. Not even bothering to tell him about any rules RR might have broken. Since then none of his summons appeared to work anymore.

Though the vigilante at least concluded that whatever had attacked their teenage ghost most likely was also the driving force behind Walker or any other ghost refusing to answer his summonings. He had suspicions that might have something to do with Lady Gotham, the teenage ghost mentioned and had been unable to summon at all.

Of course Red Robin couldn't leave it like that so he dug deeper into the whole ghost cult thing and came across published research papers. Apparently the ghost cult wasn't just an occult but also a science, that he highly doubted was real. The deeper he dug the more concerned he became, for one that ectoplasm they mentioned looked awfully a lot like Lazarus Water, and second the research from the Drs Fenton he found was awfully a lot biased until a year or so ago when they suddenly invalidated all their previous research and published a nearly completely different thesis.

Though the teenage vigilante had to admit everything they offered on their website looked a whole lot more modern and right out of a SyFy movie than any of the tools he had already purchased, from a ghost Wikipedia (which surprisingly included information about Walker and that Box Ghost), to protective gear, to feeders and ectoplasm infusers.

So after a small recon with his siblings and listening to their disagreement and another rant from their youngest about Pit Demons, Red Robin made the decision to check these Drs Fenton out undercover. And who better to do that than Tim Drake-Wayne, CoCEO of Wayne Enterprise who got interested in their ectoplasm-powered gadgets designed for co-existing. After all Gotham might just be as hunted if not more with the crime rate they had.

His siblings were not happy, he knew that but he took the earliest chance he had, to take a private plane to Amity Park and made an appointment with the Fentons on a saturday afternoon.

He made sure to smile pleasantly as the son of the Drs Fentons opened the door and took his time staring. Before finally inviting him in after a shout from the Drs. resounded somewhere behind him in the house. Tim of course eyed the glowing green shake the other teenager was drinking, already forming plans on getting a sample of it the first chance he got.

"Mr. Drake! Such a pleasure to have you here! You have already met my little boy Danny, my husband will join us later he got hold up by my daughters. But we do have a couple of inventions prepared for showcasing, we could also go over some of the theories first if you prefer until my husband can join us.." A woman came up shaking his hand and the teenager, Danny, stepped away from them retreating further away but staying in earshot, Tim noted.

"Dr. Fenton, thank you for having me. I am looking forward to learning about this ecto-energy and your Fenton-inventions, I believe one was called an Ecto-Infuser?" Did he imagine it or did that boy cringe? Also the boy was clearly watching him, he tried to appear nonchalant but the way the other teen's eyes followed Tims every move as well as the guarded look in his eyes was making it obvious.

"The Ecto-Dejecto, originally designed to weaken ghosts but is now one of the many medical tools that can help a ghost survive if they do not have a steady supply of ectoplasm." Dr. Fenton easily explained while leading him over to the seating area.

"Danny be a dear and bring our guest something to drink. Coffee or Tea?"

"Coffee would be fine." Not like he would actually drink it. As much as he and his siblings made fun of Bruce's paranoia, he was not about to drink coffee offered by people who research ghosts. Besides, looking around, he wasn't sure how well they followed OSHA and he wasn't about to potentially drink a coffee infused with Lazarus Water. If that ectoplasm was Lazarus water. But he would take it with him as one of many samples.

"Sure things mom. Should I bring out the fudge too?"

Tim's ear twitched and he turned ever so slightly in the direction of the son. No it couldn't be, could it?

"Oh please be so kind."

"Will be right back."

Now Tim wished he had forced at least one of his siblings along. Because if his ears didn't betray him then this teenager had the same voice like the ghost kid. Though his memory could be slightly impaired because of the time frame since he had last heard it. He would need to get a voice recording now too and play it to his siblings.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #maddie fenton #tim drake #dpxdc #ghost summonings #ghost hunting #ghost befriending? #ghost king danny #Tim just wants to see their teenage ghost again #he has questions damit #Lady Gotham is protective #No ghost shall harm her knights #Not even Boxie #Danny has no idea why a rich kid is in his home #Tim is suspicious #but doesn't trust his memory #He's gonna collect a lot of samples #Ouija board continuation #dp x dc #dp x dc fic #crossover #dcxdp

[shih-coulda-had-it]

FEBUWHUMP | KILLING IN SELF-DEFENSE | WC: 999

a/n: Set in that AU where Sorahiko (Prime Torino) time-travels to AFO and Yoichi's childhood and manages with his B+ parenting skills. TW for ableist language (used in context of this being a very anti-Quirk era) and, well, Sorahiko knifing the guy.

//

If it had been Nana or Toshinori in this position, Sorahiko muses, they would have had a tougher time getting accustomed to the sheer brutality of the era. Their present isn’t perfect, but they at least have the economy and government in working order. This is just chaos, through and through.

People lie, cheat, and steal to make it through the day, and Sorahiko genuinely has no idea how the country’s still managing an influx of goods when it seems like the world is too busy imploding to maintain a trade network.

Not his problem.

He’s got two children to mind. Food and shelter, that’s what he promised them, and he aims to deliver. The latter is a broken-down residential building, empty of any permanent legal inhabitants because of the roaming mobs and people like Sorahiko (squatters).

And as for the former, well. Sorahiko’s working on it.

“You kids want to go to the countryside?” he asks idly. Against his better judgment, he’s had to let them follow him outside the building, because the probability of Chibi-AFO taking his absence as permission to run away is much, much higher than zero. Sorahiko carries the smaller boy on his hip, and Chibi-AFO has the dubious honor of sitting on his shoulders. 

He left the uniform at home, opting for a beat-up denim jacket over his black turtleneck, jeans, and sneakers. The boys have been scrubbed clean(ish), and dressed in better clothes (though when Chibi-AFO’s base standard is a repurposed garbage bag, anything is a massive improvement).

Wandering down a street in broad daylight would have had them clocked as a family. Sorahiko uncomfortably represses the weird twist of his gut, in favor of being grateful that it’s the dead of night, as they are looking for a convenience store to rob.

“What’s that?” the smaller boy asks.

“The countryside? It’s outside the city. Quiet, if you don’t count the bugs, but pretty boring after a while. Lots of green. Probably better food.”

“No,” Chibi-AFO mutters into his hair. “Don’t wanna go.”

He sighs. Part of him--the city boy who much preferred streets of asphalt and plenty of high buildings--agrees with the toddler. The rest of him thinks that Chibi-AFO is simply being contrary. 

Ever since they discovered that Sorahiko can’t be affected by his Quirk-stealing power (it was a downright relief to know that Jet wouldn’t disappear in the middle of the night; it was absolutely hilarious to see Chibi-AFO’s face as his last murder attempt failed to spear Sorahiko’s shin, bouncing off like the black energy was made of rubber), Chibi-AFO’s been pouty and prone to temper tantrums. The smaller boy is awed to see Sorahiko survive every time.

“It’s nicer in the summer,” he says.

“Why?”

Sorahiko considers his memories of going to his grandparents’ house as a child. The backyard garden, the forest surrounding the mountain village, the many terrifyingly large bugs that found cozy homes in his blankets… He clears his throat. “Because it’s worse in the winter.”

“That’s not an answer!”

“Well, what do you know,” Sorahiko drawls, hitching the smaller boy a little higher. “You’re just a baby. I know a lot more than you.”

The specifics of what the boys seemed to know and understand about the world, their life, or even each other remains a total mystery to Sorahiko. They haven’t given him names yet, and he’s not inclined to do anything like renaming them. They don’t know how old they are, and they don’t know the name of the city they were wandering in. They can’t read, and they certainly don’t know how to write.

Chibi-AFO digs his tiny gremlin fingers into Sorahiko’s hair. “Not babies,” he mutters, and Sorahiko is about to jostle the kid when, of all the times and places, a man staggers out of an alley ahead, spots them, and brandishes a familiar whistle.

“Metas,” he snarls.

Sorahiko makes several rapid calculations. The man is sober, not drunk. That means Sorahiko can’t rely on inflicting a simple head concussion to compound any memory issues. Chibi-AFO is tense on his shoulders, and the smaller boy has instinctively made himself smaller, even as he clutches one of his brother’s ankles.

“Move even once,” he hears himself snarl back, “and I’ll make sure it’s your last. We’re just on a walk.”

“Diseased freaks shouldn’t be allowed out of the quarantine zones,” the man says, and he pulls out a knife too. Then, like a true fanatic, he goes to blow the whistle in order to flag a squad of Meta X-ers to gather.

Sorahiko crouches down and pries the smaller boy’s clinging hands off, wrenches Chibi-AFO off along with his jacket. The shrill call of the whistle sings in the previously quiet night; Sorahiko catches both boys in the jacket and squeezes their shoulders, stares hard at them.

“This’ll be quick,” he promises, and whips around at the sound of rubber soles hitting asphalt.

Knife raised. The man is mid-lunge. Sorahiko pounces with a burst of Jet, tackles him back, wrestling the knife out of the now desperate grip. The man writhes under him, like he’s just realized that he’s picked a fight against a Meta with teeth. Insults spill out of the man’s mouth, filthy enough that Sorahiko sees red when he takes the wooden handle and pins his opponent to the ground by the throat.

How many Meta X-ers are in the area? Does Sorahiko have enough time to smash and grab a few containers of instant noodles before they need to flee to the roofs? Why are people so stupid--

“White hair,” the man wheezes, and Sorahiko redoubles his grip on the knife. He wishes the man would just shut up and preserve his own life. He wishes he hadn’t brought the boys along. “White hair, light eyes, two kids. White hair… light eyes… two kids…!”

Sorahiko plunges the knife down, and hears the man manage one more, “Monster!” before sharpened steel pierces flesh and bone.

#bnha #gran torino #torino sorahiko #all for one #shigaraki yoichi #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhumpday10 #shih's art #shih.txt #sorahiko and his shigaraki adoptees au #sorahiko realized that literally no cop or meta x-er could manage to hold him (so long as he wasn't stupid) #and said 'ok great it's time for petty thievery'

[roomsofangel]

GROWING PAINS . . . # CHAPTER ONE !

synopsis you hated christmas. simple. this year was no different, the only thing changing was the scenery when you decide to let your older brother, yunho convince you to visit your grandmother who neither of you had met but hoped it would do some good. everything was still the same — writer’s block, the winter loneliness, the way yunho won’t stop singing jingle bell rock, yeah, everything was the same. at least, until a certain blonde haired boy made it his mission to melt your iced heart.

warnings none

wc 745

if you’d like to be added to the taglist please either send an ask in my inbox or leave a comment to be added to the taglist! reblogs and comments are also very appreciated! ^_^

your hand held the pen with a firm grip, shakily tracing a few squiggled lines on your clean sheet of paper that wouldn’t be for much longer, teeth sinking into your bottom lip enough to draw the taste of metallic. “this is bullshit.” you set the pen down on the desk, running your fingers through the strands of your hair with a slight tug at your scalp, “do you think i’m allowed to fail?” you called out to your brother who walked in with his hands to his head, towel being used to dry his fresh out the shower hair

“you can just finish it after the trip,” yunho shrugged, aiming the towel to the side while you heard him mumble that he’d get that later and hurried to raid the refrigerator for orange juice, “need apple by the way,” he voiced while scavenging for a glass

you groaned, scrunching the paper into a ball and throwing it into—missing—the garbage can. “i want to do it now though,” you leaned your head back to watch your brother who looked as if he was a kid on a sugar rush, pouring his juice and grabbing a quick granola bar before slipping on his jacket and shoes while stumbling

“who knows, maybe you’ll find muse there,” he replied with a teasing tone, a kissy face being cut short by you aiming a pencil to his chest, “hey! i’m sensitive, ya know!” exaggerating a few of the words before laughing it off, “but come on, we need to get going, you got your bag?”

you scoffed, “of course i do,” leaning to the side to grab your drawstring bag before standing, “you ready?”

yunho hummed, and that was enough of a response for you. both of you sharing the same mutual thought.

no, the fuck not.

“do you think she’ll like us?” you couldn’t help but ask outloud, kicking a small rock on the ground while you walked alongside your brother up the driveway of your grandma’s house, glancing at yunho who shrugged, hands shoved into his jacket’s pockets

ears red and nose rosy, yunho cleared his throat, “she didn’t even like dad,” he amused, but you saw right through it. he was worried about the same thing.

three knocks on the door were made while you looked around the unfamiliar neighborhood that made you feel small. compared to the small overloaded home you and yunho were raised in, this seemed like a five star resort.

“is she even here?” you asked, and yunho pulled out his phone in a haste, checking the time and dialing a number

“let me check.”

“you mean we came here and you don’t even know if she’s home, yunho?!” you shrieked, your bag falling onto the ground as you found yourself running your fingers through your hair, hands on your head before you sat on the benches that resided on her patio, messing with the strings from your worn out jeans

your eyes scanned the neighborhood while you blocked and muffled out yunho’s ranting and worrying, gaze locking on a guy who had his hair tucked into a beanie and hands stuffed into his pockets while he had a mask covering most of his features. his eyes were pretty, catlike even.

messing with your chipped nail polish, you froze at the sudden turn he had done, eyes locking with yours. the cold winter air suddenly felt like summer heat and you blinked a few times to look at the ground, more-so at your hands that were getting a bit too cold

“okay, key’s under the mat, she’s out grocery shopping,” yunho ended the call and aimed the next conversation with you who nodded in response, standing and dusting yourself off while he kneeled down and lifted the corner of the WELCOME doormat to see a silver key. an extra. thank god.

hearing the click and the door opening, “thank fuck,” yunho muttered before entering, you walked up to the doorway and turned to look at where you remember seeing the pretty stranger

and much to your bittersweet dismay, he wasn’t still looking at you. instead— he was raking up snow from the lawn, this time without his mask and singing under his breath, or at least you assumed with the rhythm of dance he was showing while mouthing something—that, and you noticed the airpods in his ears while he stayed focused on his task.

maybe the temporary stay wouldn’t be too bad.

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taglist (open)

#. . .growing pains! ˖ ་ ❄️ #choi san #choi san fic #choi san x reader #choi san x y/n #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez x reader #choi san angst #choi san smut #choi san fluff #choi san fanfic #choi san writing #ateez imagines #choi san imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez san #ateez writing #ateez ff

[honeybeesources]

— THINGS MY MUSES HAVE SAID.

Things  my  muses  have  said that have no place in any type of roleplay except crack and are likely only funny to me.  NSFW. Change  as  needed.

"Your  name's  caboose  'cause  you're  a  trainwreck." "I  got  slapped  in  a  Pizza  Hut  once." "Would  you  prefer  to  hit  me  over  the  head  with  a  rock  until  I  stop  moving?" "[MUSE  NAME]  beats  my  ass  in  4K." "Bro  can't  deal  with  a  little  trauma." "Some  of  y'all  are  freaks.  I  say  this  lovingly." "Kisses  your  little  head  tenderly  like  a  loving  mother." "Your  mother  should  have  swallowed  you." "It's  more  like  I'm  the  hurricane  taking  out  the  town  your  parade  is  in." "No,  I  think  that's  Hamtaro  fanfiction." "That's  him,  my  little  Baja  Blast." "Shut  it,  you  piss-soaked  urinal  cake." "You  both  smell  like  unwashed  ballsacks.  That's  why  you  belong  together." "Whoa,  a  newcomer  joins  the  misogynists." "Please,  sir,  it's  cold  and  wet  outside.  Might  I  just  stand  by  the  fire  with  my  ears  covered?" "Go  dong  yourself." "Do  you  want  to  end  up  in  a  garbage  bag  again?" "Tell  me  why  I've  known  you  for  going  on  three  years  and  the  desire  to  murder  you  in  cold  blood  has  only  grown  the  more  we  interact." "Oh  no,  whatever  would  I  do  if  you  never  forgave  me  for  maiming  you  after  several  warnings  that  you  did  not  follow?  My  life  would  be  ruined.  Truly  in  shambles." "I  hope  you  get  an  incurable  illness." "I  think  you  should  seek  mental  help." "Do  you  want  to  play  with  the  tires  of  my  car  again?" "I  hope  ants  crawl  into  your  urethra." "You  can  try,  but  I  have  a  doberman  who  loves  to  eat  garbage  and  when  we  sees  you,  he's  gonna  have  a  field  day." "I've  fucked  few  mothers  in  my  years." "You  look  like  the  Grinch's  left  ass  cheek.  Can  I  trade  you  for  another  rival?" "You  overestimate  how  much  I  care." "The  only  nightmare  here  is  your  profile  picture." "Two  kisses  and  I'll  think  about  Mater  for  ten  minutes."

#crack #crack starters #long post #long meme #rp #roleplay #roleplay memes #roleplay meme #rp meme #roleplay prompts #rp memes #rp prompts #sentence starters #tumblr rp #tumblr roleplay

[aparticularbandit]

Oh No, It's Again

Summary: Makoto wakes while everyone slumbers and makes his way to an unlocked kitchen and sees her standing there, bag of Cheetos in one hand and a pair of chopsticks in the other, munching them a little too loudly, and when she holds the bag out to him, he doesn’t take it.

If I kill you, will that stop everything?

She grins.  Won’t know if you won’t try, will you, lucky boy?

~

Inspired by this post, but absolutely nothing like it.

Mostly.

Rating: M for graphic depictions of violence and general Danganronpa reasons.

AO3

The first time Makoto falls down the garbage chute, still locked to a desk that, along with him, was meant to be crushed by a compactor, he reminisces about when he first came to Hope’s Peak Academy.

Then he hits the floor head first and has just enough time to hear the cracking of his skull, the sharp shattering of his spine, before everything goes black.

~

The second time Makoto falls down the garbage chute, still locked to what is probably that exact same desk, he has a sharp sense of déjà vu.  He muses on this for a few seconds, brow furrowing, until he lands, again head first, his neck snapping at a sharp angle.

This time, though, his eyes are open, and he sees everything, but not enough.

~

Makoto doesn’t eat a lot of food, but he finds himself throwing a lot away.

A lot of trash.  A lot of excess.

He feels bad about it, at first, because it’s just such a waste of food, and there are starving people all over the world, and it doesn’t really matter that they for some reason have unlimited food in Hope’s Peak (maybe, if they weren’t in the middle of a Killing Game – and what sort of person refers to this as a game? – it would be great to bring everyone here.  Unlimited food!  No one would need to starve! But first they need to get out of this alive)—

It’s not like he knows why he’s doing this.

Just something…something in him tells him that there needs to be more trash.

More trash.

Like it’s some sort of life-or-death matter.

~

It takes at least another seventy-eight respawns before Makoto survives in the garbage chute.

(Then she temples her fingers together and leans forward with an intrigued grin on her face.  Finally, something interesting.)

~

The first time Junko faces the trash compactor, she glances up, waiting to see if Alter Ego will appear to save her the same way it saved Makoto.

~

Sayaka Maizono hesitates before attacking Leon.

He catches her in the attempt, and he attacks back.

She dies in the bathroom of the boy she’d meant to frame, blood-tipped finger trying hopelessly to write her murderer’s name on the wall beside her, everything going black before she can finish.

~

The second time, Junko doesn’t even glance up.  She knows how this story ends.

She also knows how to get out.

Ultimate Analyst, baby!

~

Sayaka Maizono hesitates before attacking Leon, and when he attacks her, she has a strong, strong sense of déjà vu.

Unfortunately, she is not the only one.

Leon cuts her fingers off while she’s still alive, but he’s an idiot and tries to throw them in the incinerator, too.  A few of them make it in, sure, and there’s such a stench that everyone complains as soon as they wake up.  The problem is that not all of them make it in.

Makoto might be a lot of things – he might even be a murderer! – but no one believes that he would chop Sayaka’s fingers off.

Or try to burn them.

~

Chihiro doesn’t ask Mondo for help; he asks Taka.

Mondo, desperate to keep his secret exactly as it is, strangles Byakuya for being a prick.

(She laughs a bit at that.  She’s been waiting on someone to shut him up.)

Unfortunately, without Byakuya to mess with the scene, Mondo’s caught easily.

Kyoko, impressive as always, matches Mondo’s fingerprints to the bruises on Byakuya’s neck.

Before they get to the trial, Jack snaps.  Mondo isn’t killed with the same care and consideration that her other victims were given.  In fact, the only reason they even know that the bloody mess is Mondo is because he’s the only one missing.

(It’s the most gruesome murder she’s seen, and she’s seen a lot of murders.)

Jack cackles as she’s led to her death.

Except that she sneezes, and Toko doesn’t know why she’s being flayed alive with her own scissors.  She doesn’t know why, but she understands, and the despair on her face when she finds out that Byakuya, too, is gone—

(Oh, if only it could be like this every time.  But, then, she’s seen this now.  It won’t be as good next time.)

~

Sayaka Maizono doesn’t hesitate, but she hasn’t thought through the follow-up.

Everything else proceeds as normal, other than killing her at the Class Trial instead of Leon.

She dances herself to death with red hot iron shoes, her screams tuned into music.

(She’d been proud of herself for that one and glad to find an opportunity to finally use it!)

Makoto doesn’t get enough trash in the garbage this time, too distraught over Sayaka actually killing someone, and breaks his neck.  This time, some of his brains splatter out!

(This would be a lot cooler if she hadn’t seen that thirty respawns ago.)

~

Sayaka Maizono succeeds.

Everyone votes for Makoto as the murderer.

She didn’t realize her success would mean everyone else dies.

Rather than graduating at the top of her class like a good girl does, she jumps down the garbage chute.

Now, Makoto definitely has not had enough time to fill the garbage with enough trash to soften that blow, but Sayaka doesn’t land on her head.  She breaks both of her legs and starves to death after eating what garbage can be found.

~

The next time, Sayaka realizes enough to throw herself in the incinerator instead of down the garbage chute.

It’s immensely painful, but it doesn’t last nearly as long.

(She snacks on Cheetos after the Trial, licks the orange dust from her fingertips with a sigh, and resets the chess pieces.)

~

Makoto, tired of falling down the garbage chute, doesn’t sacrifice himself for Kyoko.

Of course, he can’t remember falling down the garbage chute, but something in the back of his head says, Hey, don’t help Kyoko.  You’re going to die if you do, and she’s not worth saving, and for once in his life, he listens.

Kyoko dies, and the only thing they hear before everything goes black is, “Boring,” in the voice of someone who should have been dead weeks ago.

~

Alter Ego steps in to save Kyoko, but Makoto doesn’t have the skeleton key, and she dies of starvation in the garbage, like Sayaka did, only without her legs broken.  Sometimes she yells through the hatch, sometimes she makes it all the way up the ladder and bangs on it, but Hiro’s still alive and he calls it a ghost in the system.

It doesn’t matter, they still don’t have the key, and it’s not like they can convince anyone else to jump down to save her.

(She leaves it running just long enough to hear Kyoko’s wheezing gasp and then restarts the Game.  It makes her stomach churn.  Almost as much as seeing the image of her own skeletal frame mimicked in Kyoko’s body.

There’s nothing fun about seeing someone you love starve to death.)

~

Sayaka succeeds.

Sayaka succeeds, and she doesn’t try to kill herself because even though she didn’t know her actions would cause everyone else to die, she did, somehow, and so she’s prepared for what it means to graduate, what it means to win, what it means to get out alive.

Sayaka looks up at the Mastermind with eyes wide with recognition and hears, “Can’t end the show on one episode!  Sorry, babe.”

(She’s cruel when she says that Sayaka’s band members are all dead.  Her despair is warm as a beating heart.)

~

Makoto doesn’t switch rooms with Sayaka, and when Leon goes to meet with her, they have a nice conversation about music, and nobody dies.

Makoto doesn’t switch rooms with Sayaka, but Hina still hides herself with Sakura, and instead of waking up one day to Leon or Sayaka’s murdered body, they wake up another day later to Hina having disappeared and the school smelling of burnt flesh.

The thing is, they all know what happened to Hina, but none of them actually discover her body, so there’s no announcement.

It feels a bit like this isn’t the right ending.

~

(This time, she gives Sakura explicit murder instructions.  No throwing bodies in the incinerator.  You have to die this time, Sakura.

Sakura tries to strangle her instead, which is a fun thought, except that she grins and grins and grins.)

~

(This time, she tells Sayaka that her band members are all alive.  Safe and sound.)

~

Makoto doesn’t switch rooms with Sayaka, and Makoto convinces Hina to sleep somewhere else, and Sakura rips off Celeste’s fake hair, and Mukuro looks up at the cameras with eyes that clearly ask, Is this what you wanted, sis?

~

The next time, Mukuro hesitates before the Spears of Gungnir hit her.  She looks up at the cameras and blinks twice.  Her head tilts ever so gently to one side.  Then her gaze flicks to the spears.  Her mouth makes a small, Oh.

(She hits the respawn button so hard that it nearly breaks.)

~

(It doesn’t matter.)

~

Mukuro hesitates before stepping on Monokuma and decides against it.  She doesn’t know why.  She trusts her sister, obviously, but something says not to provoke her right now.

Even if it is scripted.

~

When Chihiro doesn’t die, Alter Ego is a lot more aggressive.

(Unfortunately for them, she has her own Alter Ego by this point, working in the shadows, stopping them at every turn.)

~

Unfortunately for Mukuro, when she doesn’t get killed by the Spears of Gungnir, Sakura kills her instead.  Grabs her head between both hands and presses together until—

Well.

Mukuro tries to stop her.  Claws shreds in Sakura’s legs with the razor sharp bear claws she’s been given in the place of fingernails.

Her head explodes, eventually.  Blood and brain mixed together all over the walls.  Not as cool as when Jack killed Mondo, of course, but still pleasantly appealing.  It’s hard to even tell the difference between the pink of her blood and the pink of her brains.

Kyoko finds the small bits of flesh under Mukuro’s fake fingernails, notes the gauze wrapped around Sakura’s legs, and puts two and two together.

(Maybe next time Sakura should kill Kyoko.)

~

Mukuro turns before Sakura can grab her head between her hands, but it doesn’t do any good.

Sakura grabs her head between her thighs and smashes it faster.

(She’s not gonna lie – that was impressive.  She should save a video of that just for her own personal use.)

~

Sakura tries to strangle the Mastermind, and a still living Mukuro slits her throat before any harm can come to her.

Unfortunately, this is still considered a murder.

The Spears of Gungnir make a return!  It’s not as fun this time.

~

(This time, she tells Sayaka the truth: There is no escape.)

~

Sakura strangles Kyoko, and none of them are smart enough to figure out that she did it.

Sakura confesses at the end because, unlike Sayaka, she will never find it acceptable to sacrifice the rest of her classmates just to find out the truth.

~

Hina drowns in the swimming pool.

Chihiro is impaled with spears that, really, no one else should have access to.

Makoto thinks he’s seen all of this before, his stomach cramping with nothing but déjà vu.

~

(The Game is boring without Kyoko.

The Game is worse when she has the same memories everyone else does.

The Game suffers because even without her memories, Kyoko can’t be anyone other than who she is.

The unfortunate thing is that this has never worked out for her.  If she lost her memories, she would be an entirely different person.  But no one ever takes her memories.

Yasuke tried, sure, and would have succeeded if he had figured out a way to make it permanent.

Unfortunate, then, that she was the one to figure it out.

It could have saved so many problems.

Not least of which is how bored she is getting with this entire thing.)

~

Makoto wakes up.

Makoto walks into the front room to meet all of his new classmates.

Within thirty seconds, every single one of them is impaled.

He doesn’t understand what’s going on.

Blood trickles from his lips.

He looks up at video cameras and wonders who, in their right mind, would enjoy this sort of thing?

(No one.  She doesn’t even enjoy this.  She just had to do it.  At least once.  Just to see what would happen.)

~

This time, only most of them are impaled.

Makoto and Kyoko are both left alive.

Mukuro tries to pull a Sayaka and write something in her blood, but another spear stabs direct through both of her hands, stopping her.

Even without her memories, Kyoko knows enough to know that Makoto didn’t do something like this, although she doesn’t know how – or why – she knows this.  It’s baked into her blood, after all.

It’s not baked into Makoto’s blood, though.

He drops to his knees and sobs.

(There’s something fun about seeing Makoto break, she can’t deny that.  But even that gets boring after a while.

When Kyoko figures her out, she yawns.  She waves her fingers at Kyoko, who stares at her through the video cameras, and resets the Game again.)

~

Once, Mukuro points a gun at the back of the Mastermind’s head.

Enough.

The Mastermind just laughs.

What’s enough?

The Mastermind resets the Game again before Mukuro can stop her.

(Then she makes some changes in the code so that can’t happen again.)

~

Sakura catches the Mastermind exactly once.

She pops her head between her thighs with a strange sense of déjà vu.

But with the Mastermind dead, that should be it, shouldn’t it?  Everything should—

(She had to know.  She had to know what it felt like.  She planned it so that her hand would fall on the reset button as she died.)

~

Junko resets and she resets and she keeps her memory of every Game and she has clips here and there and everywhere.  When she gets bored, she replays some of her favorite moments, but they don’t have the same appeal they once did.  Unfortunately, she can feel herself growing tired even of those.

And while there are still a lot more versions of the Game she could run, a lot more deaths she could see, she’s….

Tired.

Sure, sure, in a real Game, there would be a secret ending to unlock if she got every ending, but let’s be real here, how long will that take?  And it’s not like there’s a guide for this, or anything like that.

Junko runs the pad of her thumb on the button and wonders just what would need to happen for Makoto to kill someone.

Then, she grins.

~

Makoto figures it out.

Kyoko doesn’t figure it out; Makoto does.

It’s something he can’t even name, something about seeing Junko’s freckles and Junko’s magazines, and it hits him like a wave of…of something.

That’s not figuring it out, of course.

He’d say he was remembering it, but it feels like…like there’s a lot he doesn’t remember.

~

Makoto wakes while everyone slumbers and makes his way to an unlocked kitchen and sees her standing there, bag of Cheetos in one hand and a pair of chopsticks in the other, munching them a little too loudly, and when she holds the bag out to him, he doesn’t take it.

If I kill you, will that stop everything?

She grins.  Won’t know if you won’t try, will you, lucky boy?

~

A complete set.

Junko looks at a complete set and lets out a sigh.

That’s fine, then.

She can be done.

This time, when she resets everything, she wipes their minds again.  Sure, sure, it’ll play like it did the first time, probably.

Unless she makes some adjustments.

~

(Makoto doesn’t know what he needs to do to keep himself from dying.  She’ll fix that.  But nothing else.

That Game wasn’t the most entertaining, but.  Well.

She’ll give them the highlights of the other Games afterwards.  Won’t that be fun?

Oh!  And she’ll reset it and let them out.  A final prize!  Everyone’s alive!

But all of you have killed each other so many times.

That will be fun to see!

Puhuhuhuhu….~)

~

Junko has seen these executions hundreds of times, knew how to beat them after once.  Ultimate Analyst, baby.

It’s only the compactor that she has no real control over.

Of course, by now, Junko knows how to beat it, if she wants, but she’s playing it like she should have that first time.  Instead of pulling out the button and triumphantly pushing it right as the compactor falls (resetting everything and saving herself the pain of being crushed), she lets it fall.

(She has already been crushed by the compactor.  It hurts, but not in the warm, comforting way that having her head crushed by Sakura’s thighs had been.  This way, she’s conscious enough to feel every single one of her bones break, splinter, cut through her fragile skin.  Sometimes, her teeth shove up into her brain instead of simply cracking.  Sometimes both.  Her fingernails split down the middle, tear through her skin.  What a way to go.)

And even still, she looks up.

Maybe Alter Ego will save her this time.

It happens, every now and again.

(Sometimes, her own Alter Ego saves her, too, and she sees the despair of there being two of her entering all of the survivors before she resets the Game.  It was splendidly thrilling the first time, but even that has lost its luster.)

But no.

She set this to end the way it should have the first time Makoto was smart enough to save himself.

It’s not the most painful death.

But it will suffice.

~

When Junko dies, crushed beneath the compactor that should have (but did not) crush him, a red button skids across the floor, spattered with her blood.  Makoto picks it up, only for Kyoko to take it from him.  She comments on how the button itself seems well-used, how this is not a brand new shining button but that the color has started to fade, how some of the patterns around it have worn off from use.  She puzzles over that; it doesn’t make sense that the button intended to let them out should look like this.

But the others don’t care, but Makoto doesn’t care.

Byakuya snatches the button from her hands and marches to the door, pretending to be their leader again when everyone can see that he very clearly wasn’t.

They gather in front of the door.

He presses the button.

#bandit fic #danganronpa #danganronpa trigger happy havoc #danganronpa thh #drthh #dr thh #thh #trigger happy havoc #junko enoshima #enoshima junko #makoto naegi #naegi makoto #kyoko kirigiri #kirigiri kyoko #sayaka maizono #maizono sayaka #sakura ogami #ogami sakura #mukuro ikusaba #ikusaba mukuro #asahina aoi #aoi asahina #byakuya togami #togami byakuya #chihiro fujisaki #fujisaki chihiro #mondo owada #owada mondo #leon kuwata #kuwata leon

[biscuitblinkeu]

Cards and the Sony Handcam [3]

Park Chaeyoung x Fem!reader

Word count: 4111

A/n: The slow build up is killing me, and it’s probably killing you readers more since I didn’t even give y’all a summary… Why does the word count get bigger every chapter 🗿

Chapter not proofread yet

……………………………………………………………………

“You really like coffee, don’t you,” you muse, having watched Roseanne the moment she got her drink inhale the aroma like it was a lifeline; your lips quirked into a fond smile.

In fact, she had made a beeline towards the café table closest to the entrance where she sat and promptly fell into the cushioned chair with a heavy sigh, as though all the energy was draining from her body in that instant. She gave you her exact order as you offered to get it for her, and stayed slumped there while you got the drinks.

She takes a sip of her coffee, sighing contentedly. “Yes, but I like it even more when I actually need it.”

“Tiring day?”

She nods, “And it’s not even over yet. I might need an iced coffee to-go.”

“Or, you could take a nap. I don’t think that much coffee is healthy.” 

Roseanne gives you a look, as to say, ‘caffeine is what every college student functions on.’ She sighs, “I wish I could be able to, naps don’t exist for me.” 

“You can’t sleep?” You ask, and Roseanne confirms with a nod. “Have you tried melatonin? That usually helps me.”

“Yes I have, it doesn’t work.”

“You're an insomniac?”

“Afraid so,” she says. You talk a little more. And despite being insomniac, she still gets that iced coffee. (And as she’s walking out of the café with it, she thinks everyone makes poor choices every once in a while. In hindsight, she shouldn’t be drinking another cup.)

You and Roseanne went your separate ways for now, as you would see eachother again in a few hours when you were moving in. Lisa had committed to the task of helping you move your things from your current room to Roseanne’s, along with the help of some of the Dance majors. 

“I’ll be out of your hair in less than an hour, so stop the whining, please.” You say, irritated. Your roommate has been nagging in your ear about all the garbage bags with your clothes, shoes, and other things all in front of the door. Krystal huffs in response, rolling her eyes and smacking her gum as she plugs her AirPod back into her ears. You wish it stayed in her ear and she would stop taking the thing out just to bitch about something else.

It's not long before a pattern of knocks sound at your door; a familiar series of taps and you open your door to Lisa, Hyunjin, and Yeji. 

“Hey!” Lisa greets, hugging you briefly before sliding past you as she whispers, “Ready to get out of this hellhole?” You make a dramatic roll of your eyes before looking at the man and woman in front of you, smiling mischievously. “How are my favorite twins?” Simultaneously, they groan and start a rant about how they only look similar and have the same last name but aren’t related in any way.

You laugh, letting them in and they make quick work of taking the bags and items you had lined by the doorway and putting them into a cart provided by the University. All your stuff is in the cart in fourty or so minutes, and you’re given a half-assed goodbye from Krystal as the door shuts behind you with a click.

“Thank you all for helping,” you say, trailing behind the Hwangs who push the cart, Lisa at your side.

“It’s no problem,” the Hwangs voiced at the same time. 

“Why do you keep copying me?” Yeji, whined. 

“I’m not!” Hyunjin shouted, irritated that they’re not really fighting the stereotype of twins. You and Lisa laughed, watching them babble on.

Lisa nudged you in the side, “Roseanne’s dorm is near the English Arts building, and it’s on one of the higher floors so we have to take the elevator.” Lisa tells you as you turn another hallway.

“That’s pretty convenient for her then, being next to the building most of her classes are all in. I usually have to take a short subway trip or walk across campus.”

“I know right? But if you think about it, after you move in, you won’t have to go out of your way for transportation since the Arts buildings are close together.” You hum.

After wheeling the cart through multiple hallways, walking across parking lots, and through a few doors you were in Roseanne’s residence hall. Like Lisa informed, you did have to take an elevator to the higher floors. When you got out on the fourth floor, you all walked along the numerous doors till you reached the end of the hallway.

It was one door, with no others adjacent to it, confirming that Roseanne had one of the bigger dorms. The bigger dorms were available for the top students who got in with their academics or accomplishments, the university even held raffles for the nicer dorms whenever a spot opened to the general population of students. (In short, if you were smart you had a higher chance of getting a bigger dorm.)

You and the two Hwangs jumped when Lisa started knocking very aggressively on Roseanne’s door. It was a succession of sharp blows, slaps, and thunks. The door was thrown open a few moments later by an agitated Roseanne. A few hairs were out of place and she looked very humorless, staring at Lisa with narrowed eyes and a tight smile. 

“You totally ran all the way here,” Lisa stated, pointing a finger at Roseanne as a sly smile painted her lips. The blonde huffed, eyes drifting to the cart behind Lisa, to you, and then back to Lisa lazily. 

“Yes, I ran. But do you have to do that every time?” She grumbled. Lisa grinned widely, nodding her head. She turned around and gestured to you. “Ready to have a new roomie?” 

Roseanne smiled before nodding her head in the direction of the room and said, “I am. Come on then.”

Upon walking in, you observed, if anything, that your university definitely had a large portion of its budget go into the dorms. Roseanne’s dorm was very nice, almost the size of a small apartment or studio. And that’s not to say your previous dorm wasn’t nice, because it was, but right off the bat there were significant differences between yours and Roseanne’s.

Her dorm was like a suite, it was very clean and minimal. She had enough space for a small living room, and across from that there was a small kitchen, which she had extra appliances and things. There was a hallway, with a room on each side and at the beginning of it, a bathroom. 

Roseanne led you to what would be your bedroom. “Here it is, there’s a closet over there, and then you can decide if you want to move that dresser or not…” she informed. “Let me know if you need any help, but I’ll be in my room doing assignments.” 

“Thanks, Roseanne.” You tell her as she disappears into her room and you enter your own room, taking in its appearance. It was smaller than your shared dorm room with Krystal obviously; it had a bed (no sheets or anything), the dresser Roseanne spoke about before she left, and a closet. it was perfect, though, because you had your own space.

(Little did you know that that “own space” of yours would be almost nonexistent in the untold future.)

It was a team effort taking your stuff out the cart, out the bags and into its respective spot. You decided to use the dresser still in the room as you had a lot of clothes. You helped with the lightweight things and planned to help with your heavy items like your I-Mac and clothing bags, but got shooed away. Now you’ve just been observing. (Observing the rippling arm muscles and hard earned bodies of the dancers, that is.)

“Are you okay?” Lisa approaches with a laugh, eyeing you. She’s detected your perverse notions, you thought, that’s the reason she came over here. You pull your bottom lip from where it was caught between your teeth and look away from the dancers, smiling at Lisa innocently. “Just fine, but I can’t get over how attractive they are, like, it should be a sin.”

Lisa gasps, “Am I included? You know I’m the hottest, right?”

(I’m the hottest, okay?)

“Yes, you too,” you roll your eyes playfully, poking her in the rib. Half an hour later, they finished up and you were walking them out the door. You smiled at them. “Thank you guys so much, I appreciate it.”

“No problem.”

“Of course.”

“See you soon,” Lisa said last, walking with the twins down the hallway. You closed the door with a sigh. What to do now?

…

Roseanne has left you to your devices for a few hours, and you’ve been somewhat quiet, so she flinches when she hears a knock on her door.

On the other hand, you, having reached the point of borderline boredom, caved in and decided to bother your new roommate. You had shuffled down the hallway to her open door and stood in her door frame, dressed similar to earlier except now wearing a baggy tee. “Hey, wanna watch a movie?”

Roseanne looks at the mess of papers in front of her, then back to you. “Sure, I could use a break.” 

It’s funny that you fell asleep during the movie despite being the one that asked to watch it. Roseanne can’t even watch it though because your snores are snatching her attention from the movie every few seconds.

She bites the inside of her cheek, deciding to lightly tap on your shoulder. “(Y/n), hey, you’re snoring and I can’t hear the movie.” 

You turn your head slightly, eyes still closed. “Then turn it up…” you murmur, pulling the cover over your shoulder.

“So you can yell at me for waking you because of the volume?”

You huff, dragging yourself upwards and throwing her an unamused look. “You woke me up anyway, so I don’t think that matters.”

Roseanne hums to herself, looking to the clock on the wall before turning her gaze to you again. “You look tired, why don’t we call it a night? You can take a shower.”

“Yeah, sure, that’d be great.” You agreed tiredly, hoping that when you’re under the shower water you don’t fall asleep. You take a quick shower, change, and brush your teeth before waking down the hallway to your room. Roseanne’s door was open so you yelled goodnight before shutting your own. Once in your room, you plop onto your bed face first, burying your nose deep in the pillow. Sleep comes quickly.

…

beep! beep! beep!

beep! beep! beep!

Roseanne’s eyes snap open in alarm at the screeching sound. Her body stilled, and she waited maybe seven seconds before she allowed herself to calm down. She remembered now; she had a roommate; someone living with her, and just in the room a little ways down and across the hallway. 

beep! beep! beep!

She assumed that horrid noise was just your alarm going off— really loudly, at seven in the morning on a Sunday. Roseanne tossed around to lay on her stomach, pressing her pillow to her head. She screwed her eyes shut, planning to fall asleep again, knowing you’re probably awake now to turn it off.

“…”

beep! beep! beep!

Any second now, she tells herself, you’re going to turn it off.

beep! beep! beep!

“Are you serious…” Roseanne murmurs, sliding out of bed groggily. The beep!..beep!..beep! was harsh on her ears, as was the sunlight seeping through her half-open curtains. She runs a hand through her tangled hair, knowing if she were to come across a mirror it’d resemble a lion’s mane. Bedhead wasn’t kind to her, she liked to toss and turn in her sleep.

Roseanne shivered as she stepped into the hallway, the draft of the air conditioner creeping across her skin. She padded to your door, her pajama pants which were pooling at her feet slid against the carpet with each step. She knocked thrice, and when you didn’t answer she knocked twice before coming in, and just as she thought, you were still asleep, oblivious to your alarm going off and still dead to the world.

You weren’t even all the way on your bed, she noticed, you had one leg hanging over the side with one fuzzy sock on the foot outside of the covers, the other leg bent, and your arms sprawled out in different directions. 

She has to feel around your bed for your phone, and the task was harder than she’d like to admit. You would roll over and toss and turn, shifting your phone’s position multiple times or burying it underneath your back or covers. 

How can someone sleep like this? 

Finally, Roseanne managed to find the damn phone and turned off the annoying alarm. You mumbled something incoherently  before turning over in your bed. She put your cover back on you before leaving the room, deciding to “fake sleep” for a few more hours since she didn’t want to face the responsibilities of the day yet.

Unsurprisingly, you woke up half an hour later, completely aware you didn’t wake up with your timer. You yawned, stretching pleasurably before leaving the bedroom. It was quiet as a mouse, the only sounds coming from outside the dorm and the air conditioning. You tiptoed to the bathroom, failing miserably at washing your face and brushing your teeth quietly. 

You hung out in the living room after eating a few pieces of toast and fruit because you can’t cook. If you really think about it, you’ve been surviving off of simple meals, microwave food, takeout, and Lisa’s cooking. (That’s embarrassing.)

Roseanne enters the kitchen three hours later, toothbrush in mouth as she pulls out a carton of orange juice. She entered so silently you were startled when you finally noticed that she was awake. “Jesus!”

“Good morning?…” She says with confusion, voice muffled by her toothbrush.

“Good afternoon,” you say back. It was twelve-something past morning. She slept till the early afternoon. 

Later in the day, after lounging around the dorm with Roseanne you were called by Lisa, who said her, Jennie, and Jisoo were coming over. 

Due to this, you and Roseanne had to go grocery shopping for snacks and other things low in her fridge. You got the essentials: milk, bottled water, bread, cheeses, more fruits, etc. (You would both pay for the total by splitting it as it was more convenient.) Then it was time to conquer the snack aisle, and bicker you did; over Oreo flavors. 

“The original is the best kind, it’s a staple, it’s what everyone gets. Therefore—” 

“Therefore you should try new flavors. Look,” she pulled a few boxes off the shelves, “they have some new flavors, there’s swedish fish, mint, s’mores, rice crispy, red velvet, birthday cake. What about mint?”

You physically recoil and Roseanne gives you a weird look. “Out of all the flavors you just listed, you picked that one?”

“What’s wrong with this one?” With a frown she holds up the Mint Oreo box, genuinely confused.

“What’s wrong with it is that—”

“Ladies,” a man interrupts. The smile on his face looked so incredibly strained, almost like a stretched rubber band. It’s then you realize he’s been standing behind the two of you to get a Oreo box himself since you’ve taken up this section of the aisle. He wrings his hands together, eyeing the number of Oreo boxes you both hold, and through his teeth he says, “Why don’t you just get both?” 

“Oh.” Roseanne said dumly, heat creeping up her neck. She turns to you, “Well, let’s get both then.” You agree wordlessly, feeling mortified as well. 

After that experience, shopping for snacks was smooth sailing and you were out of the store in record time. You went back to your dorm and put everything in its respective places and Roseanne took care of the snack platters. 

And as she took care of the snacks— putting them in organized bowls and arrangements, you watched her with difficulty. She was color coding the candies; lining up the Oreos in rows; making sure no kernels fell in the bowl. When she shifted the charcuterie board’s position for the nth time, you flopped back onto the couch and let out a whine. “Roseanne, that’s the 6th time you’ve arranged it! I swear it looks fine.”

She gives you a withering look, not quite believing you, and her hands fidget at her sides for a moment more before she gives up, plopping into a chair. She only gets like this when she needs something to do. Never does she not have something to occupy her, and when she does it’s so incredibly difficult to relax.

You affirm that the board looks fine once more before unpausing the tv, though a shiver induced by the AC passes through you and you instinctively reach for the cover laying folded across the couch next to you. 

“That’s not a blanket,” Roseanne speaks up, making you pause and pull your hand back and look her way. “It’s not?” you question, staring at the soft checkered pattern.

“I mean, it is. But it’s not supposed to be used.”

You blink. “What’s the point of the blanket being on the couch if it can’t be used?”

“It’s for decoration, of course.”

You throw your arms back, amused but slightly exasperated. You’re cold!

“I’m joking,” she says. (She’s not. Its only real purpose was to sit there and look nice.) “You can use it.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

An obnoxious pattern of knocks sound at the door and you flinch. You’ve come to know that it was Lisa becuase of what you heard earlier. Roseanne gets up to answer the door.

You hear the voices of Lisa and Jennie along with a new voice and sit up, smiling as they walk in. “Hey guys,” you greet and they return. You tilt your head at the brunette. “Jisoo, I presume?”

“Yeah, it’s nice to finally meet you, (Y/n).” You just about say the same before falling into conversation with them.

“You won’t believe what we saw in the hallways on the way here— some guy was running around butt naked in desperate need of something to cover up. I bet he got locked out by some friends or something.” Lisa says, plopping down next to you. 

You grimace. “I would be mortified. I wouldn’t show my face ever again.” Roseanne scrunches her nose up, agreeing with you. “Well, now that we’re all here let’s eat snacks and play some games. And by games I mean Poker and whatever else I have.”

You’re all seated around the glass coffee table in front of the couches, snack bowls at one end of the table up for grabs anytime and cards laid in front of you. You’ve dragged a beanbag chair into the room and occupied it. Lisa and Rosé sit adjacent to you on opposite sides of each other and Jennie and Jisoo sit with their legs criss-crossed on the other end.

Uno turns out to be a disaster. Everyone was making up their own rules and confusing the reverse and skip cards. Charades was the funniest thing you’ve ever witnessed. And Poker, it turns out, was fun. 

It turns out to be much easier to understand than you anticipated. Three cards are face up on the table, followed by another and the following, as explained by Roseanne. Jisoo and Lisa chime in with some pertinent facts and other oddball observations. A stack of plastic chips is placed in front of you when you demonstrate that you have a reasonable grasp and pledge to ask for assistance if necessary. They all promise you that betting is far more enjoyable. Lisa appears delighted that she won't run out of chips first. Lisa is quickly running out of chips and Jisoo and Roseanne have exhausted all of their chips, you all turn to look at the large stack in front of Jennie.

"Shark! She's a shark!" Lisa gripes, folding her arms and throwing her cards down on the table as she loses another hand.

"I haven't played before!" Jennie protests. "It's not exactly hard!"

"How are you winning then?" You whine, being in the same position as Jennie as a newbie. She’s a much better poker-newbie than you.

"How the hell do you do that?" Lisa asks exasperated.

"Math," Jennie says simply.

"Math?" Jisoo wonders aloud and Jennie turns to her.

"Yes, math. It's all a matter of probability. Isn't that how you do it?"

Your jaw has fallen to the floor, much like Lisa’s and Roseanne’s.

Jisoo looks at her with drawn brows. "Poker...and math?"

“Hah— you voluntarily do math outside of anything school related? I’m not surprised, smartass,” you say exasperated. Jennie is a law student after all, she was probably the smartest person in the room. Jennie laughs at your comment, quieting down when she feels a brush against her knee.

“That’s actually amazing to me Jen,” Jisoo says, smiling at the cat-eyed woman. “I really admire that about you, you know.” 

“It’s really nothing,” she replies, grinning sheepishly. At their prolonged eye contact, Jennie blushes, and just knowing the rosey color was blooming on her cheeks, she looked down, letting her hair fall like a curtain over her face. That grin of hers transformed into a wide and gummy smile.

“Another game?” Roseanne says, eying Jennie with mischief. Jennie looks up and meets her eyes and the mortified expression she made was comical to Roseanne. She wasn’t subtle at all, that was something Jennie knew— something everyone knew…except Jisoo.

 …

“Bye guys! This was fun, let’s do it again sometime.” You say sending off everyone.

After everyone leaves, you and Roseanne have the unanimous decision to clean up. It was a comfortable silence, you and her shuffling about with the low hum of her speaker’s music. You took the liberty of packing up the poker chips and cards into its box and clearing the table of any dishes. Roseanne was in the kitchen wiping down the counters and throwing away empty soda liters and takeout containers. 

After you fixed up the pillows and dragged the beanbag chairs back into the closet you met Roseanne in the kitchen. 

“Need some help?” You asked, eyeing the amount of dishes sitting in the bubbly water. You make a mental note to buy paper plates and cups.

“That would be nice. I could wash and rinse them and you could dry? Or vice-versa.”

“I’m cool with drying,” you say, moving around her to the other side. You leave out the part that you’re terrified of soggy food underneath your fingernails. It doesn’t look like she has any gloves either. You both begin the tasks then, and after she washed you dried the dishes she handed to you. Occasionally, your arms and elbows brushed together. 

You finished drying while Roseanne hopped in the shower. You were startled awake, having fallen asleep on the couch, by a tap on your shoulder. Your roommate gave you an apologetic smile. “You can get in now.”

You nod, dragging yourself up. This was why you weren’t a night owl. The drowsiness you felt at night was a crazy difference from how you were at the crack of dawn.

You get out of the shower, towel hanging around your neck, and Roseanne slides past you. “Goodnight,” you say, stifling a yawn as you stumble to your room. You lean on the doorframe as you wait for Roseanne to finish brushing her teeth. She comes out and heads to her own room, pausing in the doorway much like you. “Good night, (Y/n).” 

Your doors shut with a click and you plop down ungracefully on your bed, lazily kicking your sweats off. You're out like a light in five minutes. On the other side of the hallway, Roseanne is at her desk, where she pulls out her ragged camcorder. Sleep doesn’t come easily to her and when it does it isn’t the peaceful kind, hence why she stays up as long as she can. That is because she is afraid of her dreams.

She sets the camcorder on the surface in front of her and simply stares at it: the gray, nineteen-eighties camera her stepdad gave her for her twelfth birthday that still works till this day. It was the camera that saved her once, and in the end it will be what kills her.

Would you like to continue?

#biscuitblinkeu #blackpink x reader #fanfic #blackpink #fem reader #rosé x reader #rosé x fem!reader #park chaeyoung x reader #park chaeyoung x fem!reader #Tragedy.Biscuit

[aldryrththerainbowheart]

How I've missed you

Wait for me.

He said, mounting his horse and tipping his hat goodbye.

I’ll be back.

He said as he rode towards sunset. Until he was nothing more than a speck in the distance.

You’ll wait for him, but the question is how long? A month? A year? A decade? D was, after all, immortal, absolute. The time for him flows differently for you. One human lifespan is nothing but a blink of an eye for him.

You’ve never stayed in one place this long. You’re a nomad, drifting from one corner of Frontier to another. It made your feet twitch, aching to be on the road once more. But you couldn’t. How else he’ll find you? If he’d even look for you. You shook your head to shake off that thought. You can’t let them slink their way into your heart. D would never abandon you, ha made a promise and he keeps his promises.

Your deprecating musing was interrupted when you reached the door from your caravan. You ran your fingers over the cracked paint before reaching for the doorknob. A small, but cozy interior of your lodgings greeted you. Old, patterned scarf pinned over one wall, a small tin stove, a bunk in the far end, candles, and colorful trinkets hanging everywhere. It wasn’t much but you loved this place. The wheels attached to your home gave you the feeling that you can leave wherever you can and whenever you want.

You settled a bag with a piece of bread and cheese you’d managed to purchase for that little coin you had. When you heard squeaking followed by scratching of small claws over the worn wooden floor. Slicing off a bit of cheese, you crooned at the small thing creeping its way toward you.

You found Lettie when They were digging through your garbage in the middle of the night. You started leaving them with leftovers. One day you came home and found them lying at the foot of your bed, waiting for you. You have a pet now, you guess… Even though you have no idea what Lettie is, or even its gender. Just another creation of genetic tinkering done by Nobles.

“He’s gonna love you, I’m sure.” You told the creature as you ran your fingers over the sleek fur. It doesn’t respond, of course, but no matter. Just like with D, you don’t always need him to add to your conversations. You can do all the talking by yourself.

Slipping your hands under Lettie’s belly, you lifted them and carried them to your bunk. You flopped onto the bed and held Lettie close to your chest, before lifting them above your head. The animal's glossy eyes stared dispassionately at you.

“Look at you, getting all mopey.” Your voice took a high-pitched quality to resemble Lettie’s squeaks and, as you enunciate the words, you bounce the creature as if it’s talking to you.

“What do you know! I’m allowed to miss him every once in a while!”

“What would D say if he knew you were so anxious for his return?”

“Hush, I know he comes back.” You settled Lettie back on your chest, the animal was finally allowed to rest.

After a beat of silence, you whispered, “He always came back.”

You were woken up by a loud banging on the caravan’s door. You slogged towards the door whilst trying to blink away the blurriness in your vision. A distressed face of one of the villagers greeted you. It was the old man Johnson, he owned a farm on the outskirts of the town.

“Thank Krist! I thought you were never gonna answer!” The man spitted at you, face ruddy and eyes bulging.

“It better be good Jonny.” You grumbled passively at him.

“Harpies!” The man choked out. “A whole swarm of them!! They’re tearing apart my stock. I was…ah…

The farmer didn’t get the chance to finish the sentence as you walked out of the door with a golden blade in your hand. Johnson stumbled after you, eyes trained on the blade. Where in the seven hell did gypsy like you get their hands on such a weapon?? It was engraved with strange symbols with the dragon's head at the base of the blade, blood-red ruby eyes piercing into him.

You arrived at the ranch at the exact moment when one harpy clutched a frightened sheep in its claws. Just as the night perpetrator lifts the poor animal into the sky, a soft swoosh of a blade sings through the air. The harpy falls down with a blood-curdling screech, which alerts other harpies. They leave the flock and train their beady eyes on you. With a steadying exhale, you readjust your stance and point the sword in their direction, the golden blade gleaming in the moonlight.

The harpies all dive onto you in unison. However, their talons only grab air as you propel yourself upwards, your upper body twisting clockwise to reach as far as possible with your sword. Some harpies dodge, others drop on grass like swatted flies. Johnson was so taken by the sight in front of him that he hadn’t realized he remained alone on the pasture. Nor did he notice a dark figure approaching him slowly but steadily, broad shoulders draped in a dark cloak casting a long shadow over him.

You were running out of stamina and you knew it. Your movements were slower, your senses grew more sluggish. You cried out in pain as one of Harpie’s talons dug into your shoulder whilst the other aimed for your neck. Luckily, you managed to lodge the blade between the two of you. A bead of sweat ran down your neck as you felt the strength leaving your arms, beasts maw moving closer and closer to you.

The beast has never learned your taste, for its head has been severed from its body before it could notice. Same for the other harpy, which finally made the imminent danger disappear, at least for today. You grunted as the sharp claws slipped out of the fresh wound and swayed on your legs dangerously. It took you several minutes of labored breathing and cursing before you registered the presence of another in front of you.

When you looked up, you almost fell down on your knees for good. There, illuminated by the moon, was D. Serene and unmoving as ever. Spine straight while his sword rested in his relaxed grip, still stained with harpies blood. You stared at him for a good minute or two, before wobbly walking towards him. That walk became, a somewhat sloppy run, and with the remaining strength, you propelled yourself forward and jumped into the hunter's arms. D simply extended his arms towards you, knowing better than to try and fight your theatrics. The impact from your bodies colliding made an ‘ooff’ puff out of your throat, but you haven’t released your clutch on him. After a moment of silence, you spent feverishly clutching onto him with fingers tangled in his hair, you untangle yourself from him far enough to be able to look at his face. You immediately took it into your hands and started examining the dhampir closely, making sure there wasn’t a single scratch on him.

Once you were satisfied with the results the dhampir was left open to your affections. You kissed his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids. Inch by inch you peppered his face with kisses while he held you hugged tightly to him. D’s lips twisted as he tried to fight a smile tugging at his mouth. He couldn’t fight the quiet giggle that slipped from them.

And the farmer could only stand there and gape in awe. Out of all the things he saw tonight, A dhampir being smothered with affection with the softest of smiles would be the most unbelievable of them all.

#vampire hunter d x you #vampire hunter d x reader #vampire hunter d

[fireflywitch]

“They threw it into a garbage dump for us to find. I can still see it. I can still smell it. Will’s body, even if it wasn’t his body, behind trash bags and covered in rats. That’s what they thought of him.” Jonathan laughed harshly. “Monster, yeah okay. We never called it a monster. It was just an animal doing what wild animals do. These lab people? They’re real monsters. They did everything they could to keep us from knowing Will was still alive. Like they wanted him to die down there, instead of risk everyone knowing.” “Knowing?” whispered Nancy. Behind trash bags and rats. When she’d pulled all those newspapers, a lot of the stories had mused about not only how the victims had been killed, but how their killers had disposed of the bodies. Water burials as a sign of sick, twisted affection. Repeated stabs post-mortem as a sign of rage. Covered faces, missing tongues—Nancy had read a lot of articles. She didn’t have to think too hard about what throwing the body of a twelve-year-old into a dumpster covered in garbage and rats might mean.

chapter eleven: the real monster

#california show your teeth #jancy #me debating if this scene is romantic enough to tag as jancy HAH #and like kind of #jonathan byers #nancy wheeler

[nattousan]

Two roommates and a priest stood huddled around the rotting remains of a hideous oozing creature laying quite dead on their living room floor. Next to it, strewn across the peeling linoleum, lay the shredded remains of a peace lily Yuri's mom had left the night before after she'd "dropped by".

The creature had a ring of foam crusted over a hole on its head they assumed was its mouth, on account of the endless rows of needle sharp teeth jutting from its putrid green gums. Its multitude of bulging glassy eyes stared unblinkingly up at the ceiling.

"Told you it wasn't rats." said Lila to Yuri.

"Must've been the lily that got im, the poor thing, those plants are toxic to most everything they come into contact with" the priest mused.

"Oh really?" Lila said, "That makes sense, my mom used to keep them around the house around Easter and that's usually when one or both of our cats would get really sick. She'd still buy em though, every year, even after one of em died. Said it was apart of god's plan as one of gods creatures"

"This is not one of God's creatures." said the priest, nudging one of the things many segmented limbs, oily black and uncomfortably soft in death.

"Yea no shit"

Yuri ribbed her in the side.

"Ow! Ugh, i mean, no kidding!"

"So, mr. uh..."

" father- "

"Right, Mr. Father, you can get rid of this thing right? Like its a demon? You can just purify it or whatever and it's disintegrate into dust, right?"

"I'm afraid its not that simple." The priest said grimly, "We're going to need to burn the whole house down to its foundation.

"WHAT" both roommates shouted simultaneously.

"I would contact your landlord as soon as possible and get things straightened out, you only have about 4 more hours until sun sets. In the meantime I'll call the fire department and see if they can come out and do a controlled burn. That's the only way you're gonna get out of this safely.

"Wait a damn" -ouch!- "wait a FUCKING second, this is our house!" Lila protested, "the things already dead, why does the whole house need to burn?? You can't just throw us out on the fucking street just like that!"

The priest pursed his lips.

"If you're intent on wasting what little time you have asking for explanations, I can talk while you pack, but I must reiterate that time is of the essence here. Once the sun goes down and they smell one of their own has died, it's not going to be pretty.

"And what the fuck does THAT mean!" wailed Lila, "what are these things!?" but Yuri was already ushering her to her room with a garbage bag.

With Lila distracted, the priest and Yuri moved to the kitchen, where he started transferring what little food they had from the fridge into an insulated cooler.

"So what was that thing? How did it get into our house? None of the windows were broken and its too big to have squeezed in somewhere."

"Oh, no, it lived here already, these types of demons choose a single location to habituate and then remain there for as long as the structure still stands."

Yuri nearly dropped the glass jar of kimchi he was holding.

"What? We've been living here for almost a year, I think we would have noticed a poodle sized blob monster oozing around our apartment."

"Yes, usually people call us within days of moving in, or we hear about it post mortem, but I assure you, that creature has been living here for far longer than you have."

Yuri blanched.

the priest cleared his throat. "Do you both sleep with your door closed?"

"Yes?"

"That's probably why. For the sake of brevity I'm just going to say that they don't really exist during the day. They spend the daytime their own dimension and get called back to this one with the setting of the sun. They are extremely social creatures though so when one of them gets hurt, it releases a smell that marks its attacker and then nowhere is safe for the marked come nightfall."

Yuri finished emptying the fridge, there really wasn't much in there, and moved onto the cabinets. He straightened up and pushed back his long black mop of hair out of his eyes, a gesture he often did when he was stressed.

"So these things have just been crawling around our apartment at night and we just never noticed because we were in our rooms too much?"

"Most likely, did you ever notice things going missing or moved around in the morning? Mysterious moisture spots that didn't seem to clear up?"

"Dude have you seen the apartments in this area? They all have rat problems and mold. This was the only one in the city with two bedrooms under $1200 a month."

The priests demeanor softened a bit.

"I'm sorry. I know this is short notice but the longer you remain here the more likely it is that the mark will transfer to you both and then you'll truly never know peace again."

Yuri gripped the box of expired hamburger helper he was loading into a duffel bag.

"Never had it to begin with..."

The priest gave him a knowing look but didn't pry.

"My church can provide housing in the interim if you don't have... relatives.. in the area."

"You're damn right I don't"

"I'll make the necessary arrangements then."

Over the next two hours the two roommates packed up what little they had into whatever would carry it. Most of it was still in cardboard boxes anyway so it went quick. Still, Lila took her sweet time going through her closet to the point the Priest had taken to pacing by the door after loading everything else into the church's van.

"Lila! What else is left, it's getting close to sundown!" Yuri hollered down the cramped hallway. The priests pacing made him nervous and he'd rather not sour the good graces he'd extended towards them.

"I'm almost done!" Lila hollered back, " You didn't hear me bitching about moving your ridiculous rock collection you insist on dragging around"

"We're nearly out of time here, gentle people," The priest said tersely, glancing out the window, "I suggest you take what you can carry and we seal up the building, Yuri was it? Did you get into contact with your landlord?"

Yuri was helping scoop armfuls of colorful shawls into a laundry basket. "Oh, yea, I called but he didn't pick up, which is usually the case, so I left a voicemai-"

A series of short sharp knocks echoed through the empty apartment before the key turned and swift footsteps filled the hallway.

"Hello?? Ms. Kalimaschev? Ms. Engels?"

Yuri rolled his eyes.

"In here!"

A man appeared at the doorway whom the priest assumed to be their landlord. He was young, maybe his late 30's, with pommed back blonde hair, a bleached white button up and boat shoes. The smile he gave didn't reach his eyes.

"There you are, sorry I missed your call ladies, I was out on the lake." He fixed his gaze on the priest. "What's all this I hear about having to condemn my property?"

The priest stood up and brushed off his knees.

"Yes, I'm sorry sir but the house will soon be quite uninhabitable due to circumstances beyond these two's control, I'll be happy to explain it all at length outside, but first we must get out of the house immediately"

The landlords lips drew taught over his perfectly straight teeth in a hostile grin. He reached into the leather messenger bag hung over his shoulder and pulled out a thick packet of papers.

"Oh, no no no, these two still have three months left on their lease, they can't just declare the place unfit and skip out on rent."

The priest glanced out the window at the diminishing daylight, a bead of sweat running down his dark skin.

"I understand that sir, but like I said, we really do need to move this conversation outside."

The man straightened up, filling the doorway.

"Oh no no no no, no one's going anywhere, what about my property? Do you know how much I've invested in this place? I'm sure whatever damage they've caused can be covered by their deposit. Did you already call the fire department? Can you get them to turn around?"

Yuri bristled. "He says we gotta get out of here, have a look in the living room if you don't believe us."

The landlord smile tightened.

"Oh the thing on the floor? Oooh yea, I'm going to have to fine you for bringing pets in, the lease clearly states "no pets all-"

"Sir, we really don't have time for this, move aside please!"

"Yea, get out of the way dude, lets take this outside!" Yuri said, voice raised with anxiety.

The landlord dropped his smile and narrowed his eyes in a sneer. One hand pulled his phone out of his pocket.

"I will not be talked to like that, young lady, I've already been generous enough letting your kind rent this place, we're staying right here until the authorities arrive. This is my property after a-

Before he could finish his sentence a writhing mass of elongated limbs and gnashing teeth attached itself to his face with a horrid squelch. His body was thrown to the side like he's been punched and they could hear his muffled screams leaking out over the sound of bones crunching.

Lila let out a blood curdling scream and the priest ran to slam the door shut.

Immediately after it shut a heavy and wet weight slammed itself against the cheap particleboard door. The priest threw his weight against it to keep it shut as it was rammed over and over, warping the door a little more each time.

"Alright! We're going to have to go with plan B!" the priest shouted over his shoulder, "Yuri, reach into the holster underneath my cloak!"

"What about Lila??" Yuri yelled, flinching each time the door shook.

"Don't worry about me!" yelled Lila, pulling a katana out of a box in her closet.

The priest crossed himself.

#og post #this came to me after changing out a jug of plant water #my line of thought went from: #ugh #gross water -> good thing we don't have cats -> cats are creatures we really just let haunt our homes huh -> #what if there was something ELSE roaming around our house at night and we never knew it wouldn't THAT be fucked up -> #what if we only found out about it after it had died somehow #ect ect #if this gets 2000 notes i'll continue #but i got other shit i'm writing too #my stories #my writing #writblr

[full-tiltboogiearc]

FADE IN. INT. ATTIC OF SUNSET DINER — NIGHT

A young woman in a 50s-style waitress uniform sits on a worn-in gingham couch, flipping through channels on the TV. An old thing she found by the dumpster. The girl, named SET, stumbles upon a channel playing a music video: "I'm Coming Out" by Diana Ross.

SET (smiling) Hey, I know this song.

Set springs up from the couch and begins to dance, a mess of awkward limbs mimicking silver screen moves. She mumble-sings for a while, then eventually conjures up a sense of rhythm.

A shot of the dumpster outside. The diner is closed for the night, and the neon lights switch off with a mechanical hum. Archie, the new busboy, bursts through the back door and is about to sling a heavy garbage bag into the dumpster when something red on the ground by his white shoe catches his eye.

ARCHIE (follows the trail of red upwards—slowly—until he sees the mangled body of the chef slumped over on the side of the dumpster, dead) AAAAAAAHHHH! What the fuck!?!

Back in the attic. Set halts mid-step when she hears a scream. Sullen, she realizes someone uncovered her secret. (Not that she was trying to hide it too much.) Then, a second later, she's back in the groove.

MARSHTHING. indie multi-muse original character roleplay blog written by ana, 25+.

#indie rp #indie horror rp #indie slasher rp #indie sci fi rp #indie scifi rp #indie oc rp #self promo #hello *into the void* ily all

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Can we get Bruce’s reaction to the gift wrapped office? I’m obsessed and needed the fluff after the fear with Damian lol

"Alfred what-"

"Your wife has had it with her desk being rearranged," Alfred said, admiring your handiwork.

"Who helped?"

"I wasn't present," Alfred said primly. You had insisted if only to give him plausible deniability

"They did good work, whoever it was," he mused. Point taken, Cavalry, he thought. "Is anyone at home?"

"They've all one out for the evening, Master Bruce."

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, "Who did she con into individually wrapping my books?"

"I don't think she conned them so much as she asked nicely," Alfred said smiling. "I'm given to understand it was quite the bonding experience."

"Did she leave me a garbage bag?"

"Several. And a request that you let her shred it to repurpose into seedling starters."

"Fair enough," Bruce sighed, turning to the bookshelves to start unwrapping books. "What movie did they go see?"

"I believe there was a double feature of Grease and Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade at the drive-in."

#Bruce Wayne x reader #bruce wayne #batmom!reader #anon ask #ask answered #minors dni

[crispyjenkins]

more ac teasers bcause you can't stop me

to the lovely in my dms who wishes to remain anonymous, here's a lil look at that other ac thing i'm poking at, with that good good bleed effect angst 🤌 y'all get zero context for this scene i said in the tags but i'll say it here too: desmond miles is 🤏 this close to being my new obi-wan so you can imagine my current state of mind. do not even get me started on jaskier.

(modern plot era, gen or pre-slash, william miles' a+ parenting, off-screen blood n violence, in this scene they're still hiding out in monteriggioni, bleed effect, MASSIVE h/c in the full fic)

  “Did your mom know about this?”

  Growing more confused by the second, Desmond humours him if for no other reason than his own curiosity on where Shaun is taking this, “I mean, she was still around the Farm back then, so she must’ve. She went back to the Italian Order when I was fourteen, though.”

  This seems to surprise Shaun, even though Desmond is pretty sure all this would be in the file the Brotherhood has on him. “I didn’t realise you were actually Italian,” he muses, stepping back to start cleaning up their garbage, while Desmond holds up his jeans and frowns at them.

  “How else do you think I’ve made it this far with the gaps in Baby’s translation system?”

  “To be quite honest, I thought you were faking it.”

  Desmond barks out a laugh, before deciding there’s no way he’s putting his damp pants back on. His bag of things had been missed when escaping the warehouse, but he’s pretty sure Lucy and Rebecca had thought to buy him more clothes on their last supply run. Y’know. Hopefully.

  When he tries to help Shaun clean up, the man just shoos him off, so Desmond shrugs and leans against the table to wait for him to finish, tossing his jeans over his shoulder. “I’m Native and Kiwi on my dad’s side,” he says, scratching the beginnings of the growing beard on his jaw.

  “Native American?” Shaun clarifies, snapping the kit closed and gathering all the garbage in the poncho.

  “Yeah, something from the Pacific Northwest, he never did tell me exactly what. Uh, then I get the Italian and Colombian from my mom, and we’re pretty sure her grandma was Arab but she never talked about her life before immigrating to Rome, so.”

  “Quite the melting pot,” Shaun says, offering to let Desmond lean on him, but Desmond shakes his head: he’s walked off far worse than this. “Is she still with the Italian branch, then?”

  He almost doesn’t answer, clenching his jaw as Shaun leads them from the crumbling room. But eventually, when they’re almost to the bottom of the staircase and in danger of actually being heard by their other teammates, Desmond mutters, “I don’t know.”

  The look Shaun sends him is actually flatteringly distressed, without any of the usual sort of pity he gets when people realise just how distant he is from his parents. He awkwardly gives Desmond a pat on the shoulder, but doesn’t press for more — Desmond doesn’t know what he’d have done if he did.

.

#desmond is BROWN DAMMIT #anyway #cj answers #crispy writes #anon #assassins creed #genuine question: is there a cw or tw for distant/bad relationships with parents? #i write it a lot but have to be careful when reading other people's work some days #and wanna be considerate to my readers

[blithesrps]

Early Morning Meeting

Some fluff, per the poll and @ramshacklerumble 's specific request <3

‘Ignore it. Just…ignore it.’

Yuuri rolled in her bed, pulling the pillow over her head and pressing it around her ears. The soft blue light that still filled her and Grim’s bedroom told her it was early – way too early to be awoken by the sound of something thudding down the stairs. Whatever it was, Yuuri didn’t care to be dealing with it until after 7am at least.

Across the room, she could hear Grim’s peaceful snoring, the little gremlin blissfully sleeping through the noise. Yuuri huffed to herself, feeling sleep slink away from the edges of her consciousness. Just once she’d like to go through a day with Grim’s ability to sleep anywhere…and his appetite for that matter…

Another sound, this time something like the tinkling of coins on wood.

With a fresh sigh, Yuuri sat up and reached for her phone, wincing as the screen blazed on: 5:32 am. She wasn’t sure who was up at this hour, but she supposed as Housewarden of Ramshackle it was her duty to find out.

It wasn’t likely to be Ara, she mused as she reached for her hoodie to pull over her head. The girl seemed to be awake at all hours, but she was quiet as a mouse and would have been scandalized to be caught making such noise. The others she’d never seen up so early, which meant…

“Rat?” Yuuri called softly down the stairs. Silence was all that answered her, so she crept the rest of the way down and poked her head into the kitchen. There stood the boy in question, eyes wide and body tense where he crouched on the floor, looking all the world like a hare caught in a snare.

“I’m s-s-sorry! I t-tried to be quiet-t,” he whispered hurriedly as Yuuri gave a wide yawn.

“What are you doing?” she asked him, squinting down at the boy. He seemed to be picking up coins from the kitchen floor, on his knees next to a pile of clothing.

“Are you doing…laundry?” she asked in confusion.

“W-Well, yes,” he admitted breathlessly, still frozen in the position she’d found him. He flinched as Yuuri stepped closer, leaning to pick something out of the pile.

“This is Ace’s,” she frowned, looking at the basketball jersey in her hands, “Rat…”

“I d-d-didn’t take it!” Rat squeaked, doing his best to put the coins back into his pockets with trembling fingers, “It-t-t was just, I was alread-d-dy d-doing Ara’s and m-mine and he said-d-d-“

“I didn’t think you’d taken it,” Yuuri assured him, speaking more gently this time, “Don’t let Ace bully you into doing his chores though.” She shook her head, making a note to give her friend a good talking to later. Taking another look at the pile, she went to search under the kitchen sink for a fresh garbage back, returning to start shoving the clothing into it. It did look to be a mix of several different student’s, which shouldn’t have surprised her. Ramshackle had a habit of becoming the catch all for its many visitors and the detritus they left behind.

“I’m sorry,” Rat whispered miserably as he watched her gather the clothes, “I d-d-didn’t mean t-to-“

The side door of the kitchen swept open then, making both jump in surprise. Ara blinked at them from the opening, lips twitching at their mutual expressions.

“Good morning,” she said, a bit breathless from the run that had taken her out so early.

“Good morning, Ara,” Rat replied immediately.

“Morning. We’re doing laundry,” Yuuri said as well, gesturing to the bag. Rat gave her a quick glance, red tinging his cheek. He was embarrassed that she would give him cover like that…but grateful too.

“Mmm,” Ara hummed, glancing from Yuuri’s sleepy eyes to Rat still kneeling on the ground. She was smiling properly now, as much as Ara ever smiled. She moved over to the fridge, opening it to take out a carton of eggs and a bottle of water.

“Rat,” she said after taking a sip, “Thank you for taking care of the laundry. I’m sure it could wait until the sun is up, however. Rest is important.”

“Yes, Ara,” Rat said regretfully.

‘A bit hypocritical for someone up all night running…’ Yuuri thought to herself. Ara met her eyes and Yuuri started, caught with the creepy feeling the girl had heard her thought.

“Since we’re all up,” Ara continued, “Why don’t we make breakfast?”

“Oh! Oh! I’m game!” came a shout from the stairs, Grim grinning as he bounded down them to join their pack.

“Shhh, people are still sleeping,” Yuuri scolded him, trying to hide her smile, “How long were you spying on us for?”

“Dunno what you’re talkin’ about!” Grim huffed, clambering up onto a chair and smacking his paws eagerly onto the table top. Ara brought him a bowl and the eggs, and set him to work cracking them, Rat quickly leaping to busy himself making coffee. Soon the kitchen was full of activity, sizzling of batter and bacon filling the room. Yuuri imagined it wouldn’t long until the other members of the household were roused by the smell and came to join them. It was…cozy. It felt like…

‘Home,’ Yuuri decided.

It felt like home.

#blithes ocs: rat #blithes ocs: ara #blithes ocs: yuuri #twst ocs