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seiwas · 7 months
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₊˚⊹。with two hands to hold | iwaizumi hajime
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wc: 1.3k summary: iwaizumi might just be one of the best people you know.  contains: f!reader but i don’t mention any pronouns aside from oikawa’s girlfriend, a lot of reflecting on how reader perceives oikawa and iwaizumi (internal thoughts etc.) a/n: part of 'there's this sound (in my chest), and it only beats when you're around', more focused on oikawa and iwaizumi’s friendship if anything, also more focused on my interpretation of iwaizumi as a character (his motivations, goals, work ethic, etc.), reader is growing a fondness and adoration (cough *crush* cough) on iwaizumi series masterlist
comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡
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The thing about Iwaizumi, you realize, is that he dreams big. Sometimes, you think his aspirations are larger than life, larger than any barrier, any wall, any obstacle in front of him. Sometimes, you think that he’s made to carry all of it: his ambitions, his mental fortitude; the sheer strength his hands hold—the discipline he puts in day in and day out.
Iwaizumi is the steadfast image of perseverance that you don’t think you’ll ever forget.  
But there’s another thing about Iwaizumi, you notice, that all grit and bark, all sweat and tears—his dreams may be big but his heart is larger. And you see it watching him now, exhausted, and well past the threshold of his patience, stopping to return any more of Oikawa’s serves. 
Under the dim lights of the streelamp, the court goes into standstill. 
“That’s enough, Oikawa.” Iwaizumi yells across the court. You catch something you’ve never seen on Oikawa’s face before—anger, frustration, the moment right before the breaking. 
When you look at the two of them together, you see an inseparable force, a duo that gives and takes, that persists despite tragedies. You see two athletes, grappling against the pain of their very own humanity. There’s a perfectly unspoken trust that exists between the two of them—a bond you doubt you’ll ever find anywhere else in this life or the next. 
Oikawa and Iwaizumi have shared everything since they were kids, or so you’ve been told. Up until this point, they have continued to share the same goal: to win, always. To beat, always. To be the best, always. 
So, when you hear Iwaizumi yell out ‘enough’, you realize he’s decided to put his heart first—that his dreams may be big, but not larger than the burden his best friend carries. Iwaizumi has always acted as Oikawa’s voice of reason, because in moments like this, when Oikawa sees nothing but the goal ahead, Iwaizumi is the only one who can stop him. 
Oikawa takes a deep breath, sighing out, “Last 3.” 
“It’s late.” Iwaizumi replies curtly. 
Oikawa stares, venom in his gaze as Iwaizumi stands his ground, unmoving. You count four breaths before Oikawa caves in, tutting as he turns away. 
You’re the only one left watching them, Oikawa’s girlfriend having gone ahead the moment he started training overtime. You wonder if you should tell her that it’s always going to be like this though—you can count on your hands the number of times Oikawa’s gone home early since the moment you met him. 
Oikawa’s moody about it, you can tell, the frown on his face only emphasized by how pushed together his eyebrows are. (You wonder if you should tell her that he gets like this too). There’s added weight to each of his steps as he approaches his bag, and you look frantically to Iwaizumi for help. He only rolls his eyes, scanning the open court for anything else that needs tidying up.
Because Oikawa’s in such a sour mood he goes back home ahead of the two of you, mumbling his efforts at a goodbye. You don’t hold it against him, it’s been a tough week for the volleyball team after all—him especially. 
You don’t know much of the details, but you’d heard that there’s big potential for him to have a recurring injury. The strain is evident when he walks, his usual long strides shortened to smaller steps when you pass by him in the hallway.  
Once Iwaizumi clears the court, he jogs up to you, volleyball nestled in the crook of his elbow. 
“Sorry about that,” he mutters tiredly, “damn Shittykawa.” 
You shrug, “‘Everyone has those days.” 
You offer to carry any of the bags Iwaizumi’s currently holding—even his water jug will do, but he politely refuses, reassuring you that he can handle it, like he always does. 
You don’t doubt that for a second—that with those two hands, you’ve seen him take on too much while still making it look so little. 
“Are you always there when he’s like that?” you ask, walking beside him. 
“Nah,” Iwaizumi pauses, thinking over his words, “just when I think he needs it.”
You stay quiet for a while, debating whether you should say what’s on your mind. The more you get to know Iwaizumi, the better your impression of him becomes—and you don’t know how that’s possible. In the year that you’ve been friends, you have yet to uncover a single ugly thing about him. 
“You’re a good friend, Hajime.” you admit, choosing to share.
It’s dark out, with the occasional streetlamp casting light on his face. His ears barely peak through the shadows, reddening slightly. 
“Thanks,” he mumbles under his breath. If you had to nitpick, you think that this might be the somewhat ugly thing about him: he takes compliments poorly. (But even that isn’t really a bad thing). 
The rest of the walk to the convenience store is quiet but comfortable, your friendship with Iwaizumi having progressed this much. You tell him to stay outside, by the bench under the store’s fluorescent sign, while you get yourselves your usual drinks. 
When you step outside, you hand Iwaizumi his sour drink, watching as he takes a sip. You don’t know how he loves it so much but you think it might just be one of his quirks—one of the things that makes Iwaizumi, Iwaizumi. 
You open yours and drink, relaxing into the moment. There’s a thought that’s been bugging you since the start of your walk home. 
“Is it tiring?” you ask softly, setting your drink on your lap as you turn to face him. 
“Which?” he raises an eyebrow, resting the drink to his lips. 
“I guess… everything? Kawa and volleyball and all.”
You sound unsure because you are. You don’t know what you’re asking exactly, but there are times that you look over at Iwaizumi and see bags under his eyes (like now). He sighs a lot, and there’s a perpetual crease between his eyebrows from all the furrowing he does day-to-day. He also trains hard, being more disciplined than most. Then there’s this, with Oikawa, and you can’t imagine how he’s been dealing with this for almost all his life. 
Iwaizumi places his bottle beside him, interlacing his fingers on his lap before sighing out.
“Sometimes,” he replies, looking at the road across, “but it’s all part of the goal, I guess.” 
The goal. 
Oikawa’s dreams have always been absolute: to go pro and win, always; he takes that future and puts it right in front of him. You can argue that Iwaizumi is similar, but not the same. There is a fundamental difference between Oikawa and Iwaizumi that you’ve begun to see: Oikawa will continue to chase ahead—miles, months, and years until it breaks him, while Iwaizumi will go through every painstaking meter per second, everyday. 
Whenever you ask Iwaizumi about his hopes and dreams, the answers always vary, but his conviction stays the same. 
“What’s the goal lately?” you whisper, kicking your feet back and forth. Iwaizumi hums in thought. 
“To be somebody.” he confesses, like a secret. You hear it slightly, the sincerity in his voice, and maybe that’s why it all makes sense—how Iwaizumi manages to hold so much with just his two hands, why he puts in the effort everyday, and shows up whenever someone needs him there. 
You turn to him and you’re sure there must be stars in your eyes, your adoration for him leaking. 
“Don’t laugh.” he side-eyes you, cheeks flushing as he turns bashful. You laugh, but not for the reasons he might think; you laugh because you can’t believe it—that Iwaizumi is here beside you, wishing to be somebody, when you know he’s already made it there. (You wish you could tell him that).
There’s a twinkle in Iwaizumi’s eyes that always looks tenacious, and you see it now despite how shy and embarrassed he is. You get what it means—that he wants to be somebody bigger, better, stronger. That he wants to be somebody more than what he is now. 
“I’ll hold you to it.” you respond fondly.
You know he will.
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clawsextended · 2 months
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selina’s brand of stimming is very vocal and kinesthetic. she touches constantly, hums always, buzzes and buzzes and buzzes with life. she purrs, a sort of sound that comes raspy and rolling in the wake of her little notes, the melody that constantly exists in her head. selina’s feet move like she is ever and always a couple steps from dancing — fluid, liquid, boneless, her whole body is serpentine. her movements are perfectly elegant.
the particular brand of stimming she tends to partake in is very rhythmic. selina will tap dance little routines when she’s standing in place — her silly idle animation is always clicking her heels in a pattern, tapping her claws together if she’s in the suit. sound intimately affects the way she moves and what she does, and she’s constantly generating it from herself just because.
selina is perpetually quietly clicking her tongue, always touching a surface, always making some kind of constant connection with what’s around her. the world was made to be acted on by selina, and act on it she always will.
music is a large part of the happiest selina there is. put on something with a good, consistent, perpetual beat she never stops moving and it is so invigorating for her. however, does she go dancing? — oh, absolutely not, absolutely not, the topic of that kind of social closeness is terrifying unless she’s on a job.
(selina’s jobs can be so actively self-harming it’s insane. and it isolates her from normalcy. she can’t be a person in a crowd — she’s always a tool, never a human.)
the kitchen is filled with beautiful scents that waft up and away from the dinghy glow of old yellow streelamps. those same sentinels have seen her grow, have kept watchful silence through her every stage of life. she mixes batter and pours maple syrup over strips of bacon as she dances across the floor, an earbud beating some barren movement. the lyrics fall wayside and only the rhythm matters, only the solidity of percussion. every movement is a musical thing, partially for ease, partially for the constant sensation that attunes to her every molecule.
and selina, ever and always, is at home and enclosed in her own perpetually moving bubble, differing only when she chooses to push past it and alter outcomes.
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villa-kulla · 1 year
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Please, this painfully beautiful scene from Conviction:
“Oh hey, it’s raining,” he said as he gazed outside, the sound and smell of warm rain on asphalt beginning to fill the room. He was a tall, pale column in the shadowy room. Holding the curtains open a crack, the streetlamps from outside seemed to throw light over his skin, long and lean, and perfectly intact. Lalo’s eyes raked over him, from his firm chest to his slim hips with their shadowy grooves, wondering what would be more satisfying: to leave him shiny and pure, or ruin him fully, blot and bend that smooth skin, corrupting him from the inside out.
 
Or just fall in love for a week.
 
Howard glanced over at Lalo who was stretched in the rumpled sheets. His eyes were practically neon from the motel lights outside, skin an ivory pillar, smile curving like a soft sheet in a breeze as he turned back to watch the rain. Lalo looked down.
 
He’d leave Wardo alone, leave him exactly like this. Unblemished, and perfect. Whole. Lalo wouldn’t even hint at bringing Howard with him. Hell, even if Howard offered, Lalo would turn him down. It would be Lalo’s final gift to him. He might never fully belong to Lalo, might never give himself over to Lalo completely, but he’d still given Lalo a lot, more than most: understanding, affection, and above almost all, a good time. Don’t let anyone say Lalo Salamanca didn’t know how to show his appreciation.
 
The other half of Howard’s necktie was still laced around Lalo’s wrist. Lalo slowly pulled the end of the tie and watched it slide off his skin with a whisper and slip to the floor. He glanced back up at Howard by the window, taking one last look, filing the sight away so he could place it in the empty seat beside him on his next long drive to wherever he was told.
 
Steeling himself, Lalo let out a low whistle to catch Howard’s attention. Howard glanced over, and Lalo put his smile back on, eyes dark.
 
“Minute’s up, Wardo.”
🙏🏼
Awww thanks for the Conviction-love <3 I hadn't planned on adding anything to Shoot Your Shot, not wanting to "dilute" it too much. But the idea kept poking at me, and the chance to make it Lalo POV was what convinced me, since I wanted to do his POV all fic long. This ficlet might not have been necessary but it's a little bow on top I guess 🎀
Anyways, a lot of SYS was enjoying the opportunity to drool over Lalo - sexiest man alive - Salamanca, so much of the incentive for this scene in particular was the chance to have Howard through Lalo's eyes, and confirming the fact that he is, in fact, a gorgeous man himself lol. Commentary below the cut!
PUT A SCENE FROM ONE OF MY FICS IN MY ASK BOX AND I'LL DO THE DVD COMMENTARY <3
“Oh hey, it’s raining,” he said as he gazed outside, the sound and smell of warm rain on asphalt beginning to fill the room. He was a tall, pale column in the shadowy room. Holding the curtains open a crack, the streetlamps from outside seemed to throw light over his skin, long and lean, and perfectly intact. Lalo’s eyes raked over him, from his firm chest to his slim hips with their shadowy grooves, wondering what would be more satisfying: to leave him shiny and pure, or ruin him fully, blot and bend that smooth skin, corrupting him from the inside out.
So I definitely have a thing for the inherent romance of motel-rooms lmao which I was just mentioning in another DVD commentary. But something about the ambience is so irresistable, with cars passing, streelamps...and I think the temporary aspect of them adds to the temporariness of their arrangement here. Anyways, I think we can all agree rain instantly adds romance lol, and Lalo's eyes moving over him was the aforementioned chance to drool over Howard. And I think when Lalo debates 'ruining' or 'corrupting' him, it's not out of any kind of malice. Lalo doesn't strike me as particularly sadistic just for the hell of it. But I think the idea of being tempted to 'ruin' Howard simply comes from his narcissistic desire to see his effect on people. Theatre-major Lalo wants to be important to people, however briefly. And corrupting Howard would prove that he does have an impact on Howard, and also that Howard is something that's his <3
Or just fall in love for a week.
When his mom mentioned that earlier in the fic, I didn't plan for there to be this callback later. It was just one of those spur of the moment things, that felt like what my image of his mother in this fic might have said to him. But as soon as I wrote it I was like oh....well that's gonna feature again. 'Love' is however the reader interprets it for these two characters in this situation. But I think the line later, of "It didn’t much matter to Lalo if he was pretending to be this caught up in the romance himself, or if he really felt it. They meant the same thing to him anyways." pretty much sums up where Lalo's coming from in this affair. At this point he's having an unexpectedly great time with this side-romance of his, and it means more to him than he might admit. But there's still a shallow element to it. I don't think he really figured out just how into Howard he is, until he's bleeding out in the superlab, master plan starting to feel futile.
Howard glanced over at Lalo who was stretched in the rumpled sheets. His eyes were practically neon from the motel lights outside, skin an ivory pillar, smile curving like a soft sheet in a breeze as he turned back to watch the rain. Lalo looked down.
Howard DOES have some baby-blues, I tell ya. And the 'ivory pillar' here, and 'column' mention in the previous paragraph, continue to play with the notion that Lalo is carving him into his own personal Pygmalion. Side note, in the last part of the fic, when Howard gives a tiny smile as he says 'Conviction', I deeply regret not comparing it to 'a crack in the marble' lmao what was I thinking.
He’d leave Wardo alone, leave him exactly like this. Unblemished, and perfect. Whole. Lalo wouldn’t even hint at bringing Howard with him. Hell, even if Howard offered, Lalo would turn him down. It would be Lalo’s final gift to him. He might never fully belong to Lalo, might never give himself over to Lalo completely, but he’d still given Lalo a lot, more than most: understanding, affection, and above almost all, a good time. Don’t let anyone say Lalo Salamanca didn’t know how to show his appreciation.
Punctuation observation: I got very lazy italicizing Lalo's Spanish in SYS, as well as inconsistent in when I included the apostrophe in 'Wardo. Partly laziness, and partly to show a growing sense of familiarity between them. But in this fic, 'Wardo' is never punctuated, 'cause it's Lalo's POV. Also I love Lalo's headspace here, and the sense of him patting himself on the back a little. Like 'I'm such a stellar guy, I'm not going to bring this guy to his complete corruption and likely death' lmao. But I can see the 'cartel prince' having some courtly manners about him. Also, it sets up the scene in SYS where Lalo tries to turn Howard down at the end. Not that he tried too hard lol. He may have a streak of nobility but he also just wants to be loved.
The other half of Howard’s necktie was still laced around Lalo’s wrist. Lalo slowly pulled the end of the tie and watched it slide off his skin with a whisper and slip to the floor. He glanced back up at Howard by the window, taking one last look, filing the sight away so he could place it in the empty seat beside him on his next long drive to wherever he was told.
The necktie...is....a metaphor. Lol initially I thought it would be much more badass if Lalo worked his way out of the knots actual Houdini style, rather than just snapping the tie in half. But then realized having the tie still dangling from his wrists could provide a lot of good ~symbolism~. I wanted Howard to pull one off because that's Sexy, but left the other one hanging there so it could be highlighted in the "friendship-handshake" bit. But then, of course, as Lalo makes up his mind to let Howard go, he lets it fall. Heavy handed? Maybe lmao. But I do love the idea of Lalo just keeping one half around his wrist for the full fic, and never acknowledging it, you know, like someone with a crush
Steeling himself, Lalo let out a low whistle to catch Howard’s attention. Howard glanced over, and Lalo put his smile back on, eyes dark.
So I actually debated for quite a while whether or not to keep the 'steeling himself' bit, not sure if it was too much. Part of the challenge of writing Lalo, whether it was through Howard or Lalo's own POV, was not 'woobifying' him too much. Showing his vulnerabilities is only fun if it's balanced with his nastiness, so I never wanted to get too sugary with him. But I figured since this one was from Lalo's POV, a little more 'sweet than spice' wouldn't be out of place
“Minute’s up, Wardo.”
aka "get back here." Mannn, still not over how smitten these two turned out in this universe lol, I really had no set plan for what their vibe would be like when I stuck them together. But I liked how 'playful' their vibe was, whether it was in a sweet or snarky way. They're both smart cookies who are cut from the same cloth in many ways, so it seemed natural that when put together, they'd have a very energetic chemistry. anyway. I love them.
Thanks so much for the ask!! xo
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zeddpool · 1 year
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Made a map for the neighborhood my project, People Are Strange, takes place in, and I kinda love how it turned out
In depth tour under the cut
The Duskmire District
The Non-Human area of the city that can only be reached by either: 1. Going to the Black Hill station and taking the West Bound train, getting on the second to last car, and exiting through the rear door at the Bay Harbour stop; or 2. Take the number 13 bus from either Black Hill station, Rose Avenue, or Foxfoot Park, and stop at either Blackwater Bay or Streetlamp Square
Streetlamp Square
The main section of the Duskmire District, most shops are here, as well as Busker’s Corner, All outdoor walkways have shade for those citizens averse to sunlight
Blackwater Bay
Small trading harbour, services the only ferry to Spectre Bay, as well as the rear entrance to Pied Crow Bakery
Murky Crescent
Residential area of the Duskmire District, ending in Ravenswood Apartments
Moonhawk Alley
Alley off Streetlamp Square that leads to the 6ft Underground, has 2 offices on it, Dr. Asphodel & Associates, and Spein & Hyde Publisher’s
The 6-Feet Underground
Underground part of the Duskmire District, contains Duskmire platform of the Bay Harbour train station, the Ollie of Man Skatepark, Dionysus’ Diner, and The Tulgy Wood Headshop & Dispensary
Within Streelamp Square, you have
Bell, Book, & Candle
One-stop-shop for anything (aside from the stuff at the Apothecary) you need for magick - Lavender Blue’s place of work
Morgues Board
Cafe aimed at sanguivoric clientel, but does also serve “normal” food - Asha’s place of work
Pied Crow Bakery
Bakery specializing in ritual bakes and non-human palates - Ian’s place of work
Spein & Hyde Publisher’s
Publisher for books written by and for non-humans - Jeni’s place of work
Bare Bones Make Lovely Clothes
Originally a mercer’s shop run by Floyd alone, once his online shop takes off, Jacob partners with Floyd and they make it into a boutique/tailor focused on non-human fashions
玫瑰和毒菌 - Rose and Toadstool
Place where you can buy supplies for magick or herbal medicine, the owners are plantfolk, a rose and a redcap - Ju Li’s place of work
Little Alexandria
Bookshop with a wide array of books by and for non-humans, also includes a small private library and museum - Nefiri’s place of work
KWEB 91.3 - Anansi on the Air
Station focused on non-human news and music - Nika’s place of work
Dr. Asphodel & Associates
Therapy for non-humans, specializing in LGBTQ+ and relationship therapy - Marie’s place of work
The you have Murky Crescent, home of
Ravenswood Apartments
Technically a CoOp for non-humans, though humans are welcome, where all the main characters live
And finally there’s the 6 Feet Underground, which houses
Ollie of Man
Underground skatepark where non-humans can walk around and socialize without disguises or glamours - Ju Li’s favourite place to be
The Tulgy Wood
Head shop and dispensary aimed at non-human physiology - Beck’s place of work
Dionysus’ (aka “Dio’s”)
Diner where non-humans can eat and socialize without disguises or glamours, and serving food for non-human palates
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Fucking OBSESSED with the new set design for the 1975's new tour. The stack of TVs. The streelamp to the side. The way they've woven really impactful, dynamic lighting throughout the whole 'house' structure. That spiral staircase to nowhere is a cool addition. And the way they use the lighting at the start as like. A car pulling up and parking as the band arrive. AND the way the sax player is silhouetted against the window at the start of too shy, and Matty LETS HIM IN THROUGH THE FRONT DOOR for the solo?? Fucking priceless
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lanternlightersblog · 2 years
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#Repost @streetart_jf_semprez • • • • • • Paris #lampadaire #reverbere #lampederue #eclairagederue #streelamp https://www.instagram.com/p/CXQY52uMPeP/?utm_medium=tumblr
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frank-alferez · 4 years
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Camino de luz Carting de Conil desde una azotea en el punto. #conil #cadiz #night #sky #Spain #andalucia #lightrail #estaes_cadiz #andalucia #España #nightphotography #Nightshot #nightlandscape #clouds #cloudy #town #carting #trails #streelamp @cadizturismo (en Conil de la Frontera, Spain) https://www.instagram.com/p/B9rPAmjoZP4/?igshid=1v1icku4qk7pu
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its like 6am in the morning and still dark out but youre running late. its a little cold but you have an iced coffee with is being watered down by the rain.
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send me a ☂ and ill assign you a rainy day
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found footage
in which wes has made a terrible miscalculation
contains: a cabin in the woods
warning: spooky as hell, little bitta blood
It was almost midnight when the theater on the quiet side of town let out.  The atmosphere was good, Sam had promised, and Return of the Living Dead was the kind of shitshow that wouldn't be done proper, campy justice at the AMC.
It was good enough to be worth the walk - an extra half-mile through the slumbering woods to the streelamps and stoplights on Carter Street, and despite the nibbling October chill all three of them were in high spirits.  Danny and Sam had ganged up, teasing Tucker as they made their way along the empty road; Tucker retaliated by throwing an arm each over their shoulders and declaring he'd eat both their brains.
The scream echoed from somewhere through the woods.  It was a blood-curdling, bone-chilling one, and all three of them froze.  Tucker still had his arm half-slung around Sam, and swayed for a second to regain balance for both of them.  Danny only glanced back at them for a second.
"C'mon."
And then he took off into the trees.  Sam and Tucker followed after him, not because either of them really wanted to but because they'd have to back Danny up if something happened and things went south.
With the sort of trouble he got into these days, neither of them discredited that possibility.
The dirt trail stretching through the woods made Danny pause, and he could hear Sam and Tuck coming through the brush behind him.  In the woods, it was almost pitch-black; he conjured a softly-glowing handful of ghostfire, holding it high enough to allow them to see, and had a look up the trail.  There was a fallen tree across it, ten or fifteen yards down.
"I don't like the looks of this, man," said Tucker, almost in a whisper, and gave Danny's hand a tug.
"Doesn't matter.  If something happened - and if I can do anything about it. . . "
"But - "
"Are you with me, or not?  You don't have to come along.  I promise you don't."
All three of them knew full well they'd stick together; wherever Danny went, Tucker went, and wherever both of them went, Sam was never far behind.  "I know," said Tucker, giving the hand a squeeze.
Danny squeezed Tucker's hand back.  "Okay."
The dirt road that wound through the woods was almost pitch-dark.  The moon was hidden away behind a hard grey cover of clouds, and the bare trees on either side of the path clattered unhappily when the breeze swept through.  The fallen one was angled, one end held mostly-off-the-dirt by getting its branches tangled with the others, but there wasn't anough space underneath it for any of them to worm through.
Danny let the ghostfire idle so that he could offer the other hand to Sam, and phased them both through.  Bringing the light back around, he stared up the trail.  How far was it supposed to go?  He wasn't sure - his patrols didn’t tend to take him far out this way.
"Guys?" said Tucker, "Check this out."  He procured something greyish and plastic from a broken nest of twigs and dirt - it looked to be a camera, and, as he brushed it off and turned it over in his hands a couple of times, he found it was still rolling.
"No way," said Sam, "What's on it?"
Tucker shrugged, glancing down at the cracked screen and noting the black spot on it with some distaste, and clicked back to the beginning of the recording.  "Beats me.  You wanna find out?"
It was in black-and-white, and the first minute or so was aimless, ill-focused, shaky as hell.  In the woods, as far as they could tell for the backdrop, but the voices came through relatively clearly over the tinny camera speaker and hearing them made Danny frown.
"Is that Wes?  Is this his?"
The recording cut to what appeared to be a back porch, all of a sudden clearer.  It was him, alright, with a backpack slung over one shoulder and looking irritated.
"Are you done fucking around?" Wes was saying, "D'you have that EMF reader I gave you?"
"Yeah," said the voice behind the camera - his brother, Kyle, by the sound of it - and teased him a little.  "Wait, wait, don't tell me - it can smell a ghost from a mile off, right?"
Wes groaned.  "Shut up, it doesn't smell ghosts.  Stupid."
"No, you're stupid," said Kyle, laughing, and Wes didn't dignify that with a response.  He went up onto the porch, pausing at the door and trying to peer inside the dusty glass inset.  Kyle, helpfully: "Is it locked?"
The feed cut again, this time to a slow panning shot of what looked to be a bedroom.  It was sparse, only occupied by the bedframe in the corner, which denoted the room's purpose; the mattress was gone, giving it a skeletal air.  Wes was holding something squarish - aforementioned EMF reader, presumably - and looking back at the door that went to the hall.  The audio on this part was awful, cutting in-and-out and scratchy.  Wes said something but it was too crunchy to make out.
"Shit," said Tucker, giving the camera a light smack with one palm as if that would fix the issue, "You didn't catch that either, did you?"
"Nah," said Sam and Danny at the same time.
"I'm gonna skip a bit, then, and maybe see if it gets better," said Tucker, jumping ten- or fifteen-seconds at a time until the audio sounded less like walking over broken glass.  It cut back in on the two of them in a different room, and they'd gone back to arguing.
"I told you, bro - ghosts aren't real."
"You tell me what the fuck that was, then!" Wes hissed through his teeth.  He was only half in the frame; by the stillness, it was fair to assume the camera had been set down on a table or shelf.  He looked over his shoulder, seemed to relax somewhat, and let all his breath out at once.  "Why are you like this?  You saw it.  I know you did.  Don't fucking lie to me."
Kyle wasn't in the frame, but his voice came through slightly quieter.  "Yeah."  A pause.  "You still want to go back and grab that doozit?"
"Yeah.  I do.  And then I wanna fuck on outta here."
A harsh interference as the camera was picked back up; then it cut to an empty hallway.  At the end was a closed door.  Kyle's voice: "See that?"
Wes, out-of-frame, in a whisper: "No."
The camera lingered on the hallway for a moment.  It was empty - save for the flick of a shadow just before it swung back into the room.
Sam was the one that caught the movement, and sucked in a breath through her teeth.  "Go back - I saw - go back a sec!"
Tucker went back, a frame at a time, and Sam jabbed one finger down on the cracked display.  Sure enough, just before the swinging movement, only for a handful of frames: an indisputable something, human-shaped but composed of darkness, came up into one of the empty doorways.  Until it had moved, it was just a shadow, unremarkable and plain; back a few more frames, and it was nothing at all.
Then the camera was pointed back into the room again, this one perhaps a workroom or one for storage.  The table to one side was off-kilter, and Wes was peering behind one of the two bookshelves that sat on either side of the window.  He was looking for something (doozit, it had been called), but when he looked back toward the camera, he froze.
"Kyle."  The audio was barely there.  "Kyle - oh, shit - !"
The camera was knocked away; by the time it crashed to the floor, they were both screaming.  A moment of scrambling panic, mostly showing dirty sneakers and shins and cracked floorboards; then the camera was scooped up again and whirled out of the house.
It cut in-and-out a few times, focusing in again on Wes as he set the thing down.  A dark, almost-black line of blood streamed from one temple; he was panting, crying a little bit too, and he took a moment to calm himself back down.
"I don't know what happened to him," he whispered, throwing a glance over his shoulder, seemingly not seeing anything.  "He was behind me - I thought he was, I don't know. . . I gotta try and - " an audible sob - " - find him.  Shit, I can't. . . "
A deep breath.
"Okay.  I'm gonna do it.  I'll be back."
The sound that came through on the camera's speaker was gravelly and distorted, but the slinking shape of darkness encroached clearly.  The dead spot on the screen hid most of its figure, but it wasn't hiding itself; its head was distinct and humanoid, lacking any features except for two tiny pinpricks of white as its eyes, and the fingers that crept over the side of the fallen tree were too-long and too-sharp.
Wes sensed it too late.  He only got half a scream out; the sound was cut abruptly and mercilessly short, and he smacked the camera down as he tried to scramble back.  There was a momentary struggle, although it was out-of-frame and the sounds of it were muffled; then nothing, only the silent quaking of the woods in the breeze. . .
". . . I think that's it," said Tucker, skimming through the rest with no luck.  "It goes another ten minutes but the audio's gone."
Danny glanced up the trail; the place Wes and Kyle had found must be at the end of it.  "I'm going up there.  I have to see if they're okay."
"Are you kidding?" said Tucker, "They're dead.  They're definitely dead."
"And what if they're not?" said Danny sharply, "Look, you know how ugly ghosts get.  You don't have to come with me.  But I'm not going to just leave them.  I can't do that."
Tucker shuffled his feet.  "I know," he mumbled, but he wouldn't look Danny in the eye.  "I just get scared for you, is all."
"Yeah - and I get scared for them, Tuck.  I don't have a choice.  I can't not do something about it, no matter what it is.  Did you want to stay here?  Either of you?"
"You know we won't," said Sam, "We're behind you."
"Tuck?"
"Yeah," said Tucker, "We're behind you."
Danny was flooded with cold relief.  No matter how many times it happened, no matter what they'd come up against, part of him was always afraid that they'd back down.  He was afraid they would - but he was more afraid not to give them the option to.  Somehow, it was a small fraction of the weight off his shoulders to know they were making that choice.
The wind bristling through the trees turned stiff.  Dead leaves tumbled across the trail, collecting by sheafs of tall grass on either side.  The ache of sorrow was pulling at him, and Danny couldn't ignore it.
No matter what they'd find up there - he had to help.
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avixthic · 3 years
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the night was hazy, heavy and syrup-like. faded rays of light from outside streelamps and traffic lights painted the room in a dim neon glow. it washed over her face, turning it soft at the edges, turning her into his personal mirage, where her embrace was his oasis.
he was on one elbow, leaning over her and drinking his fill of her resting form, serene and tranquil and refreshing.
he could it feel it burgeoning in his chest, like he did every time he saw her. he had read countless of stories of swooning men feeling the urge to break out into song when they laid eyes on their lovers. he had laughed it off, a foolish metaphor for an overwhelming sensation that he had a slim chance of experiencing.
but now he could sense it in his sternum, low and rolling, warm and smooth.
it was soft and broken at first, barely escaping his lips. he didn't want to wake her; she looked so relaxed, trusting in him to keep her safe and warm.
it got a bit louder then, his voice a tad grated with temporary disuse. he didn't focus on the skill so much as he honed in on the affection he had for her, her warmth and enthusiasm ironing out his tone.
it was silent except for his voice, and he smiled to himself, thinking that it would be the only outside source of sound to reach her ears. he liked it that way.
as the song drew to a close, he shifted, laying on his side and scooting closer to her, feeling his eyes grow heavy.
hopefully she had heard him. hopefully she realized just how much he cared for her.
hopefully. hopeful. hope.
hope.
a reader's and singer's dream
@atsu-mia @ushiitoji @the-phantoms-library @meese-geese
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dazeyisland · 4 years
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hi! can anyone with the white streelamps order me like...5? i can pay back in nmt, sanrio posters, or items off your wishlist if i have them!
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naomiduartee · 4 years
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The music of Frank Ocean
Music. I never really knew how impactful it could be, i had an idea of it when we would listen to it in your car, you driving fast and my fingertips playing with the soft blonde strands of hair that finish by your neck. i remember the look on your face focused on the road but your lips singing the songs we both liked. Until you’d turn and look at me, smiling at you of course. The way you’d smile at me - that was music.
Music in moments of silence, in a smile, in your embrace, in our crappy loose slow dances in the middle of a wide road, dim yellow streelamps spotlighting us among a blanket of little lights on the water. Music was playfullness, even when it wasn’t there. We would play a lot after. Our kisses the only sounds.
Music now? that music without you, Frank Ocean without you? They say it’s healing but fuck it hits like a ton of bricks. I know now how impactful it is. I fucking hate it.
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santiigold · 5 years
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tweakerwolf · 5 years
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DRM Endings 5 + 7
First round of endings, I put these two together since they are literally right next to each other in the dialogue branch. 5 was like the second one I got because I just knew I would be ‘rewarded’ for being on the sex train. And I was right, the name of the death did not disappoint hahaha
I will say here, since this is my first post for the DRM endings, that I saw Wren’s post about how the first few dialogue options within the bar and entering the alley ‘don’t matter’ as in they don’t affect the outcome of the game. So I’ll be mixing those first few answers up in my guides just for the fun of it but what really matters are the choices you make after he wants you to struggle! Keep that in mind.
On the off chance that this is the first time someone is reading my guides, I go into a lot of detail, hence the ‘read more’ link. I don’t just list answers, I want to be able to give warnings and descriptions for people that might be hesitant to try any particular path. So, the dialogue options you are expected to choose will be bolded, any trigger warnings or other descriptors will be italicized and all endings are block-quoted and italicized because I have multiple endings in the guide. So save often so you don’t have to re-play every single dialogue choice each time. I tend to add in small amounts of personal characterization in my guides as well (maybe the player character being dumb or horny or stubborn, etc) as a way to add to the story of why you pick the dialogue that you do so the guide is my own interpretation of the game itself. Just a warning; if you aren’t into that then just scroll through to find all the bolded answers I guess hahaha.
You find yourself standing outside of a bar named The Crossroads and you can’t help but think about demons. Maybe the owner had been thinking about them too. It’s late and you tell yourself that you should be asleep but instead of turning around, you push open the door and head inside. It’s packed inside, almost unbearably warm compared to the cool night air; you push in further and head for the bar. Everything seems normal so far, no sketchy demons hanging out waiting to make a deal. But as you sit there looking at the drink menu you get a chill up your spine; you look around and see a guy watching you. The way he’s staring at you... it’s intense. He smirks when he notices you catching him staring. You feel adventurous so ask him “See something you like?” He responds by looking you up and down and complaining that your clothes are in the way. Then he introduces himself and asks if you want to leave with him. He’s hot and you’re down to get laid so obviously accept his offer. Mateo smiles and beckons for you to follow him.
You head back out into the cold night air and Mateo immediately grabs your arm and pulls you down into the nearby alley. You don’t resist and you can feel the butterflies in your stomach as he pulls you along- this is a first for you! Following some guy into an alley, how dangerous! The alley is pretty deep, the streelamp doesn’t even illuminate it completely... Mateo pulls you into the darker corners, away from the light. That’s when he tells you that he’s going to be mean to you, so respond with “Be rough with me” since you don’t want to chicken out now. He doesn’t waste any time, grabbing a fistful of your shirt and slamming you back into the wall. As he presses you against the wall, he asks if that’s rough enough; tell him  “Yes” because you were just being coy, you didn’t expect him to actually rough you up... Instead of lightening up though, he just smirks and says that he’s going to get a lot rougher than that... Oh. Mateo doesn’t give you a lot of time to dwell on that, his hands are moving across your body; you can’t help but note the confidence in his explorations. Almost instantly his hands go down to your pants and you jerk in surprise- he wants to do it in the alley?? You thought it was just going to be making out but he wants to get down to business. You can’t help but think about how dirty and gross it is... but Mateo isn’t deterred, he actually tells you that he likes this particular alley because the noise from the bar helps down out all the screaming. And just like that he drops to his knees and undoes your pants. As his mouth touches your skin you decide that the alley is ok after all and you let him continue.
(semi-descriptive sex scene starts below, consensual under the circumstances of this ending. Sexual content from this point onwards)
He pulls your jeans down and bites your hip and your thighs before pulling your underwear down too. Of course Mateo notices how turned on you are at this point, smirking and commenting that the alley must not be so bad after all. He makes one final comment, saying that he can’t wait to destroy you, then his tongue is on your skin again. His hands are gripping your hips and that’s the only thing keeping you upright; your knees go weak as he works you over. Suddenly he leans back so he can turn you around, pulling your hips away from the wall as he puts his face back between your legs. You gasp and moan, using a hand to try and stifle yourself- are you really that desperate?!
By the time Mateo is done your legs feel like jelly. When he pulls on your pants, you barely manage to catch yourself as you tumble to the ground. He pushes you down onto your back and you try not to think about the dirty feeling of the asphalt beneath you. Next thing you know, Mateo is between your legs and unbuttoning his own jeans. He really doesn’t half-ass things! He’s ready to go all the way in the gross, open alleyway. And after what he just did to you, you’re ready too! Call out “Fuck me, please!” which makes him smirk and tease you a bit. He doesn’t leave you hanging for long though and he presses his cock into you. He pushes in all the way but pauses for a moment, looking down at you; eventually he rolls his hips slowly (slight screen shake), making you moan. He tells you that he knew you’d look good on the ground like that and he calls you a fucktoy, mentioning that he didn’t even have to try hard to get you. Then he asks if you’re just going to let him treat you like this- you’re letting some stranger fuck you in a dirty alley! And he didn’t even try to romance you, hell, he wasn’t even nice to you at any point. He suddenly slaps you (slight screen shake) and then yells at you to fight back when you sit there in stunned silence. He wants you to make it fun... Let it happen, whatever it is that he wants to do. You’re desperate for more and you aren’t sure what he wants from you. It’s not like you could escape at that point anyways and you know it, so why bother trying? You moan and shudder as he continues to thrust inside of you. A small part of you thinks you should try to push him off but... you’re just too full of...
...fear to really move. The things he said, the way he’s acting, it’s making you a bit on edge, even if it felt good at first. Maybe fighting back will just make it worse and you don’t want him to actually get rough with you... But instead of praising you for going with the flow, Mateo pauses, upset that you aren’t going to fight back at all. He gets mad, commenting that he has to do all the work... Before you can wonder what he means by that, he pulls out of you and stands up. You can’t do anything but sit there with your pants still around your ankles as he tucks himself away. You aren’t sure if he’s just going to leave you there are not... he calls you boring but then says that it isn’t a problem. You’re blindsided by a kick (quick thud noise) that knocks the wind out of you. The next thing you know, Mateo is pressing his boot down on your neck... Now you start to really freak out, your legs kick out as you try to push his leg off of you. He comments that the whole point of fucking you alive is that you make it fun, there’s no fun in it if you just lie there! A corpse can just lie there too. You continue to struggle but you grow weaker as you’re deprived of oxygen... As everything goes dark, you hear him laughing... Pathetic!
OR
... arousal to be hurt by his words. Your legs are squeezing his waist and you want more from him. You know it shouldn’t feel good- you’re in public, on top of garbage! But it feels amazing, there’s no denying it. You’re already close to an orgasm. Mateo runs his thumb over your mouth and you start sucking on it as you jerk your hips in time with his, moaning loudly. But Mateo gets pissed, asking if you’re too horny to even struggle. He curses and says that he’ll have to find someone with some self respect next time. Then he calls you a slut and tells you that he won’t kill you until after you get off, that way you at least finish first, since you’re so horny and all. He even throws in a bonus- if you don’t come, he’ll let you live! That finally catches your attention... he’s not serious, right? He continues to jerk his hips (slight screen shake) and you tense up. He was just joking right? Before you can say anything, Mateo starts manhandling you, pulling you up and turning you around so he can take you from behind. (slight screen shake) You barely catch yourself, hands and face just inches away from a nasty puddle of who knows what. There is trash everywhere... Mateo thrusts back inside you (multiple screen shakes) and you can’t help but feel pleasure. He was joking, right? Next his arm snakes around your hips so he can stroke you, knowing that you’re close. You’re terrified as you feel yourself get closer and closer to climaxing. It isn’t long before you’re screaming from the pleasure and you go weak. Orgasm achieved. Again, Mateo calls you a slut and says that you got off despite the fact that you could’ve chosen to live instead. His hand pushes down on your back and your face is pressed into the nasty puddle; it’s not that deep... just a few inches, but that’s all it takes to cover your face and block out the air. You push against the concrete and scream, struggling, but Mateo is too strong. His hand is like a steel vice holding you there. There’s no air... and the whole time, he’s still thrusting inside you. You can feel him fucking you even as you swallow the gross liquid. Eventually you go limp. Slut!
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tracktraced · 5 years
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will say this, though
i miss that feelin' ya get when it's past 2am and you're a few stories up, openin' the window to let cold air in. lookin' out and seein' the streelamps reflect off the roof of the cars parked down below. lightin' a cigarette and blowin' smoke through the screen, knowin' i'm not supposed to be smokin' in my apartment at all
that feelin' was one of the realest i've ever felt
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recklessyoshi · 7 years
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Street lamps
I didn't mind them. I mean why would I? They have a functional purpose: they light up the street when the sun goes away and it makes me feel safe when I have to walk alone. No real significance just something that was useful to me back in high school. Then you and I started talking and I fell in love and you knew but there wasn't anything other than that. We walked by the street that was filled with the street lamps but we never talked about them. No real significance. Then you graduated and I walked by myself again. Sometimes you dropped by and we talked about the flowers that were blooming and the tree that had its roots spread all over the street. We made them symbolic; we gave each other flower names and the tree was the ground of our friendship. Then the flowers began to wither and the tree's roots began to shrink but the street lamps were still there. I never noticed how they always seemed to be so bright during the night, it wasn't important to us. I moved away after I graduated. I never thought about the street lamps, no real significance. I happened to walk through the route we took when I visited and decided to look at one of them. They weren't important to us but they were important to you. I looked at one of them despite their unimportance and I saw your name engraved with someone else's. You never mentioned them because it wasn't important to us. I never told you that I looked at one. You don't call me by my flower name anymore and the tree fell on its side. The street lamps still shine. I stopped coming by.
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