Danti/Antiseptiplier Fluff One shots

The Drunken Visitor (1)

Dark's P.O.V –

I release an exhaled breath from my lips. Licking my index finger diligently and flicking onto another page of my book with said finger; my surroundings become cloudier with each investment of the page, as I become more involved in every new chapter I reach.

The pleasant release of euphoria my body feels as I reach a new checkpoint in my book can be comparable to the short-spanned reward system of a video game, quests completed, and rewards given for my successful efforts offer me a brand-new burst of energy that motivates me to continue.

Again, my fingers pluck and pull at the papering pages, their rough and sanded texture a familiar and comforting memory to me. Most can link the feeling of soft cotton of a baby blanket to memories of childhood, or perhaps certain scents that brings personal emotions, I, personally, resonate the distinct weak paper of books to many glorious memories in my past.

I estimate I am roughly halfway through the book, and no doubt the plot is increasing in dramatisation. My attention is captured and entrapped in the story. I can't seem to put in down and go to sleep. I've always taken a preferred liking to mystery and romance novels specifically, long stories sparked my interest since I was a child, a frequent hobby that transformed into an obsession, and that obsession has led me to peruse my love for books in more ways than one. Against my parents wishes, their concerns about a lack of money of which I will suffer to live comfortably off of, I still became an author.

The books I read and write share the same similar theme of mysterious and romance. I often question myself why I chose to peruse romance specifically in my career, perhaps it stemmed from the constant horniness of teenage years that built my future to keep myself grounded in the same personality of my teenage self, only in and older life-form? Or perhaps I believe my own secret fantasies of love are just too elegant to keep selflessly locked up in my mind? All must be available to read and rejoice in my genius writing.

My readers believe I hold a truly extensive experience in romance, love, sex and more, the fact is I have never held a relationship before.

Although reading is arguably one of my most treasured hobbies, it is generally routine that if I am not reading, I will be writing my next bestselling novel instead. Unfortunately, both pastimes I can only enjoy when I'm at my utmost comfort. I check off a routine personal list of terms and conditions in my mind when I attempt to further improve my skills as an author.

Rule one; the noise must be kept to a minimum or completely silent, exception of sounds intended to focus a person in their studies, such as the crackling of fire and a rainstorm, I allow myself when I am unable to immediately immerse myself in my work.

Currently, the fireplace lit with an uproarious fire, embers of glowing heat speckle just out of reach of the floor before their short lifespan is cut short by the cooling air. The fire, in all its flurry of colours spanning from reds, yellows, oranges and blues brighten the overcast room in it's glowing flame, embalming the surrounding area of the fireplace in a comfortable heat. The ferocious snapping of the flames as the lick the walls of the furnace brings surprisingly satisfying background ambience. On the contrary, the singular source of heat from the fire is my preferred method to stay warm during these cold autumn months, though I feel obliged to remind you to always remember to put out the fire before you fall asleep. Lest you awake in a panic during the night, dashing downstairs to put out the fire you fear has already burnt half your house to ashes while you slept.

Rule two; the lights are to be dimmed; I find indoor bright synthetic lightning to be harsh on my eyes as I am trying to focus intently on such small font. I have very specific and sometimes difficult to achieve demands.