#I just haven't fleshed it out past the Everyone Lives ending

[captainsweet]

Do I have a ROTTMNT DBH AU?

Yes.

Does it make sense?

No.

Does it happen to be Jelly and Jam centric?

Yes.

Do I make Cass weirdly passive and Badass?

Yes.

Do multiple AU versions of Leo appear and die?

Yes.

Does Leo only stay and become relevant until the end?

Yes.

Do I remove anything romantic?

Yes.

Will I mention this ever again?

No. This'll probably be the last. And I don't know why I'm talking about it in the first place.

[grntaire]

good omens is an allegory for queer deconstruction from an abusive fundamentalist religious environment.

i've talked about it on here ad nauseum, probably, but i haven't fleshed my thoughts out on it fully. this has been my interpretation since season 1, and season 2 just solidified it for me. so here goes.

it's about the choice that all queer people in an environment like this have to make, and both choices suck and end with loss.

choice 1: stay with your church community, your friends, your family, the world you've always known, but never be true to yourself. because they will never fully accept you if you are true to yourself.

choice 2: embrace your queerness, live your authentic life, and leave it all behind. you're torn from everything you've ever known, everyone you've ever loved. but it's what you have to do to be happy. aziraphale is stuck between choices. crowley never had a choice. his was made for him.

heaven are the church elders. the protectors. the ones who say they have your and god's best interest in mind, always. they don't. to them, hell are the blasphemers, who are both unworthy of redemption yet can only be saved by it. they are the arbiters of what is good and right and bad and wrong.

aziraphale's story is one of both learned faith and earned faith. learned, in that he's been indoctrinated his whole life. been to church at least twice a week since birth. earned, in that he's seen the good that the church can do–they feed the hungry, shelter the unhoused. how could people who do such good be capable of cruelty? and surely, when they are cruel, there must be some greater good to come out of it?

crowley was faithful once, too. he loved god. loved church. but he knew he was queer from a young age, and asked questions about it. not because he wanted to make trouble, but because he wanted to understand. to understand why something he knew about himself to be so innately true could be wrong. but the church didn't see it as that–they saw the embodiment of sin, questioning them. their authority, their virtuosity, the fibre of what holds their organization together, and he was cast out. was kicked out of his home, alienated from his family, his friends, his community. he fell. and he now sees the church for what it truly is.

as for aziraphale, he's accepted the fact that he's queer, but had faith that his elders had his best interest at heart when they spewed homophobic ideology. he never believed the ideology, not really, but he had to believe (made himself believe) that the people who spread it meant well. that they meant it out of kindness, out of protecting queer people from damnation. he wanted to believe that not everyone in the church was like this, that not everyone in the church thought all queer people are inherently people of sin. that is, until a mentor, someone he trusts, perpetuates it too. he's had moments in his past that chipped away at his faith: he'd stayed friends, or whatever you want to call it, with crowley, and crowley had tempted him into trying new things that the church wouldn't approve of. things that aziraphale loved. but this moment with his mentor is when his faith is truly shaken. it's the beginning of his active deconstruction.

and so he leaves. he leaves and finds crowley and they build a semblance of a life together with what they have. they're happy. he's learning that he doesn't need to go to church to be holy. that he doesn't need to be holy to be happy. that he's allowed to indulge in the things he loves without guilt and shame.

that is, until that mentor shows up at his doorstep, offering him everything he's ever wanted. insinuates that he knows him and crowley aren't just friends, and assures him that they can come back to church together. that they're going to change things in the church, and that aziraphale can help. that they need aziraphale to help. (they don't. they want a pious gayboy to help repair their image. it's performative activism at its finest). aziraphale is being offered his family, his community, everything back, and crowley can come too. preying on his wants and desires, manipulating him back into their control. so of course he says yes. they'll get to be together with everything they've ever known and aziraphale doesn't have to make a choice between losses anymore. (deconstruction isn't linear, and abuse is cyclical.)

but crowley makes it for him. crowley tells him no. he doesn't want that life and doesn't want to go back to those people who hate him so much. who hate them so much. crowley knows what the church is about and sees it for what it is. they're not about god, or moral good or doing what's right. all they want is control. it's about the optics of the organization. it's about influencing what serves them and their agenda, and crowley knows that aziraphale is just a pawn to them. ("Why would we go back to them, when they think that who we are is wrong? Is vile? They think us the embodiment of sin and you want to go help them with their PR campaign?")

but aziraphale doesn't know that, can't know it, and crowley can't make him see it. (aziraphale knows that they cast crowley out, that he was kicked out of his home. crowley never shared with him about what happened after. the nights on the street, the things he'd endured to survive.)

and so crowley kisses him. he kisses him to tell him not that he loves him, because of course he does. he kisses him to tell him "This is what you leave behind. We would never be able to do this there, to be this there, even if they say we could. Our lives are here, our safety is here. this is what you're giving up."

crowley has been through it and experienced their cruelty firsthand. aziraphale won't be able to see it until he experiences it, too. he won't be able to realize he's being played if he doesn't even know that there's a game happening in the first place.

i can't recommend watching the show through this lens enough. it makes aziraphale's story that much more heartbreaking, because there's this intense duality of indoctrination vs. deconstruction that lives within him constantly. (imo it's also the main difference between book aziraphale and tv aziraphale: book aziraphale is significantly further along in his deconstruction journey. it's why he's a bit more of a bastard. tv aziraphale is set back a bit further, which sets up his deconstruction arc beautifully across three seasons.)

it's why aziraphale has the ability to peel back layers of himself and his train of thought depending on the situation at hand–he literally has two trains of thought happening at once. the indoctrinated one, and the deconstructed one.

and when crowley kisses him, it's the first time in his existence that both trains of thought have been that present simultaneously. it's both trains colliding full speed with each other. it's why we see both livid, hesitant frustration and fierce passion and longing at once. it forced him to confront something that lived so deeply within himself that he wanted to bring to light on his own terms, but crowley was desperate. the kiss wasn't i love you, please stay. it was look at what you're leaving behind. we could've been us, we could've been this.

and i think that whatever happens in season 3, whatever heaven does that makes them finally irredeemable in aziraphale's eyes, it'll be a beautiful ending to his deconstruction arc. not that deconstruction ever ends, not truly, but for the first time in his existence, he'll be able to see heaven, hell, and the system as a whole clearly for what they are: a bunch of self-righteous dicks.

[if you're curious about religious deconstruction and what it means, this video by therapist and social worker mickey atkins talking about deconstruction in reference to shiny happy people, a documentary about the duggar family, is a good place to start. cw for pretty much all types of abuse imaginable, fyi.]

[itsmm4hiii]

Workshopped Romance - K. Bakugou

Synopsis: Working for a hero costume designer has its perks like; meeting heroes, playing with cool technologies, getting you're name out- Y/n didn't  really expect her own boss will try and hook her up with a customer.  Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou X Female Reader

‘You know, you shouldn’t be thanking me Mr Bakugou. I haven't done anything- my young mentor has been working your case.’ 

His costume sits in a presentable bag with her infamous two dots. His fingers are wrapped loosely around the shoelace handles as it sits on the last rung of his finger tips. While he’s shocked about the news it doesn’t faze his exterior outlook. His eyes dart past  Nimaru Sasori, towards you as obvious exhilarating cherry red eyes set bare themselves deep into your flesh. 

Other fabrics pool in your arms, tediously heavy and beginning to drain what little muscles in your arms you had. You’re stopped, on a diagonal plain to him after hearing your mentor's words. Her hands dramatically waved to your presence. 

‘You should really discuss further advancements to her, not me, she’s a super star in this world- she’ll definitely surpass me!’ Her voice is whimsical, matches the triumphant emotions Midnight places into the string of her sentences, yet causes your face to go red as you wave over. 

You bow to him though he simply doesn’t acknowledge any power imbalance in the relationship between him and you. You were both the same age so respect was not necessary or demanded from either of you. She shares an excited look before running off from the chaos she started. 

‘Mr Bakugou it's a pleas-’ ‘No need for formalities, I haven’t done anything to deserve it as of yet.’ he cuts you off, ‘Uhm- Bakugou then. It’s a real pleasure working for you. Your comfort and aid for your quirk are my highest priority, I hope you do find it to your liking based on the information you’ve given us.’

Your eyes stare to the left, unable to make contact as your cheeks sear with redness. He makes no attempt to stare at anything else other than you. Your fingers fidget with the raw edge of the fabric trying to calm yourself down from an obvious explosion. 

‘Tell him what you’re thinking about his costume y/n! Tell him!’ Sasori interrupts, 

She acts as a living icebreaker if there was ever one. While it’s comforting that she breaks in every now and again this situation arose because of her.  She sits on a stool in the background watching the two of you as if it's some day romance drama where everyone already knows the ending but are still shocked when it happens and you have to wait till next week to find out what happens. Always leaving you on a cliffhanger. 

‘Uhm- well we are moving into the colder months now and since your quirk works on your sweat I recommend we move towards a costume with blast proof thermal wear, and perhaps a heat fabric that allows your arms to sweat but keeps the rest of your body at a manageable temperature.’ Your thoughts spewed out and by the time you had finished you released you had made the decision for him, your eyes snapped up to him flustered, ‘I’m sorry! It’s up to you it’s just a suggestion- If you don’t want it is fine it’s not like a big deal and I know it sounds like it will affect your overall quirk amount it probably might just decrease if by a few numbers and I just really don’t know the specifics of your quirk just the bare minimum and now i’m insulting you and I can’t stop tal-’ 

‘It’s fine…’ he grumbles, his hands placed into the pockets of his sweatpants, ‘If you think it’s important then do it.’ he sighs once more and his eyes drop to the floor in a nervous manner, ‘If it helps you, you can come to UA to watch me on Wednesday to better the knowledge you have on me-’ ‘IT’S A DATE!’ 

Interrupted by Sasori who cheers around you too, he just shakes it off and begins to head towards the door. 

‘Thanks Bakugou, I’ll see you Wednesday.’ 

With that he leaves with a soft nod and your attention and pent up aggression turns to your mentor. She giggles to herself and before you can shout out to her in what thought she got the idea to say it was a date she speaks. 

‘Aww the way he was staring at you… love at first sight at its finest’ 

Her hands clasp together, as she begins to sway reminiscing on moments she thought was love but it was rather a miscellaneous number of one night stands. Your shoulder hits as you walk past embarrassed and angered. Your head turns around arms sluggish as they’re filled with fabric. Perhaps she was true but you didn’t want to be delusional about something if it never was there in the first place. 

‘Get back to work.’ you grumbled.

[strawberrystepmom]

pairing: incubus!grimmjow jaegerjacquez x f!reader

word count: 3.8k

about: the ravenous desire of your roommate never seems to abate despite the late nights he spends outside of the comfort of your apartment. when he approaches you, the truth comes out. can you fulfill the appetite of an incubus?

contents: nsfw - mdni. cw dark content - dubcon, somnophilia. brief mention of masturbation (f), unprotected penetrative sex (piv), light degradation (slut/slutty), creampie, possessiveness. reader is only partially awake/aware through the fic and assumes she's dreaming.

notes: part of thot-o-ween 2023! yall ever wanted to fuck a cat boy demon before bc i know i have and here he is in all his weirdo glory. what i love about doing this is that it rly forces me out of my element (writing more smut bc historically i haven't enjoyed writing it all that much) and exploring new/darker concepts i haven't always felt like i have the ability to write.

hopefully this is something everyone can enjoy! thank you for reading ♡

Since you signed your lease nine months ago, you’ve always had a standing agreement with your strange roommate Grimmjow.

“If you need anything, just knock on my door and I’ll be there.”

You aren’t sure why you felt compelled to offer your time or support to the man in the first place - perhaps it was your too tender heart taking one roving glance over him and realizing that he simply looked like he needed someone. Eyes like a predator, narrowed and a sharp, angular frame in an oversized t-shirt. You met him through an online post looking for a roommate and desperation, and the end of your relationship, gave you no option but to accept. The situation appeared too fortuitously for you to turn it down.

The past nine months have gone as swimmingly as one could expect living with a stranger would, though. 

He comes and goes without much fuss but if you are honest with yourself - you find some of his habits strange. You try not to think too hard about them, after all you’re just his roommate and he owes you no explanation, but there are times where you wonder why he skulks late at night. When he comes home after these late night adventures, you always notice him looking rested the next day and it has never made sense to you. The dark circles under his eyes seem to magically abate and his posture fixes itself, walking tall and strong across the scuffed wooden floors the two of you share.

Aside from this, though - he pays his half of the rent on time, he manages to clean up after himself as well as you can expect, and he asks you no questions about who you are or what you’re doing with your life.

Until tonight, strangely enough.

“What are you gettin’ up to tonight?” 

Grimmjow’s voice is a growl more so than anything else, as long as you’ve known him it has been this way, but it sounds different. Lower, perhaps. You tip your head to the side and offer a half smile, shrugging and letting the collar of your oversized t-shirt fall off of your shoulder enough to expose the flesh beneath it.

“Weather’s supposed to be shitty so I’m staying in. Same as usual.” 

He hums his answer, stretching his legs to place his feet on the table across from the couch where you both sit. You take a moment to look over him - blue eyes and hair to match. You’ve never asked him if the hair color is natural, assuming the opposite is true, but you have never seen a hint of dark brown or blonde growing out of his head. 

In fact, there’s a lot of things you’ve never seen him do but you’ve always just assumed he does them at night while he’s out but you try too hard not to think about it. The two of you have a no questions asked policy, at least silently you’ve agreed to one but you bite further, breaking your own internal code to pry for details.

“How about you?”

Shifting where he sits, he puts his arms up over his head and readjusts his legs, one foot resting on top of the other. You watch his shift in posture, eyes trailing up long legs and admiring the way his bicep bulges with the angle his arm is bent at. It’s strange but you’ve never taken the time to really look at your roommate in all these months but now that you are.

He’s pretty hot. 

You look away quickly, hoping you weren’t caught in the act of boundary bouncing, placing your hands in your lap primly and he smirks, settling into the couch behind him with a few wiggles of his shoulders. He takes his turn looking at you, a smile you’re trying to hide and hair still damp after getting out of the shower, and he wonders how you haven’t caught onto him yet. This isn’t the first time he has eyed you with those blazing, partially sunken eyes but you feel the intensity of it this time and tuck your shoulders forward to hide the embarrassment of being seen.

“Might stick around,” he sniffs and wrinkles his nose. “Feelin’ kinda hungry though.”

Instantly, you beam. Perhaps this could be a good way for the two of you to actually get to know each other since you have never really shared a meal with the man outside of shitty pizza on the nights you’ve stayed up late enough to greet him before he leaves and doesn’t return until sunrise. 

“I can make us some dinner if you wanna stick around? If not, I get it, it’s not supposed to get super bad out until later.”

What you don’t realize is that the hunger he’s speaking of is something very different than what can be sated by what you’re offering. Despite this, for a brief moment, he considers it and you watch him do so. He licks his bottom lip, pink tongue darting out and takes one of his hands off of the back of his head  to rub his thumb in the wet trail left behind by the motion.

“Nah, I gotta do a couple things.”

Heat you’ve never felt before crawls up the back of your neck and you look away again. You’re flustered, the effortless eroticism of whatever just happened making your skin feel itchy, and he chuckles. 

What could possibly be so funny? 

You think of the question but don’t say it aloud, almost embarrassed at his reaction to you. Did you misread his suggestion? Did you just make the next three months of your lease unbearably awkward? 

Grimmjow takes his feet off the table and places them on the ground, leaning forward and your gaze falls on the forward bend of his spine and the way the overgrown hair at the nape of his neck curls slightly. 

Why are your eyes so drawn to him today? It feels as though it takes all of your self control just to look away but you manage to, cheeks warm and hairline dappled with sweat. This feeling is strange in a way that you lack the words to explain and you keep your eyes trained on the ground even as he stands up and stretches, his shirt exposing the bottom of his abdomen.

“I’ll take you up on your offer another night, though.”

Flicking your eyes upward, you catch the sliver of tanned skin just above his waistline and another rash of heat crawls across your face. Your mouth is dry and you nod, lifting your face enough to give him an uncertain and forced smile.

“You alright?” Again, you nod. It’s all you can do right now until you have a sip of water or get some air or…something. He smirks and gives you a sidelong glance as he heads toward the door.

“Get some fresh air, it might make you feel better.”

Your face heats further knowing that he can tell what’s happening to you but he makes no other comment. The sound of him slipping on his jacket and boots fills the otherwise quiet apartment and he opens the door hoping he can find something to sate this appetite before he comes home and makes it your problem.

Judging by how you reacted to him tonight, though, you may not be all that upset if he does make it your problem but that’s a boundary to be tested another time.

“Fuck,” you whimper with your lip tucked between your teeth, the squelching of your fingers working in and out of your own sopping cunt filling your bedroom interspersed with whines and moans both from you and the little video on your phone.

The moment Grimm left, the heat became unbearable. You thought about taking your shorts off right on the couch and letting your fingers explore but held yourself back, instead taking a few minutes to walk around, have something to drink, to see if the need started to feel less intense.

After several minutes of intense pacing, you decided to take care of the issue yourself. Sure, it’s perverted and wrong to feel this turned on simply by taking a good hard look at your damn near otherworldly roommate but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him and after this you’ll go back to keeping your distance.

Letting your fingers dip further inside of you, you gasp, mouth forming the first letter of his name. Immediately you freeze, shocked that you’d be so brazen despite the apartment being empty, and you shut your eyes tightly and silently work yourself toward orgasm with someone else’s pleas for more playing through the speaker on your phone. 

A little whimper is all you manage, walls clenching around your digits. It isn’t the best you’ve ever had but it isn’t the worst either and it seems like enough for now to help your racing heartbeat calm down to something more manageable. Withdrawing your fingers with a deep breath, filling your lungs completely before emptying them in the same fashion by exhaling, you roll over onto your side, locking and tossing your phone on the bedside table. 

What the fuck just happened? What the fuck has this entire evening been?

Chuckling at the absurdity of the past few hours, you reach around blindly for something to wipe your sticky hand on and settle on the t-shirt you discarded earlier. You know you need to get up but you feel pleasantly dazed instead, wiping your fingers and keeping your heavy eyes shut. 

Free from embarrassment and far less wound up, you start to doze. The room is cool and the fall storm the news warned you about blows outside, the gentle sound of thunder lulling you into an unexpected but much needed rest. 

You don’t know how much time has passed when you hear a knock, knock, knock at your cracked bedroom door.

Eyes fluttering open just enough to see Grimmjow standing in the doorway, you shut and open them just to make sure you’re really seeing what you’re seeing. It’s too dark to make out all of him but your blurry eyes scan his face, noticing his cheeks look almost hollow and the same deep dark circles beneath his eyes before he left tonight look darker and heavier. 

“Grimm?” You ask and his response is a low growl, footsteps echoing through your quiet room as he pads toward the edge of your bed. “Are you okay?”

He stalks like a predator across the floor, making methodical and swift footfalls at the foot of your bed. You sit up, forgetting that you fell asleep completely nude, and his pacing stops when his eyes settle on your exposed breasts, your blanket bunched beneath them.

“I’m hungry,” he repeats just as he did earlier and you are too tired to figure out what he means. Giggling, you still haven’t noticed the way he eyes you hungrily, stiffened nipples grabbing his attention and keeping it. 

“Couldn’t find anything good to eat while you were out?”

Your words are a jumble, something that would make sense to no one else but the man who has lived with you for 9 months who has figured out your morning sleepy voice and the way it all blurs together. He approaches the edge of your bed and sits down, watching you lay back down and settle against your comforter.

“Nothing sounded good,” he admits, flipping around and crawling on all fours up the bed. You’re so sweet and disarmed, rain pattering on the windowpane while your chest rises and falls and your eyes fight to stay shut. “Definitely not as good as what’s at home.”

You giggle again, eyes closed so you don’t notice the way the distance between the two of you closes further. His body is large but lithe and each movement sends him closer and closer to you until he catches the scent of something familiar.

Arousal. 

He grins, feral and large, crawling the extra few inches to fully envelop you. Caging you in with his arms, your eyes open and see his face inches from yours, his bare chest almost pressing against your own.

“What are you doing?”

The question doesn’t seem alerted or concerned, just curious, and sleepy you reaches out to brush your fingers down the defined bicep holding him up. He chuckles and the sound makes the same heat you felt hours ago crawl up your neck and that’s the moment you realize something is different about him. Your hackles raise slightly and you sit up but he pushes you back down gently, hand splayed between your breasts.

“You said I could come to you for anything I needed, right?”

Despite the fact his hand feels so hot it could burn a hole straight through your body, you nod. You offered yourself months ago and he had yet to take advantage of your kindness. Leaning down, he watches your eyes fully open and presses his forehead to yours.

“I need you,” he mutters and your eyes meet his. A storm of blue, a flurry of something you have never seen before. He groans, almost looking pained and you gasp and hold onto his bicep. You can put two and two together, intelligent and alert enough to manage that much, and your hand slides over where his palm rests on your chest. 

“Like this?” You ask, sliding his hand from the space between your breasts to cupping one of them and he nearly growls feeling your skin beneath his fingers. His thumb dances over your hardened nipple and you gasp, shivering beneath him.

“Bet you never thought you’d end up with somethin’ like me in your apartment,” he taunts, hand tracing down your body, mapping out your stomach and hips. You don’t think much of his words, lost to the sensation of being touched and the heat incinerating all rational thought inside of you, but one word catches your interest and you repeat it.

“Don’t you mean someone?”

Another chuckle shakes his body, his fingers caressing your thigh. He shakes his head where it’s pressed against yours and you can only watch when he licks his lips again just as he did earlier, the motion making your head spin.

“Nah, I’m a somethin’.”

With this, he wants to stop further questioning and he leans in to kiss you. By this point your mind should be catching up, alert and awake, but you aren’t convinced this isn’t some kind of strange horny dream you managed to conjure up so you kiss him back eagerly. The wet sound of lips smacking together in a frenzy fills the room, tongues sliding against one another and you even yelp when he nips at your lower lip, sucking the fullness of it into his mouth.

“Fuck,” he groans, hand that was tracing across your thighs now pushing them open. He paws at your still slick pussy, a thick finger slipping between your lips with little resistance. He revels in the feeling of your hot arousal, smearing it around your hole and rubbing little circles around your clit rather than on it that make you whimper.

“Grimm,” you pant and he only chuckles, a second digit joining the first in spreading your wetness. The pressure of the two fingers makes your hips buck, desperate for more.

“You've been having fun without me? Sure feels like it.”

Puzzled, you wonder what he means until you realize that he can insert a finger inside of you without any resistance, still worked open from your previous attempts to get yourself off. Walls clenching around the single digit, he groans into your ear. Your warmth feels luxurious, like silk. It’s more than he could have ever hoped for.

“I don’t mind,” he continues massaging your walls with his finger in the way only an expert can. You surely must be dreaming, none of your other partners have ever been this skilled with just their fingers, and you let yourself have this moment. What’s the worst that could happen? “Gettin’ this eager little pussy all ready for me is almost too nice of you.”

The words are filthy and they make you whine, hips bucking against his hand and where it rests over the top of your pelvis. You’re greedy, desperate for more. He could do just about anything to you right now and you know that you’d let him, drooling pussy leaking down his finger.

“You want more? Tired of feelin’ so empty?”

The slow rolls of your hips tell him all he needs to know and he uses his free hand to slip out of the sweatpants he wore into your bedroom, cock already hard and leaving a wet spot on the front of them. He rolls his eyes, tossing them aside as fluidly as he can while still keeping you full of his fingers.

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna give you what we both need. Gonna fill this fuckin’ slutty pussy up, give you what you were almost beggin’ me for earlier.”

Ah yes, that. Even dream you can’t escape the embarrassment of his effect on you in the living room but you let the feeling go, instead focusing on how good it feels every time the pad of his finger brushes against the spot deepest inside of you that your own fingers could never reach. 

“I want it,” you admit aloud. He smirks, finger withdrawing from you and making you whine. Your body feels as hot as it did hours ago and twice as wound up, clit throbbing from lack of attention. Blood pulses in your ears and you look up, witnessing the way he’s coating his shaft in his own precum with a gasp.

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna fill you up just like you need,” he coos, it’s so condescending but you hardly notice, too busy reveling in the way it feels when the fat head of his cock brushes through your folds. You don’t have to think about anything right now and you embrace the feeling, allowing him control. 

What he doesn’t mention is that he needs it even more than you do, the maw inside of him demanding that he slip inside of you just like he is now.

He shudders, body tensing as he sheaths himself inside of you in one sharp movement, your breath catching in your throat when his balls slap against your ass. He’s so impossibly deep and despite how wet and opened up you are, your cunt stretches deliciously to accommodate his girth. 

Again, this has to be a dream. Nothing in real life could ever feel this good and your toes curl, spread legs shifting to link at the ankles and wrap around his waist. You feel the firmness of his ass against your calves as he grinds into you, the gentleness ending as quickly as it started when he draws his hips back completely and thrusts back inside of you in one swift motion.

Your back arches off of the bed and he drinks in the sight of you, flashes of lightning outside allowing enough light to leak in to give him a good look at everything he has been vying to see. The knot inside of him slowly starts to untangle, his furious pace making your body bounce up the bed and he wonders why he waited this long to just give in.

Perhaps he’s losing his touch after years. He could’ve just snuck in and taken you any evening he wanted to, you wouldn’t be the first he’d done it to given his nearly unquenchable thirst, but he wanted you to want it too. To want him. To give yourself to him.

He chuckles like a wild man, leaning over your body and kissing you again while holding your hips in place to fuck you wildly.

“Takin’ me so well I might have to make you all mine,” he offers and you moan, clenching around him. So you liked that, he takes a note. You like being wanted, you like being taken. He knew it from the moment he saw you but he always loves it when a gut feeling is confirmed. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Lettin’ an incubus use your pussy whenever he wants like a slut, right?”

Your eyes widen at the word. Incubus - you recall reading some asinine online story about a woman who swore she’d been fucked by one years ago but again, this is your weird dream about your abnormally hot roommate so you don’t question it. 

“Yeah, I love it Grimm,” you whisper against his mouth, tongue too heavy to say much else. You’ve never felt like this before, body singing and silky walls clinging to his cock, and you’re ready to let yourself start the endless freefall of pleasure, eyes shutting tightly while he grunts above you.

“That’s right, I can feel it. You’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you?”

Keeping your eyes screwed shut, you only nod and he lets you grind against his pelvis, clit brushing the dusting of blue hair at the base of his cock. It’s soft and silky and it’s just what you need, friction spurring you further into bliss as you cum with a shout, eyes shooting open.

This isn’t a dream, you realize suddenly, feeling Grimm’s cock drilling in and out of you at a breakneck pace. You are in your bed, thunder rolling outside, your phone on the bedside table, your body bouncing with every thrust. Your blue haired roommate hovers just above you, face twisted in pleasure while glancing down at where the two of you are joined, the slick sound of your pussy bringing you to reality.

This is really happening and honestly, you just..let it. 

Reaching for Grimmjow, you card your fingers through his hair, and he lets his eyes flutter closed. Your fingers dance through the same short hair at the nape of his neck you were admiring hours earlier and he grunts, hips stilling. Using both hands to hold you in place, he fills your eager cunt full of his creamy release and you moan along with him.

Unceremoniously, he slumps forward and your chests touch. You giggle and kiss his forehead, looking down to see him looking far better than he did when he entered your room. His eyes don’t gleam dangerously anymore and the dark circles seem to have sorted themselves out, his face resting on the top of your breast.

“Hey Grimm?”

He looks up, surprised you’re alert enough to even let that much come out of your mouth. 

“Everything you said…”

You don’t have to elaborate further, he’s aware of what you’re asking. Is it true? Did he admit what he really is, what the source of his appetite is?

“Yup.”

You don’t ask for further explanation and he doesn’t plan on giving it, content to let you run your fingers through his hair as the storm rages outside.

[aloneinthehellfire]

Chapter Nineteen: The Bitter Taste Of Deceit

Gates Of Hell

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: amnesia, death, horror elements

[A/N: Finally!!! I have been so busy with my degree shows that I haven't had time to sit and use my little fic as an escape but thank you to everyone still showing love to this series x This one is... let's just say I was depressed and took it out on the characters, okay bye]

The Bitter Taste Of Deceit

The metal table in the middle of a bare room was far from a comfortable environment.

Your finger taps relentlessly against the cool surface, hoping to distract yourself with the rhythmic movement.

It had only been a few days since you woke up, but rest didn’t soften the building panic. You almost felt sick. It was like your mind was racing, steering itself off the tracks to tumble across the grassy hills of your restlessness until you were nothing but a pile of unfixable damages.

You still can’t remember how you ended up here.

You can’t even remember what happened before here.

You only knew your name, that you were a person who was living a blurred misshapen life. And you knew what what you had been told. Not that words from a stranger’s lips would be trusted on your ear.

“Do you remember anything?”

You simply shake your head, the heart rate monitor rising. The hands attached to your wrists were fidgeting, twisting the sheet covering your body. You may not remember anything, but even you knew this wasn’t normal.

“No need to feel alarmed. That is perfectly normal.” His voice was weirdly soothing, his unwavering eyes making you blink horridly. How did he so easily see through you? “Your memory will slowly come back to you, I promise.”

“Why am I here?” You find the courage to ask after a length of silence, biting the inside of your cheek.

“We found you.” Brenner states, turning around to a mirror. A fake mirror, you realise. And he was smiling at whoever stood behind it. “And at the right time, too. If we hadn’t shown up when we did… well, to put it simply, you may not have survived.”

You took in a quick breath, so light it didn’t make a sound past your lips.

“Survived?”

There was that boy again, returning to your mind in a flash of blurry images. Survived. Survived? The word held such strong resonance. It disappeared as quickly as it came, so sudden you almost felt lonely in its absence. Whoever this boy was, he was important. You were forgetting something- someone- important.

“You were laying in the middle of the woods, not far from here. Do you remember how you got there?”

You try to muster up a memory, closing your eyes. All you saw was a faint red shadow of your flesh against the beaming lights.

“No.”

“That’s okay.” You open your eyes to Brenner’s smile, his hand resting gently on the bed beside your arm, careful not to force the proximity between you and a stranger, yet close enough for you to feel comforted. “We’ll figure everything out, in time. For now, you should rest, take a few days to gather up your energy. We’re here to provide you with whatever you need.”

We? You wonder, but too many questions lay dormant on your tongue. So, rather, you settle for one that required the least amount of effort to sound.

“Why?”

Brenner stands from the bedside chair, looking down at you with that same kind expression. You can’t tell if it’s forced, or if his generosity was genuine.

“There is a horrible war happening outside. We all need to stick together, do we not?”

You were told you had collapsed in the woods, in the middle of nowhere, and rescued by Brenner. Or, rather, a mysterious team. We, he had said. You don’t recall seeing anyone else here for the past few days. Brenner had saved you. And you were grateful, of course. But you had this consistent twist in your gut any time he turned his back on you, a brief moment of panic before it subdued.

You were allowed to wander freely in this place, not that wandering would take you anywhere different. All the walls and floors were grey, bright strips of bulbs almost making the light shade blinding. You always felt a sense of familiarity as you walked down the halls, peering through glass windows into bare rooms. It was as if you had done this before.

Brenner told you it was a bunker, hidden from the surface currently crawling with monsters. That much you do remember. The terrifying screeches, the traumatic swipe of sharp claws, even the dull throbbing pain in your ankle reminding you of a misfortune you could never truly forget.

Yet, still, everything was a blurred mess.

In time, Brenner kept saying. You wanted to believe him, but whatever happened to you was enough to damage your memories. What if he was something to do with whatever happened to you?

You shouldn’t trust him. He’s a stranger, regardless of what he has done to help. Not once has he ever revealed how he ended up here, or had access to such a huge underground fortress. Hopper would be so disappointed to know you trusted so freely.

…

Hopper.

“I just want you to know that… I love you, dad.”

“I love you so much, kiddo. We’re getting you out of there. You hear me? Even if I have to tear a gate open myself, I am getting you out of there-”

Your chair scrapes against the floor as you leap away from the table, rushing to the door.

The room you wanted was down the left hallway and the third door to the right, a room filled with machines and radio systems. Brenner had shown you it when you were able to walk confidently, telling you it was his responsibility to keep in touch with the outside world. And that was what he was doing as you burst in, his hands quick to slip the headphones down to his neck.

“I remembered something.” You say, breathing heavy.

Brenner only nods, turning back to switch the radio off with a key at the control panel and pocket it in his white coat, gesturing for you to leave.

He never let you stay in that room for too long. You weren’t yet sure why.

“What do you remember?” He asks as he settles into an old armchair, opposite from the couch you sat on.

Only one room in the entire bunker was furnished with items other than metal frames, a cosier living quarter you spent most evenings in. He had a bookcase down here, some board games. You think he may have prepared for an apocalypse. Or maybe it’s been longer since it begun than you thought.

“Hopper.” You say, looking to your hands. “I mean, my-my dad. I remember my dad.”

You glance up to catch something flash across his eyes, completely gone in an instant as if it never happened. Despite his nonchalant reaction, you sense he’s holding something back.

“Do you… know him?” You risk the question, though you already know what the answer will be.

“I can’t say that I do.” He says curiously, leaning forward. “What about him did you remember?”

“Just a conversation.” You shake your eyes, scrunching your face. “He sounded muffled. Or… static. Like a radio.”

“Hm.”

“And- and he said something about getting me out. Something about a gate…”

“Okay.” He says after a while, “This is good. This is progress. You’re slowly getting your memory back. May I ask, what brought on this memory?”

You take a breath. I was figuring out whether I should trust you. The truth didn’t feel like it would be received well. He obviously wants you to trust him, but you also need him to trust you, especially seeing as you barely remember who you are.

“I… I was just thinking.” You decide, nodding. You hold eye contact. Liars never look you in the eye, Hopper used to say.

“Thinking.” He repeats, mostly to himself. Brenner’s eyes flash to yours with a smile. “Keep thinking. Think as much as you can. Perhaps we can try some exercises, see if anything triggers a memory. If you were happy to do so, of course.”

“Yeah.” You nod eagerly, shifting in your seat. Anything to return you back to your life.

“Good. That’s settled.” Brenner pats his legs and stands up, already walking to the door without so much as a second glance. “I need to finish up a few things but I shall be back soon.”

“Can you-” You stop almost as instantly as you start, biting your lip.

“Ask away, Y/n.” He cocks his head, hand still hovering above the doorknob, curious.

“Can you send out a message?” You ask, straightening your posture. “With the radio, I mean. If- if I was right and Hopper was speaking to me through a radio, maybe we can reach him.”

There’s a moment of silence, long enough to have you question if you overstepped. But then he smiles again, nodding with eyes of kindness that looked a little too forced.

“I will see what I can do.”

Once he shuts the door behind him, you sink further into the couch, wrapping your arms around your body.

“I am getting you out of there.”

Where was there? Why did it sound dangerous, almost forbidden?

You try and reclaim the memory, searching and focusing and thinking until it began to hurt. You press your fingertips against your forehead, breathing to relax. The act of the touch above your eyebrows was calming, like it was used to the comforting nature of it.

You hoped Hopper was okay. And you hoped the others you have surely forgotten were safe, like you.

“Will?”

Steve taps on the door at the end of the corridor, feeling like the walls were watching him as he stood there, holding his breath to hear the younger boy’s small voice.

“Come in.” He sniffles, and Steve takes a deep breath. It was time for him to stop hiding.

“Hey.” He smiles as he walks in.

Will wasn’t sat on the bed like he had expected. Instead, he was on the ground, sheets upon sheets of paper scattered around him, a pencil in his hand.

“What’re you drawing?” Steve questions, walking over to him. As he moves closer, he sees the papers are blank.

The boy barely blinks. He just looks down at the floor, gripping the pencil tight, never drawing. Steve feels a shiver run down his spine, but he chooses to ignore it, just this once.

“The guys are missing you.” He says, lowering himself to sit cross legged beside him. Will only continues to stare at the paper. “They’re, uh, playing DnE.”

“DnD” He responds quietly and Steve smiles. He took the bait.

“Yeah, DnD.” He gently nudges him. “See? I need you, buddy, I can’t keep up with them.”

A corner of Will’s lips lifts to what could be a hint of a smile before it fades again, a dark look in his eye as he stares at a creative’s nothingness.

“I just want to draw.”

Steve frowns, but he doesn’t say anything. He only nods, placing a hand on his shoulder, knowing a losing battle when he sees one. “If you need anything, just ask. Okay?”

“Thanks, Steve.” Will finally looks at him, smiling.

The sword that had been pressed against his chest finally plunges with one small smile, making Steve feel like he was bleeding out. He didn’t deserve this kindness. It was his fault Will was feeling this way.

“Yeah.”

With that, he stands and leaves, pressing his back against the door once he gently closes it. It’s fine. It’s all fine.

Except, it isn’t.

Steve retreats to the staircase faster than he should have, gripping onto the banister with the remaining force of his strength. It should be different. It wasn’t meant to be like this.

When he was on the final step, he clocked the sudden merge of the Party sat at the only available window in the house, a viewpoint usually used to ensure the area was safe. They could only be sat there for one reason; the others had finally returned.

Both adults were situated upstairs, alongside the youngest Byers, while the Party and Steve were crowded around the corner window. Which meant four people were still left unaccounted for.

Steve peers through the glass at the giant metal gate surrounding his house. When he had arrived back on the surface, he found that Hopper and Billy had been building his home into some kind of fortress, a large barb-wired gate blocking the monsters from approaching. Not that many had appeared in this area of Hawkins thanks to the military’s bare minimum efforts to drive them away.

Now, he watches as figures approach it in the dark, not a single flashlight among them. They had to adjust to the night now, just in case light beckoned over their worst nightmares. Steve remembers you were the first to suggest this to him within the first few days of the apocalypse. He should never have taken your warnings for granted.

Billy was the first to appear, leading the way with a gun held dangerously in his grip as he scopes out the area, just in case. He’s the one to open the gate, signal that they were in the clear.

Next to run out of the shadows was Robin, her hair scruffy from a late night chop after one too many complaints her hair was always getting in the way. She was different to how you and Steve left her. Colder, somehow. Steve has been avoiding her since his return, afraid of what she must think of him to leave her best friend behind.

Then comes Nancy, lowering her shotgun to slip through the small gap in the gate, never opened wide enough in case something tries to follow. Her hair was tied back, a sunken expression. Steve figured their mission to find more food was unsuccessful. But that wasn’t the reason she was so forlorn.

The only person left was Jonathan. The boy was usually the last in, running up behind and helping Billy lock the gate, looping a comforting arm around Nancy as he and Robin continued whatever conversation they had been using as a stress relief for the way back.

Nancy locks the gate, signalling for Billy to head inside. She stands there for a moment after, staring out into the dark.

Jonathan wasn’t returning this time.

He hadn’t been for over a week.

June 1st (Day 60 of the apocalypse)

The task was simple: get to Weathertop and use the ‘Cerebro’ Dustin built to break through the static of the Upside Down. But was it ever really that simple?

“Steve, maybe we should stop.” Nancy suggests, taking in a deep breath.

It was one thing to climb to the highest point in Hawkins, it was another to do it after fighting for your life against a pack of demodogs. Steve should have paid more attention, but how much worse could this get?

“We’re almost there.” He dismisses, charging forward. He hears Robin’s murmur of protest, but he remains unbothered. They needed to send out a signal. He had to before one of those wretched things lurking in the dark destroyed his only hope to find you.

His calves burned as he climbed the unusual incline of Weathertop, driven by his poorly handled guilt. The sooner he got you home, the sooner he would feel relieved of his deceit to the others.

The sooner he could hold you and never let you go again.

Dustin’s radio monster, at least that what Steve viewed it as in the best possible sense, was swaying slightly precariously in the sudden sweep of wind, enough to have him rush to it despite his aching muscles. It felt like the sky was closing in on him, a divine entity set on there never being a happy ending. Good thing he didn’t believe in that sort of thing.

Steve rummages through his bag, pulling out the heavy weight of a brand new radio. You still had his, wherever you were. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t know if that was true until he could hear your voice blare through the microphone.

Holding the radio in his hand, he starts messing around with the display Dustin had set up, following the rules meticulously crafted into his mind with ease that even surprised himself. All that was left was the frequency.

He holds out his hand, looking beside him at where Nancy stood patiently, barely panting from the rushed walk.

“What?” She frowns slightly, or Steve thinks she does. The night time was creeping too quickly on them.

“The paper.” He states, squinting at her when she continues to look at him in confusion, “With the number thingies?”

“Oh, uh..” She starts patting down her pockets, muttering under her breath about its possible whereabouts.

Steve couldn’t believe it. Nancy knew how important this was, not only to him but to everyone eager to get you home safely. She was never unprepared, and yet the time Steve needed her most, she’s scattered.

He blinks. Nancy was never like that.

As she turns to root through her satchel, Steve’s eyes narrow. He looks further down the hill to where three shadows stood beside eachother; Jonathan, Robin…

And Nancy.

Steve immediately swings his bat, knocking the imposter onto the ground with one sharp blow to the chin, catching it by surprise. When it shifts back to its original form, a sight that made his skin crawl, he realises he should have listened to the real Nancy.

“Shapeshifters!” He yells to his friends as more start to trail out of the shadows. He’s never seen so many in one place. They didn’t seem like they would travel in packs, unusual for a creature so independent. Which only meant one thing.

It was an ambush.

Everything else happened too quickly. He remembers dropping the radio and rushing down the hill, driving his bat into the heads of ashy figures and dodging sharp black claws swiping menacingly at his face. They managed to take out one each, but it still left so many more.

“Steve!” Robin cries out, but he doesn’t get the chance to even glance at her.

The moment his feet left the ground was when he realised he was being targeted. A shapeshifter had wrapped its claws around his neck and slammed him into the grassy hill, knocking the oxygen from his lungs. And then it wouldn’t let him breathe.

He was suffocating. It was scarily similar to the feeling he had in an enclosed space, the same cold hand wrapped around his throat, squeezing until he could only close his eyes and plead it would disappear. And it would, eventually. But nothing like how the crushing feeling had been obliterated by just one touch of your hand.

Steve imagined it in that moment where his vision started to blur, blackening at the edges. He had memorised your touch for so long it almost felt like you were there, helping him breathe.

He wouldn’t feel it again unless he survived.

With his summoned siege of strength, he draws up his knees and plants his shoes against its chest, driving it away with a swift kick. The deadly grip loosened from his throat and he began to suck in painful breaths, crawling away.

Just as he raises himself on his knees, his eyes look up to meet the haunting gaze of what he thought he could escape. It was dressed eerily like him, wore a face identical to his, and it held a knife. The very same he bore on his hip.

He watched himself grin, something so unnatural to the boy he constantly viewed in the mirror. He swore his heartbeat stopped as soon as it dug its heel into the ground and charged at him.

“Steve!” Nancy shouts, but what else could he do? He wasn’t fast enough to stop this.

His eyes fly shut once the dagger is closer than comfort, awaiting the painful stretch of metal into his flesh. Unfortunately for someone else, he didn’t have to.

A pained gasp hits the air like a sobering thought, stilling his aching body. It didn’t belong to him. It belonged to Jonathan.

Nancy starts to scream as blood pours from his mouth, his legs losing their power and stumbling him back into a hoard of shapeshifters. Steve watches as they grab at him, pulling at his clothes. They throw a hand over his mouth and drag him away, looking satisfied in their assault.

Steve can barely hear Nancy’s guttural cries as she wrestles against Robin’s tight grip, the other girl trying to pull her back so she doesn’t go running to her demise. He simply gets himself off the ground, runs to them, and guides them in the other direction, the only sound his unusually steady heartbeat flooding his eardrums. Maybe it was the shock, piercing the sound so he couldn’t hear his ex-girlfriend’s screams.

Maybe he wasn’t ready to admit he was the reason they lost Jonathan Byers.

Chapter Twenty, coming soon...

[A/N: I'm away for a week now to go present my work at a really fancy event so we're gonna have to wait just as long for the next part ugh. Thank you all so much for your constant support, ily]

@toomanyfandomsimfanvergent . @sheisjoeschateau . @kthomps914 . @curled-hair-red-lips . @nix-rose .

@palmtreesx3 . @kryztalglear . @sattlersquarry . @hey-barnes-stole-a-jeep . @sadslasher13 .

@iliveonteaandbooks . @innercreationflower . @newyorkangelbaby . @totally-bogus-timelady . @pansexualhoor .

@kitdjarin1 . @chiliwhore .

[starfall-spirit]

Summary: After picking up on Violet's attraction to Liam, Xaden proposes an arrangement.

Read on Ao3

CW: Sex, light bondage, dom/sub undertones

AN: My first Violiaden fic! It was written very quickly, with little editing or fleshing out, but it's still a fun piece so I'm going to go ahead and post. Enjoy!

"I want to watch you." 

Violet quirked a brow. "Watch me?"

"I want to watch you with someone else." That confession about floored her and she found herself fumbling with the laces of her corset as she dressed for the day. Xaden approached her from behind, smoothly taking the laces from where she held them, her arms frozen at a rather uncomfortable angle, flexibility be damned. "I may act like a possessive ass at times, but I've been watching you, Violence. You can deny it all you want, but I know there's something between you and Liam."

She blinked rapidly before turning to face him as he dropped his hands from the finished knot above her tailbone. "I haven't touched him, Xaden."

"I'm not questioning your loyalty. I'm trying to figure out if you'd let him join us for a night or two."

She bit her lip, trying to gauge his sincerity. Xaden wasn't the type to test people. Not his friends, and certainly not her. Not like this. "And this night or two, we'd be doing..."

"You and I will negotiate the baseline if you say yes. I won't bring this up with Liam until I have your consent. Ultimately, I have the same end goal as usual." Her heartrate doubled as he stooped down to whisper in her ear. "I want to watch you lose control, preferably while you're filled with my brother's cock."

Holy. Fucking. Gods.

~~~~~

A smirk. A smirk was all it took for Violet to know Liam was well aware of Xaden’s proposal when he met her at her door two mornings later. “Liam.” She cleared her throat awkwardly. “Good morning.”

“Morning. Ready for breakfast?” She hesitated. “This is hardly the place to discuss the reason behind that look, Vi. I’m flattered by the invitation and I did accept, but if this is going to be awkward or you only said yes to make Xaden happy, then I won’t be upset with either of you for putting this behind us before anything starts.”

“I wasn’t going to—”

“Hey, thanks for waiting guys,” Rhi cut in. “Let’s go. I’m starving.”

“Yeah, for Tara’s—”

“Honestly, Ridoc!” It was hardly a secret and Rhi didn’t appear the least bit ashamed or embarrassed, but Violet was already on edge without thinking about other people’s sex lives. Let them think this was a best-friend-defense or something. The pair blinked back at her. “Sorry. I just need food before I deal with the morning crazy today.”

Liam snorted from beside her, but said nothing more, scanning the route ahead of them as they made their way to the mess hall. “So you really are interested?” she murmured. 

He swallowed, his jaw locking as his throat bobbed. “Violet, if you keep pushing all I’m going to be thinking about is the things I plan on doing to you tonight and I’d really like to enjoy my meal and attend formation and classes without a hard on.” She winced, feeling simultaneously guilty and turned on. “I will say this once,” Liam continued. “I am more than pleased by this arrangement so long as it’s what everyone wants. Any other concerns?” She shook her head. “Excellent. Get your food.”

~~~~~

“You’re nervous. Are you sure about this?”

“Yes, Xaden. I’m not having any doubts. All of us are fine with this, but the anticipation is killing me.” 

He hummed softly, continuing his path alternating between massaging knotted muscles and peppering tender kisses over her bare back. “And as good as that feels, you aren’t distracting me. Again, he gave that quiet hum, this time parting her thighs. Oh that might help distract her. His fingers just dipped between her legs when a patterned knock fell on Xaden’s door. She rolled onto her back. “Pity,” he murmured, licking his fingers clean. “But then, this will be just as fun, won’t it?”

He grinned as he opened the door to let Liam past the wards. “Hey, come on in.” 

“Thanks.” She watched the pair closely, hunting for any signs of tension between them or hesitation on Xaden’s part. Though she hadn’t known either of them for very long, she could read them well.

This was going to work out after all. “Hey, Vi.”

She felt her face heat as he did nothing to hide his slow assessment of her bare figure. Compared to the two of them being fully dressed, it was a bit awkward. Hopefully they’d be joining her soon, before things started feeling truly embarrassing. She cocked her head as Xaden sank into a chair about five feet from the bed. 

“Don’t tell me you two are going to sit around and chat while I sit here naked.”

He chuckled softly, exchanging a look with their guest. “Violet, I’m not touching you again tonight. I’m watching, remember?”

Her mouth popped open. “There’s no way you’re actually going to be able to keep off of me while Liam and I have sex.”

His smirk broadened. “Challenge accepted, my Violence.”

“Do you two need a moment?” Liam drawled, somehow reading into the levity of their mental conversation. 

“No,” Xaden said. “Don’t mind me. The limits are set and poor Violet’s been wound up all day.”

��Believe me, brother, I noticed.”

“No reason you can’t put her out of her misery.”

The corner of Liam’s mouth tilted up, almost imperceptible in the low lighting. He cocked his head slightly, making a small noise in his throat and slowly rolling his sleeves back—fuck, didn’t he know what that kind of shit did to women—as if he was contemplating how to start in on her.

“Come here,” he finally said. She almost shivered. Though he kept his soft tone, there was no room for hesitation or defiance. No, he and Xaden were two peas in a pod when it came to that. “Violet.” She shuffled forward on her knees, instantly relaxing when he cradled the back of her neck, his long fingers tangling in her hair, already free of it’s braid thanks to Xaden. “Okay?” he murmured, anchoring his other hand at her left hip. She nodded. “Words,” he ordered in that quiet command.

“I’m okay with this.”

“Good girl.” 

Before she could say a word his mouth sealed over hers, tentative for a moment. Or perhaps she was the one hesitating, because only a moment later he was adjusting the angle of the kiss, the stroke of his fingers dropping from her hip to rest between her thighs, the friction there and the soft sweep of his tongue coaxing her to give into him entirely. She whimpered, leaning into his steadiness, yet aching to be drawn higher.

She’d grown so used to the wild desperation she and Xaden shared that she was slightly off kilter now, both pleased by the change and all sorts of needy for more. Frustrated he wasn’t letting the intensity of the kiss grow further, she aimed for the one thing she could control, snaking her hand between them to try to stroke her clit. Liam caught onto that too, his grip around her wrist just firm enough to keep her hand pinned behind her.

Dragging his tongue against the roof of her mouth, he drew back. “This,” he began, cupping her center, “is mine tonight. Did I give you permission to touch what’s mine?”

Brothers indeed.

“Answer him, Violet,” Xaden growled from his chair. 

“No. I wasn’t given permission.”

The consequences were already making themselves known, bands of shadow folding her arms behind her back so her fingertips were brushing the opposite elbow. She pouted, wanting to touch him freely. “Be a very good girl for me and I might ask Xaden to let your hands free.” Without warning, he sank two fingers deep into her core. “Soaked for me, needy thing.”

“Liam, let me come, please.”

“Begging already?” He hummed softly, drawing out a squeal as he swept her off her knees and pressed her flat to the mattress, careful not to strain her arms. Xaden already had the thought to redirect his shadows, pinning her arms over her head. “Good things come to those who wait, Violet. Believe me when I say I’m going to take my sweet time with you.”

His fingers slid home once more, pumping in and out of her as he urged her to spread wider, making room for him to dip his head, his tongue flicking out and tugging her closer to the high she was so desperate to reach. She clenched hard and he paused, letting her fall away before reaching her climax. “No!” she wailed. 

Gods, he was a fucking sadist.

She let out another cry as he lifted one leg over his shoulder, holding her open so she was forced to take the next round, his fingers curling and his tongue stroking deep enough her thoughts could only come in fragments. She was so fucking ready. “Liam!” His teeth pinched down on her clit and she shattered, her orgasm rolling through in sharp waves. 

“Go on. She’s ready.” She gave another deep groan, still trembling as the rustle of clothing fell away and Liam’s fingers were replaced by something much thicker. “Such a good girl, taking his cock so well.”

“T-told you you couldn’t stay away.” She groaned again, surrendering to the sensations around her, Xaden’s nails scraping over her scalp as Liam dragged in and out of her, agonizingly slowly. Realizing her hands were free again, she reached for Xaden’s waist. “I want you both. Please?”

He smiled down at her. “Who am I to deny you when you ask so nicely.”

It only took a moment to maneuver them, getting her in a position she could tilt her head back over the edge of the bed. It gave Liam and Xaden full control over what happened, even without shadows pinning her. Xaden stripped out of his clothes. “You won’t have much control like this, sweetheart. If it’s too much I want you to pinch me, okay?”

“I will. I trust you both, Xaden.”

His worry softened to pure adoration. “I know, sweetheart. But I take no risks with you if I can help it. Ready?”

She nodded, dropping her head back as Liam slid into her once again, a little sigh leaving her as Xaden slipped his thumb past her lips, coaxing her open. “Our perfect girl.”

Her eyes fluttered shut as he guided his tip past her lips, gliding over her tongue. She dropped her jaw, opening her throat as best as she could. “Good, Violet. Doing so well for us.” That came from Liam this time. She liked pleasing them both. He jerked his hips without warning, startling her enough she lost her rhythm and Xaden once again had to center her.

She let herself go, focusing only on what would bring Xaden to the edge with her, accepting the overload of sensations as they increased their pace, bringing her to her second orgasm. Neither of them had finished yet. And they seemed deadset on pulling another out of her. She whined softly. “You’re doing so good, baby,” Xaden encouraged her. In all honesty, she was hardly doing anything to pleasure him anymore. “This isn’t about me sweetheart. You’re giving us everything and more right now. All I need you to do is give in to what your body is telling you.”

“I can’t come again.”

“You can, Violet. You’re gonna come one more time, sweetheart.” Another whimper left her. She wanted to obey. To please them. “I know you’re feeling a lot, baby. So I don’t want you to try and think anymore. I want you to close those pretty eyes and let your body tell you what to do. You’re not going to fight what your body needs. You’re going to let Liam and I take care of you.”

“Just relax, sweetheart,” Liam said, cradling her hips as he quickened his pace. She was getting closer, riding the edge as they alternated their movements, setting a rhythm that would let them all finish without jostling her too much. She was lost in it, pride filling her as Xaden let out a sharp breath, spilling down her throat. She clenched around Liam, hard, not bothering to muffle her scream as they took her over again, Liam deep inside her as he finally snapped. “Fuck.”

He leaned down, his breath rattling softly as he kissed her brow before easing out of her and letting Xaden step back in to cradle her against his chest. “Can you get that water off the dresser?”

She peeled her eyes halfway open as Xaden shifted her in his arms. “Here, sweet girl,” Liam said. “Water first. Then you can have some chocolate, hm?” She didn’t bother trying to grab the glass herself since Liam seemed so keen on hand feeding her the water and candy. “Good girl. Rest now.”

She sunk down into the pillows, relishing the warmth the men on either side of her seemed to radiate. “You’ll stay?”

There was a heavy pause and she peered up to find him waiting for Xaden’s cue. “This shouldn’t be… just one time. I like you here.”

“Sleep, Violet,” Xaden finally said. “We’ll both be right here all night.”

She sighed. “Good.”

[thesleepyfable]

i can't tell you how much i adore your still here au and your writing and everything you've done with it. i always drop EVERYTHING to read new chapters!!! also i love that the infected that were visibly affected by the shape haven't been "fixed"/turned back to their pre-infection appearance and are treated just as lovingly and respectfully by you as the characters that weren't changed by it physically

it makes me emotional in a very positive way that i can't really convey. the infected aren't treated as "lesser" or "gross" by you/the narrative for looking the way they do. idk it just really means a lot to me and i love how you handle it. you describe what they do and how they move and talk with such care and respect. it's never "eww gross he's reaching for that with a tendril" it's treating and presenting them as the individuals they are with dreams and histories and motivations of their own

Well, you did it. You made me cry.

Sounds silly, but I'm so happy my writing has genuinely made people interested and inspired me to keep going. It's something I never thought would get any attention because that's happened in the past on old blogs, so seeing the notes for each chapter still gives me whiplash, but in the best way. Definitely help me find my passion for writing again.

I've always loved the 'human in the monster' trope, where the turned are still themselves. It makes for interesting dynamics and gives them a new perspective on life. Also, the 'monster boyfriend trope' is S-Tier, and as a Muirinne shipper, this is a match made in heaven!

At the end of the day, the infected are still characters who have lives, history, and personalities. Addair is the hardest to write out of all the characters, but I'm determined to flesh him out with everyone else.

A part of me wants to write this AU similar to the Paddington films. Strange, but hear me out: No one cares that a bear dressed in a blue coat and red hat is walking around with a suitcase. No one should care about a bunch of infected men walking around, trying to live their lives.

Overall, thank you for this wonderful ask, and I hope you're ready for what's to come next!

[bistaxx]

Anyway, Jinx random wartime q!hgduo spitball ramblings/ headcanons/ off-the-cuff analysis ig cuz I like thinking about them ^_^

I think they didn't meet at the start of the games but maybe a few months to a year or two in- I'd say either when Cellbit is about 15 or close to being 15.

By that time both Bad and the currently nameless teenager both had some sort of reputation as dangerous, ruthless, and maybe even downright cruel killers on the battlefield. One way or another they ended up becoming partners much to the horror of everyone else.

For Cellbit he'd recognize that sticking by Bad increased his chances of survival by a LOT and this dude doesn't even get mad when he takes bites out of him which is great.

For Bad I feel like he could've gone through the games alone with not much trouble but staying solo gets stale and lonely after while- he'd have teamed up with other players in the past but they all either died or left him eventually- he thinks it's gonna be no different with Cellbit but is pleasantly surprised when he's proven wrong.

And boy was that a good thing, because Bad has a bad habit of getting attached! He fed this stray cat a few times and now it's following after him and Bad doesn't have the heart to shoo the poor beast away!

Although Bad has much more experience and is vastly older he respects how much fighting skill his teenage partner has- he can hold his own on the battlefield- which is why he doesn't view him as his 'child' or a dependent but somewhere in-between an equal and a protege. Cellbit deferred to his leadership during fights, but theirs still a mutual respect between them.

Later on their bond would end up in a sort of vague area in the middle of a triangle between mentor & protege, equals, and something dangerously close to familial.

I find it hard to doubt that there were times when Bad would be shockingly reminded that his partner is in fact still a child... and perhaps times where Cellbit would find himself relying on Bad the ways a child would their parent or older sibling... Maybe at some point letting his funny little friend eat his flesh or spending resources healing him became less about keeping him healthy for the next battle and more about keeping him alive just a little bit longer- Maybe sticking by this powerful ally became less about pragmatism and more about companionship.

That said, as far as Cellbit's concerned he never had a family, as far as Bad's concerned his children are Dapper and Pomme... Cellbit's all grown-up now and so much time has passed that they see one another as something more akin to just 'old friends' who know what the other is capable of and thus know better then to underestimate each other... but I feel as they spend more time with each other again the echoes of the dynamic they once had become more tangible- especially given the major toll of the eggs being missing. Cellbit knows he can turn to Bad if he needs him and Bad will look out for Cellbit when he can even as he is (quite ltierally) falling apart.

Maybe sometimes even now he still can't help but see that nameless kid when he looks at Cellbit.

I honestly don't think Bad regrets the way he guided Cellbit during the war- nor do I believe that Cellbit harbors any resentment over Bad's influence in his life- even if it's left him with the same sort of fucked morals his former guardian has, his terrible self-sacrificial tendencies, and who knows what else. The reality of their situation during the games could never allow for softer forms of kindness- there was no time for them to be a 'family' and no time to think about what happens 'next' after this is all over. Bad couldn't teach Cellbit how to live, but he could teach him how to survive.

I haven't really settled on what I think happened at the end of the 'war' when they part ways... but sometimes I do think about how in the actual video Cellbit dies at the very end and man that can be interpreted in a lot of interesting ways- like obviously in qsmp canon Cellbit survives the war but it's still fun to take that into consideration!

Anyway, you know those images of predator animals with blood covered on their faces after eating a tasty meal- yeah that's them during the hunger games to me LOL

... Also does anyone else find it really funny that Foolish's adopted son and Badboyhalo's protege ended up getting married like- something about that is just really funny to me... Also I'm surprised no one has done anything about how the dude taken in by a totem of undying found love with the guy who was guided by a grim reaper like- I feel like there's some cool potential there!

Ty for reading all of that- or skimming it that's cool too! I just wanna say despite liking q!Bad and q!Cellbit a lot I do NOT consider myself to be super knowledgeable about them as characters, I just have a major soft spot for dynamics like theirs and wanted to ramble LOL so um yeah:

[thelittlestspider]

i will take you up on your book rec offer right away actually! i would love to hear what your favourite (horror) books are :)

Dark Harvest by Norman Partridge - It's about this Midwest town where the people starve and lock up their sons a week before Halloween night, and they let them loose to chase this jack-o-lantern monster, in the hopes of getting out of town. I can't say more than that, because it'll spoil the plot twist.

This book is really fun for fall or Halloween, and it has a really neat way of narrating the book. I also really liked the plot twist, and I didn't see it coming.

The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson - It's about a woman who goes to a haunted house as part of a scientific study, and ends up possessed by the house.

At first, I had trouble reading Hill House because it started out very slow, but I picked up one of the audiobooks, and I'm so glad I persevered because it's so worth it. About halfway through, it picks up, and it's so good. Because we have the MC Nell, who is this repressed woman in a homoerotic love-hate relationship with Theo, one of the other participants in the study, then we have Nell's weird thing with Hill House and it warping and possessing her. Ugh.

The Bright Lands by John Fram - (cw: sexual assault, murder. There's probably more, but it's been a bit since I read it.) It's about this guy named Joel who comes back to his hometown after his brother dies mysteriously, and he confronts his traumatic past while uncovering a town conspiracy.

This book was wild. I think I devoured in like a day because I was obsessed with it. It's this insane book based in Texas where like a demon or a monster is feeding on the evil things this group of men is doing to the boys in the town.

Fen by Daisy Johnson - Fen is a bunch of short stories set in the fictional town of Fen, which is a weird town set somewhere I think in the UK? Sorry, it's been a bit lol.

If you like small towns that are just fucked up, you'll like this book. I actually haven't read all of this book, but I love it. It has a house that is obsessed with the girl that lives in it and devours her girlfriend. It has a group of women who eat men.

Her Body and Other Parties by Carmen Maria Machado - This is another short story collection. There's a lot happening in this book lol.

I remember there was this insane sequence that was basically horror fanfic of law and order svu, and it was amazing.

Tender is the Flesh by Agustina Bazterrica - (cw: cannibalism, sexual assault, dehumanization, racism. If there's a cw, this book probably has it.) So it's based in a world where supposedly the animals have become infected with a disease that makes them off limits to people, and the world resorts to cannibalism. The mc is a guy that works in a meat factory where they butcher humans raised as cattle.

This is a really fucked up book, but it's so good. If you like books where everyone is horrible, and nothing good happens, you'll like this book. It was nauseating, and I mean that in the best way possible.

[sparkleboi24]

I need help crafting head canons and backstories for a BSD au I'm creating

I'm working on making head canons for a normal world no mafia no Ada or whatever au. For the most part I'm trying to take canon events and adapt them in a way where they could realistically happen, but for characters with more unknown or vague pasts I'm great for any HCs

Starting with Dazai, Dazai is not an orphan he was removed from his home by CPS when he was about 2. He was in the foster care system for a while, tossed around until he ended up in a home with Mori from ages 9-16. Mori was abusive, so Dazai ran away and lived in a shipping crate for a bit. Eventually he was taken in by Oda, who was a foster parent to mostly younger kids. He was there for 6 months but when he was out with Oda, Oda was killed in a mass shooting.

I know Dazai "improved" in canon after Oda died but I didn't give him a chance for this big long speech and there wasn't any reason for Oda to anyways, so Dazai completely spiraled after that. I have like a whole story written about that. But short things is his alcohol addiction got worse, he often spent days just not moving from Oda's grave and since you see him inject himself in season 5 and pop a pill in season 2, I have him experiment with drugs like fenty, shrooms, and heroin. Not addicted, just trying them out. Dazai is my most fleshed out in the au I'm creating, idk why.

Dazai bullies Akutagawa in school because of course he does.

Now for Chuuya I haven't finished stormbringer so my HCs for him might change. But.

He was also in foster care. I haven't fully fleshed out his life yet and I want some ways to integrate the sheep some how? But he entered the system when he was 8, I don't know why because I haven't finished storrmbringer. It varies from Verlaine killing his parents to them dying in a car crash so. Working on that. Verlaine went to a different home from Chuuya, he doesn't know him well he just hates him. I've been debating between having Kouyou be his sister or foster mother, but since I put Dazai with Mori I figured Chuuya could go with Kouyou and she'd just be a younger foster mom. I was also thinking I could find a way to make them in the same house? I really want the whole betrayal thing where Dazai leaves Chuuya and I thought it could be cool where Dazai left Chuuya in an abusive home to deal with it himself but I'm not sure, would it even make sense for him to have been with Mori?

Chuuya is in college, Dazai is struggling to get by. They still have their personalities obv so Dazai isn't like this sad mopey mess he's just a sad mess who mopes when he's alone and everyone doesn't really realize where he's at mentally

Mori has also fostered Yosano and Q, while having Elise as his bio daughter.

Atsushi and Lucy's backstories are basically the exact same as they are in canon

Akutagawa is homeless ofc, he just moves from place to place with his sister. His clothes are shit and he smells because he never showers so he isn't treated well at school. I'm tryna think if he'd go to college, also he's still got his terminal illness. I'm not sure how his need for Dazai's validation would come out in this au

Ranpo was adopted by Fukuzawa. His life was also basically the same. Yosano was also adopted by him.

I'm thinking Kunikida has a normal ass life with normal ass parents, just too much of an overachiever and on the verge of burnout but not allowing himself to burn out

Poe is rich. He was born rich, he's got money, that's all. I've got for him lol.

I'm trying to find ways to add the rest of the cast, I want to get all the characters in and get them lives and stuff made up.

If you have any suggestions to how I can expand this world I want to write fan fiction on it once I've fleshed it out a bit. Feel free to be like "actually no I dont like your idea, I think this would be better" because I'm open to any criticism on this, I just want it to be good and I'm not stuck on my ideas

[bythewillows]

I'm happy I can find a reonagi shipper that doesn't hate nagi's guts lmao. Do you think there's potential for them to end up together (in a general sense, like friends) and build a healthy relationship?

I'm tired of everyone on twitter expecting nagi to mess up again and hating him, and i know it's a possibility, but i want to see some character progression and not them making the same mistakes of the past (considering nagi DOES feel apologetic)

I don't want to think he's gonna toss reo away again like nothing, like so many people say in twitter. It's clear that they don't progress in football when they're together, but that doesn't mean their relationship has to be broken as a whole.

But anyway, i came here to let it all out, twitter is so stressful and even the reonagi shippers are sure of this happening

I completely understand my dude!!! Coming here after feeding off mostly twt for discussions was like a breath of fresh air haha, made me take a step back and realize "hey these two kids just SUCK at communicating" ☠️

First off (long rant incoming), yea it does seem to be a general consensus among reonagi/nagireo twt that Nagi's gonna "throw reo away in breakup part 3" after they lost to Isagi again, even after teaming up at their bests, n it do be a downer. As someone w a similar expressive style to Nagi (basically, bad at verbal communication and taking social cues) I can't hate him for what he did to Reo bc from his pov and with his personality it makes sense how he reacted, even if it was cruel and hurtful to someone he considers a close friend. Especially a friend who treated him like Reo did, which is why everyone's pissed off. But people forget that Nagi didn't even have friends before Reo, and that he probably wouldn't know he was being hurtful (other than the "you're a pain, idc anymore" line bc wtf bro but in hindsight he's a teenager who 1) doesn't think things through, 2) acts on instinct and 3) v rarely feels strongly on anything in the first place, so Reo telling him he didn't care abt the two things that got him into football, Reo's dream and Reo himself, probably tipped him over). Does it make all the suffering Reo went through alright? No, ofc not, and Reo should get an actual apology from his blockhead partner, but it's rlly sad to see so many people hating on Nagi for being 17 years old with no empathy skills (he says he and his parents are more like friends bc of how little they interact,,,,his best friend before Reo was a cactus,,,,give the boy a pass 😭).

((((spoilers for after the bllk manga ch202 here so if you haven't caught up or read the leaks pls be warned!!))))

Personally, I think they will end up together for sure, playing side by side once their character arcs are fully fleshed out (bc they're PARTNERS DAMMIT, THE SPINOFF CH8 LIVES RENT FREE IN MY HEAD)—but whether they stay together after the Manshine v Bastard match can go either way. We saw how well they played together and how the entire Bastard team couldn't stop their first goal against Isagi, showing how powerful their partnership can be, but it didn't last. Even if reonagi are completely in sync, Isagi could still shut them down over and over again (and even Kaiser could see what they were doing) after that first goal bc of two things: Nagi hasn't evolved his ego, and Reo devoted his extremely adaptable (therefore unpredictable) playstyle to accommodate what Nagi would want best at the moment. Because of this, Isagi and anyone with metavision who gets a read on what kind of player Nagi is has the ability to counter whatever they do—because Reo will do whatever Nagi wants to do, and will always favor Nagi. He said it himself, making Nagi the best striker is his new ego and that all other players are second to him, but this is detrimental to both of them because it makes them even worse than how they were in the first selection. Back then, Nagi could still direct plays while playing with Reo once pushed and Reo still wanted to score goals himself (the spinoff expands on this further when they play against other teams and w/ zantetsu), but now that they've both levelled up their skillsets (and bc Nagi likes succeeding + is frustrated that his game making isn't good enough yet), they've turned into an actual codependent team up in which Nagi relies entirely on Reo's creativity while Reo only focuses on Nagi scoring instead of him scoring, even when he has the opportunity to.

It's...bad. Even Ego pointed out how the We Beat Isagi Goal™️ would test Nagi's ego, bc he won't feel compelled to try harder anymore, and that that goal could never be replicated bc the conditions were too perfect both emotionally and physically, so even if Nagi was at his peak at that point, he would no longer evolve past now since his goal of "beating Isagi" was completed in such a memorable way. Nagi is basically stagnant and every other player with metavision can take advantage of that.

Reo, on the other hand, is on the other side of this and evolving extremely rapidly. During Yukimiya's final goal against Manshine, Reo had actually seen through Isagi's pass and moved to stop Yukimiya from scoring (but was tragically a step too late, my poor 99% boi, kaneshiro-sensei pls stop making him take Ls) and even Isagi was shocked he could!!! Reo's raw adaptability is growing to be a real menace and his main motive for evolving this entire time has been for Nagi, to get him back and to get Nagi to acknowledge him as the one who's best for him—so what'll happen when Reo gets to a point where his evolution is so great that when he looks back, Nagi is still at the same place he was during the Manshine v Bastard match? When he comes to a realization that the guy who's literally his own motivation to evolve isn't even trying to keep up with him bc he doesn't have any motivation himself?

I'm p sure you've read this already but @okkottsus has a rlly great analysis on reonagi n their skills + dynamic that puts it into words better than I can ☠️

If you haven't tho pls do it's amazing (and even has pictures!!):

So yea, imo, after a bunch of character development (on mostly Nagi's end bc he's stayed p much the same other than actually liking playing football after the team z vs v match) they'll get back together, but as for now I'm p sure they'll have at least one more break 😭 it's sad but it'll be good for them in the long run and above all else I just want both Reo and Nagi to be happy and healthy for each other. It's weird to hate on or blame one of them for their fallouts bc they're such a complex relationship and they both care for each other a lot in their own ways but oh well, people have opinions *shrugs*.

Anyway I hope this loosely related bunch of rambling is what you were looking for anon!! Ty for the ask, I'm also vv happy every time I see a reonagi shipper who loves both boys and it's always nice to talk abt them <3

[ezras--moon]

hi i would like to order one joel miller absolutely fucking railing reader pls. dom/sub vibes appreciated, not required. let's make it QZ joel and fedra!reader 😈

I'm so sorry this got completely out of hand-- but here you go!

Crumbling Castle

named after this song by King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard, which is a critique of (religious) social hierarchies and describing their inevitable downfall, felt fitting for the vibe I went with.

pls be nice, I haven't written anything in years! 18+ Minors do not interact

Word count: 7138

Warnings: A few gross descriptions of burning bodies and such, talk about violence, self loathing, inner turmoil, immoral actions, off-handed sui* mention, oppression, dom/sub dynamic, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected PiV sex, cursing/language, use of 'pussy' & 'cunt', no use of y/n, age difference (reader is about 38, Joel is 56).

dividers by @saradika

 The fire pit at the center of the QZ was crackling, roaring with every lifeless body tossed into it; the heat had begun to affect you hours ago at the start of the shift. Only one truckload of bodies to go before you’d be able to let it burn down to a residual glow the residents of the surrounding buildings could see from their soot-covered windows at night. Trails of sweat ran down your face and neck, soaking your button-up under your bulletproof vest and you looked down at your feet, kicking a rogue pebble in the direction of the pit.

 As the sun set slowly, having disappeared behind the tall buildings what felt like an entire shift ago, you tapped your fingers against the stock of your gun in a clumsy rhythm. The strap of your helmet was cutting uncomfortably into the soft skin under your chin and you longed for the shower you’d be taking later.

 Another FEDRA officer moved to lead a group of citizens past the fire in your peripheral, barking a command at them like they were his to boss around – you rolled your eyes. It felt like everyone else in your position enjoyed treating the people subject to their monopoly of violence like they were lesser, like maggots, like ugly spiders with hairy legs they could crush beneath their boots if they so pleased. The coil of patience within your gut was dangerously close to snapping.

The popular pre-outbreak assumption that the apocalypse was going to rid the world of its human problems was a misguided one at best and an outright idiotic one at worst. The remainder of your species seemed hellbent on making each other suffer not just in the common ways, but in ones borrowed from history and added onto the pile.

There was still misogyny within your ranks, male officers disrespecting female officers, there was racism, there were hate crimes – and of course there was the military dictatorship. Grappling with your guilt day in and day out, you despised what you’d become. What you’d let them turn you into. Guilt and anger. 

You wanted to grab whoever came up with this inhuman system by the collar and slam them hard against a brick wall until their brains were scrambled in their thick skull. There was a deep desire within yourself, threatening to burst, to kill and kill and kill. Kill everybody in a higher position than yourself, and then take off your uncomfortable uniform and make something better.

But you were only one person.

There was always joining the fireflies – but you’d seen what FEDRA officers did to those they could catch alive. And to those who had attempted to subvert their rule before. It was fear that was keeping you where you were standing now, gun in hand, keeping a watchful eye on the workers pulling the corpses from the trucks and dropping them into the flames like their lives meant nothing.

How could you be so numb to it?

You tried not to think about it any longer, taking in a deep breath, but the air was filled with smoke and the stench of searing flesh. It made everything worse. Anxious and itching for your shift to end, you began pacing up and down the sidewalk slowly. The grimy concrete under your boots was slightly sticky from the years and years of melting and evaporating human fat seeping down from the fires and being carried around on heavy plumes of smoke.

You raised your right arm to wipe away the sweat building up on your forehead as you felt your heart rate pulsing in your head.

Then, you stopped in your tracks when you spotted a sudden movement around a corner, out of your fellow officers’ fields of view. Taking one more look around the pit, scanning for trouble and not finding any, you stepped closer to whatever you’d caught by pure chance. You hoped and prayed you wouldn’t have to be violent – knowing that if you disobeyed your orders to waste any fools dumb enough to try some shit under your watch, you’d be heavily reprimanded. Especially since it wouldn’t be the first time you’d let someone off easy.

A look at the ground revealed nothing to you, pearls of sweat rolling into your eyes and stinging harshly with soot, but you could hear voices. Following those, it only took you a few more seconds to find the source. You were nervous, but not scared, as you approached slowly and silently around the corner.

Only one person was visible from your angle, a tall and broad frame dressed in a filthy pair of jeans and an equally dirty blue denim shirt, graying head of dark hair crowning the intimidating looking figure in the shadow of the brick walls. A second person, much smaller and thinner, was hidden behind the tall man in front of you as you unshouldered your rifle and lifted it to point it into the general direction of the secretively murmuring strangers.

“Hey!”, you said, trying to sound authoritative, but you were so mentally and physically exhausted that your voice came out as a mere squeak.

Startled, the man in blue turned his whole body around to face you, revealing his irritated facial expression and the terrified looking guy behind him. What now? You had their attention.

“What is this about?”, you heard yourself prod, taking another step towards them. “None of your business.”, said the tall guy, a slightly mocking tone lacing his gravelly voice. A pair of intense dark eyes were sizing you up, unfaltering, not nervous about your presence in the slightest. He was testing you.

“Do you have a death wish?”, you asked perplexed, gripping your weapon more firmly and assertively taking even more steps forward. Finally, the man raised his hands up to his shoulders apologetically, his lower lip twitching and inconvenienced expression changing into something you couldn’t quite read.

“No, ma’am”, he said, “we were just about to leave.” He gestured to the smaller man to get out of the alley, and to your dismay he did rush away. You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him to stay right fucking there so you could search him, but you decided the tall guy was probably much more worth your while investigating.

“What the fuck were you talking about?”, you pressed, still not lowering your gun, and he wasn’t lowering his hands either.

“Like I said – it’s none of your business, ma’am. I’ll be on my way”, he repeated, finally putting his hands back into the pockets of his jeans, “You can lower your gun, I ain’t a threat.” “Why should I believe a word you’re saying?” You felt the exhaustion in your bones making your hands shake ever so slightly; he noticed. A subtle smirk, gone as quickly as it appeared, mocking you. His eyes were still boring into you with an indecipherable intent, mustering you from head to toe, leisurely taking in your whole pathetic form.

 Oh, what the hell, you thought, who gives a fuck? You lowered your weapon at last, sighing and turning on your heel to leave the bastard stewing in this disgusting back alley.

“Give up so easily, huh? Just like that? Don’t even wanna pat me down and have me turn my pockets inside out for ya?”, he teased, and you just shook your head No and turned to face him again.

Something about him, maybe the hint of another smirk on his ruggedly handsome face, maybe the calmness he exuded through his voice and his unbothered demeanor, made you shoulder your gun and shrug with a pained expression. “I never wanted this fucking job in the first place, and I’m not gonna risk my ass getting reprimanded or killed over a back alley fucking pill deal”, you said, pointing at the small plastic bag peeking out of his shirt’s front pocket, “so I guess you’re free to go, Sir. Have a nice day.”

Turning away yet again, you heard him scoff under his breath, and you couldn’t care less.

“Then why’d you take it?”, he asked accusatorily, like it’d been your choice to join FEDRA.

“Didn’t have a damn choice”, you mumbled, looking back at him over your shoulder. He was still standing in the same spot, not moving an inch. “I guess you didn’t either.” You continued, chewing on the inside of your cheek to keep yourself grounded. Inhaling evaporating corpses all day was messing with your head, big time, because before you were downgraded to fire pit watch you’d never have let this slide.

“Sure didn’t.”, he grunted, finally taking a step forward with a shrug. “Gotta feed myself somehow.”

You nodded; you knew how back breaking the work was, the laborers barely getting by while your own superiors had running hot water and an equally hot meal every day, not to mention the basketball courts.

“Just don’t get caught. I know some guys are itching to pull that trigger on any fool they can get their sights on. You shouldn’t be this close to the pit doing this, you know”, you advised, earning nothing but another contemptuous hint of a smirk.

“I know how to handle myself, sweetheart. Do you?” The term of endearment came unexpectedly and knocked the wind out of your lungs for a split second, so dizzying that not even the clear disrespect in his words affected you.

What was just a hint developed into a full grin and you heard your pulse in your ears, drumming harshly. He had a single dimple on his right cheek, a row of neat teeth revealed beneath soft looking lips, and the patchy beard made him look wild and unkempt in an oddly charming way. Crows’ feet and smile lines adorned his gracefully aging face, though the dark rings under his eyes and tensely knotted brows showed that he wasn’t coping perfectly either, just like you weren’t.

He watched you curiously for a beat longer, before he spoke again, finally breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Care for a drink?”, he offered then, catching you off guard just another damn time. You really had to work on your composure.

“Where’d you get- ah, fuck it. Yes, I’d love to have a drink. But-" "Don’t think about it, just follow me.”, he said, almost commanding, and against your better judgement you did as he said.

Your tired feet had just a tiny bit of trouble keeping up with his long strides as he led you through the muddy terrain of the back alleys, looking back over his shoulder every once in a while to check if you were still there. A group of people ahead were loitering in his way and you noticed the disdainful looks they were throwing at you, just past him. Swallowing dryly, you gripped your gun a little tighter against your chest and decided to try and focus on your steps, afraid it might come to violence after all if you even looked at somebody the wrong way.

“Move.” The tone in which he was commanding these folks would have made anyone irritated if it’d come from anybody else, but they listened to him, making room for both of you to pass without so much as a nasty remark hurled your way. You knew they wanted to rough you up, a lone female officer in this corner of the QZ rather a rare sight, you would’ve been a welcome opportunity to let off frustration and pent up aggression.

Glancing back at the diverse cast of rough looking men, you wondered if they knew him or if it was just the raw confidence and authority he was oozing from every pore.

Loosening your shoulders and finally releasing the breath you’d been holding in, you made it to your destination in one piece, following him upstairs inside a dark, dusty apartment building whose ground floor windows were falling apart and being held together by decade old duct tape.

The man was wordless as he led you into his studio apartment and shut the door behind you, gesturing to the dusty table in the center of the kitchen area. “Sit down, I’ll pour you a glass”, he offered. By now, your colleagues were probably starting to wonder where you were; you really shouldn’t be doing this. Hesitant and shy, you leaned your rifle against the wall by the door before taking your helmet off and letting your hair down, smoothing through the strands to somehow make them look less grimy and sweat soaked.

The chair creaked dangerously as you sat down and watched him grab an unlabeled bottle of brown liquor from a cupboard along with two glasses which he then filled about halfway. Plenty for your liking.

He handed you one of them and took a seat opposite you by the table, nodding in your direction. “What’s your name?”, you asked, taking a swig and scrunching up your face as the liquor burned down your throat. Moonshine.

“Joel.”, he said matter-of-factly, “What’s yours?”

You gave him your name after a moment of deliberation whether you should. He repeated it in his charming southern drawl like he was taking a taste of it on his tongue. “I like that.”

The beat of silence that followed made you feel insecure and you wondered if you’d made a very stupid decision to come here. But what could be stupider than joining the forces of a military dictatorship in a terrifying world of horrors? It was you and everybody else carrying a gun in the name of FEDRA who were making the last refuges of the country unsafe for everybody else, and not for the first time you felt the weight of your actions tug at you, rip you apart inside.

“Fuck”, you muttered under your breath, looking up to the ceiling littered with water damage. 

“Tell me what’s botherin’ you”, Joel said, and you got the feeling this wasn’t how he usually dealt with strangers, especially not officers. It sounded like he was fighting his own inner demons trying desperately to keep the words buried beside whatever else was locked within that broad frame.

Locking eyes with him, you let a few seconds pass wordlessly before downing the entire glass of liquor and setting it down on the table in front of you. Joel shot you another smirk and did the same.

“I feel like I’m a piece of shit, and I feel like everybody who’s not FEDRA would agree”, you breathed, leaning back in your chair and nervously bouncing your leg, impatient for the alcohol to deliver the sweet mind numbing buzz already.

Instead of denying or confirming your implied inquiry, he rolled his eyes. The insecurity in the pit of your stomach grew.

“I wouldn’t have let you into my apartment if you’d given me a reason to think you’re just another goddamn FEDRA officer.”

Confused, you leaned forward a bit, itching for him to elaborate with raised brows. “H-how could you- I mean, how-”, you stammered, earning a scoff.

“First off, you didn’t search me, you didn’t shoot me, you didn’t drag me to your superiors for execution.”

Your face fell at the last part, cringing at what you’d let them turn you into. Execution. Shooting people for low level crimes. Murdering them.

“Fuck”, you cursed again, taking in a shaky breath and trying your fucking hardest not to cry, “I’ve been drowning in self loathing for years now, and I can’t believe you’re the first person to actually tell me out loud that all of it is warranted.”

“You’re welcome”, he rumbled, the deep tone oddly calming, but you let out a breathy laugh at his words, blinking away some tears welling up in your eyes and swiping at the grime on your face with the pad of your thumb.

“Secondly,” he continued his reasoning, “you just don’t look the type. I mean, a woman like you doesn’t belong with the scum. I can tell you’re different. I can see the other officers probably don’t like you, never let you catch a break. They probably see you as easy pickings. And I’m guessin’ you’re way past your limits in more than one way.”

“What do you mean, a woman like me?”

“Pretty thing. Soft lookin’. I’m sure you’re way too interesting to be doing all that”, he said, gesturing at your uniform and the gun behind you.

Mouth agape, you shook your head just slightly in disbelief. He had you pinned down pretty accurately. You wouldn’t call yourself interesting in a vain and arrogant way, but you’d always felt like you weren’t made of violence and not nearly numb enough to execute it like most others in your position were. At least the ones who joined the force on their own accord.

You had a journal in your quarters kept for personal accountability to grapple with, filled with notches etched into the leather binding for every state sanctioned murder you committed. Whenever you’d found out the names of your targets, you’d written them down on the last page of that journal in tiny letters to leave room for all the future kills you’d accumulate. 

And it gnawed on your conscience day in and day out. It robbed you of sleep. It made you cry every night for the first couple of years, and after that you grew terrified of yourself for how numb you’d become.

You knew you were nowhere near as scary without that damn gun, you knew you’d much rather be a doctor or a social worker in another life, or quite literally anything else that had nothing to do with lives wasted or saved.

Finally, you spoke up.  “My father made me join. He was a cop, you know, before.” Joel nodded, reaching for the bottle and topping up both of your glasses as he listened.

“He told me it’s much safer to be a part of the machine than the masses it rolls over, when the shit inevitably hits the fan. He told me that long before that day, when I was just a kid too. At the time I couldn’t make much of that, but when I turned eighteen, shortly before it happened, he made me join the army.” 

You took another big swig of liquor before you continued, and Joel was still looking at you in an indecipherable way, piercing through you. Slowly but surely, the buzz crept into your head, making you all fuzzy, and the emotions that had almost made you burst into tears a moment ago all poured into your words instead.

“And then he died and I couldn’t get to him because they made me stay where we were stationed until they’d figured out what was going on. And it was too late for me to make a choice, when they closed off the QZ and started ruling it, they made me… participate.” You swallowed, lowering your gaze down to your lap in shame.

Joel grunted in reply, downing the rest of his drink. You did the same.

“You know, everybody within these walls has a tragic backstory. I have one. My neighbors have theirs. You have yours. Every officer probably has one. But that still doesn’t make any of it right.”, he responded, “That being said, you’re also not the only ones who kill to make a livin’.”

You didn’t want him to elaborate; even if you’d had the emotional capacity to care right now, you didn’t want to hear about more death and murder, but you didn’t judge either - and how could you? You had no right. So you just nodded and gave him an understanding look before staring back down at your jittery knees.

“I should probably go, they’re going to kill me if I’m not back by midnight. Bad enough I didn’t show up to pass the torch for the night.”, you mused, but something kept you firmly in the chair.

“I don’t think you should go back there.”, he said, “It’ll make you kill yourself eventually. And that’s no good. Would be a shame.”

Your throat was dry as cardboard when he rose from his seat and moved his chair closer to yours, his knee touching yours, his hand taking hold of your own in your lap.

“Where else would I go?”, you squeaked, the intense eye contact making your head swim.

For the first time, he gave you an honest smile. “I’m so glad you asked.”

The texture of the hot wash cloth rubbing the dirt off your skin as you stood by Joel’s sink in just your underwear relieved you to no end, a content sigh escaping your lips. 

Joel had left to get something to eat for the both of you, and you were alone in his apartment now, cleaning yourself up in his kitchen. Nice smelling soap was hard to come by these days, but he had his ways. The milk and honey bar came from a drawer next to his bed, stashed away under old magazines. It’d been wrapped in a sheet of plain white wax paper and he’d seemingly saved it for an occasion like this where he had a woman in his home.

A fugitive woman you were now, you’d decided. You were done with FEDRA. You were done with the unjust killing, and you were going to follow Joel out of the QZ and into freedom. It felt like you were doing something stupid, standing in a stranger’s kitchen like this, washing yourself and preparing to get away. If they caught you, they’d shoot you.

But was the alternative any better? Wouldn’t you rather die than put that wretched uniform back on? To raise the gun and point it at somebody’s face, squeezing the trigger?

It was almost pitch black outside, just about curfew, when Joel’s heavy steps outside the door startled you.

You’d thought he would take longer - but there he was, entering the apartment with another bundle of wax paper in his hand. He wasn’t disturbed by the state of you almost naked in his kitchen, quite the opposite. His gaze lingered on your chest where you were cradling the wash cloth for a beat before he shut the door and sauntered towards the opposite side of the place, drawing the curtains.

“You almost finished? I have some clothes for you.”, he remarked, avoiding another look at your body. He grabbed a gray long sleeved shirt and a matching pair of joggers from a side table by his couch. “These should fit you”, he said, throwing the clothes over the backrest of your chair.

“Y-yeah, I’m done here”, you said, insecurity lacing your voice. The alcohol was still making you feel slightly dizzy as you rinsed the wash cloth and dropped it into the sink.

Being clean and out of the heavy uniform and vest felt nice, and it was warm in the apartment - or maybe it was the alcohol in your veins - you didn’t even feel like putting on the shirt and the pants.

But you didn’t want to sleep in your bra either, not to mention naked.

“Turn around, will you?”, you asked softly as you grabbed just the shirt and unclasped your bra as soon as Joel complied with your request. You shimmied out of the sticky thing, soaked with sweat, quickly wiped at under your breasts with the now cold wash cloth making you shiver. Pulling the shirt over your head and working your arms through the sleeves, you decided against the pants.

“Whose are these clothes?”, you asked curiously, Joel turning around and sitting down on the side of his bed, kicking off his shoes. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”, he said sort of bluntly without looking at you.

After a moment of awkward silence, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“Sorry, I just-” “It’s okay.”, you interrupted, closing the space between you two and sitting next to him, “You only have one bed.”

Joel scoffed, shaking his head at your remark. “I’ll sleep on the couch if you want the bed.”

“No, just - could you just… hold me for a little bit?” your voice was breaking, and finally some tears rolled down your cheeks. It seemed not even being away from your FEDRA quarters would save you from crying yourself to sleep.

Joel fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, looking a little uncomfortable, but you didn’t know how to stop, and before you knew it there was a pained sob escaping your throat. 

He looked alarmed, turning to you. “Hey, hey, it’s okay- why are you crying?”, he said, as if it wasn’t obvious. You huffed when he placed his hand on your bare knee and drew slow circles into your skin, trying to soothe you. “Don’t cry, pretty girl.”

Your heart skipped a beat pathetically at his words, and you wiped away your tears with the back of your hand.

“I’m s-sorry”, you gasped, all shaky breaths and worry, “I’m just scared. I’m so scared, Joel.”

Joel squinted at you for a split second before reaching out to pull you into a hug. He was soft, softer than his broad frame gave away, and he smelled of cold night air mixed with sweat and the liquor on his breath, but not in an off-putting way; he smelled like a working man. 

You leaned against his shoulder and allowed yourself to wrap your arms around his back, barely able to circle him completely - he was built like a fridge.

“You’re allowed to be scared right now, but I need you to pull yourself together in the mornin’. Getting out in the daylight is not easy. I’m gonna need you to push your feelings back down, for my sake and your own.”

His deep voice so close to your ear was soothing almost as much as his strong arms around your middle, holding you tightly and stroking your back with a rough palm.

“I’d get you out right now, but we need to rest before we can pull it off. Understand?”, he continued, his voice softening even more. You nodded against his shoulder and sniffled, trying to swallow the grief building up in your chest.

Joel held you like this on the edge of the mattress for a while, until you pulled back on your own and gave him a grateful smile.

You crawled back on the bed and under the covers, feeling your body heat slowly get trapped there and keeping you cozy and safe. Joel joined you there after he’d changed into a different shirt and out of his jeans in the dark room. Only a sliver of silvery moonlight provided enough light for you to make out his silhouette as he inched close to you, pulling you into his side.

You fell asleep in record time.

It was still dark when you woke up, curled tightly into Joel’s side, his arm around your shoulders pinning you there. You flattened your palm on his chest, feeling his even breaths in his rib cage, and the soft snores coming from him made you smile.

Only twelve hours ago you were strangers, now he was holding you in his bed like you were his woman - not that you’d complain.

Smoothing your hand over his shirt, feeling his impossibly warm skin underneath the layer of cotton, you indulged in the feeling of another person so close. God, how long it had been. It wasn’t exactly frowned upon among FEDRA to have relationships, but it was damn near impossible to find anybody who wasn’t a complete asshole.

There had been a few, though, over the years. You’d indulged in the comfort of their presence, but there were always hidden motives or personality traits that inevitably ruined the connections, be it coming from you or them.

But Joel wasn’t FEDRA. He was tough, he was a skeptic and a cynic, and he was a brute, but he wasn’t evil - as far as you could tell. You were sure he could be downright dangerous and violent if he needed to be, no doubt in your mind. But you let yourself enjoy this side of him for now, there was hopefully plenty of time to explore more of him later if he was really going to help you escape.

Distracted by your own thoughts about the future, you didn’t notice Joel had woken up under your touch at first, but his breath hitching in his throat when he noticed that you were petting him in awe of his warmth gave him away. 

You turned your head to look at his face in the dark, able to make out enough of it to see the startled expression. “Sorry, I-”, you began, but his warm hand moved to cup your cheek in his calloused palm, then below your chin to tilt it upwards. “Shhh, it’s alright, sweetheart. Come here”, he mumbled, still half asleep.

Lifting his head off the flat pillow, he leaned down and captured your lips in a soft kiss, his scruffy beard tickling your face. A surprised whimper bubbled up from your chest, but you deepened the kiss with an open mouth. Panting, Joel pulled back much too quickly, staring at you from behind his long dark lashes intensely.

He was fully awake now, and you were worried he was going to push you away, but he didn’t.

His arm around your shoulders wandered lower to rest on your ass, bold and unashamed, so he could maneuver you upwards, closer to his face. You gasped softly when he squeezed you there; he was taking charge effortlessly, your already flimsy authority over him crumbling to bits in his arms with a single touch.

His other hand found the back of your head, fingers threading in your hair and pulling you into a more fervent kiss, and he groaned into your mouth. You could feel the vibration of his voice through your whole body and shuddered, putty in his arms, reciprocating the kiss in an equally hungry way.

He pulled your body on top of him so easily, like you weighed nothing, making you straddle his lap with one hand on your hip and the other cupping your cheek.

He was so soft and so warm, your hands found his biceps and his shoulders as you groped at every inch you could reach - there were so many inches of him to touch.

“Joel”, you whined when he pushed your hips down into his groin and you could feel him grow hard between your thighs. Grinding against him with his assistance, you slid your dampening core along his shaft pressed tightly against his soft yet solid belly. “Fuck”, he muttered under his breath between starving kisses and licks he delivered to your needy mouth.

Tugging at the hem of your shirt, he broke the kiss. “Take this off, please”, he asked, and you smiled down at him in the dark as you sat up straight, his cock pulsing underneath you as you pulled the top over your head and tossed it aside.

His left hand grabbed your right and he placed a kiss to each of your knuckles before helping you steady yourself on top of him, palms planted firmly on his chest. Reaching up to cup your breasts in his big hands, he thrust his hips up to meet yours, and you could feel he was fully hard in his underwear.

You hummed when he finally sat up to undress himself too, another shirt sailing off the edge of the bed and meeting the dust on the creaky floorboards. 

He was impossibly broad, so strong as he flipped you over, making you squeak and giggle, looking up at him towering over you between your thighs. He leaned over you to kiss you some more, taking charge, propped up on one strong arm and pinning you down by the hip with the other.

When he kicked off his moth-eaten boxers and helped you shimmy out of your own underwear, your eyes wandered down his body, greedily taking in his intimidating form before he could come back down to you for another languid open-mouthed kiss.

He was devouring you; leaving a wet trail of kisses along your jaw, taking his time on your neck to make you squirm breathlessly and helplessly subjected to his touch.

“Let me take care of you”, he whispered into the darkness when he arrived at your belly button, pressing his hot tongue into the skin next to it and then playfully biting at the same spot. You arched your back with another giggle; so uncharacteristic of you, but you couldn’t help it. He wasn’t just commanding your movements, your position, no - he commanded the energy in the room and the feelings in your head too.

It felt so good to let go of your power and control, leave it at the door and show me another way.

Nipping at and kissing along the inside of your thigh from your knee to the crease where your leg joined your hip, he took his sweet time with you. He was going to make you beg for it, you thought, and it was okay. You were fine with him ruining you. Fine with whatever he wanted to do to, with or for you.

Tortured little gasps fell from your lips when he began to drag his flattened tongue from your mound up to your lower stomach and back down before dipping lower, gathering your slick with a broad stroke and slurping obscenely.

You wished he’d talk more, but the way he held you in place so easily with just his forearm draped across your lower half as his hungry mouth feasted on you below knocked the wind out of your lungs and made your eyes glaze over. Your hands found their way into his soft curls, tugging lightly at the roots, and he groaned against you.

“Ha-aah-” you whined when he began circling your clit in a slow but agonizing pattern. Irrhythmically lapping at you, he filled your ears with obscene wet sounds, drinking you down with labored breaths through his aquiline nose.

He had you close to the edge in no time, ruthlessly flicking his tongue against your most sensitive parts with a skill no man before him had shown you. It was a whole bouquet of new sensations you were discovering you could feel with the help of his skilled mouth coaxing sobs and soft cries from you with ease.

The coil of the orgasm building inside you tightened and finally snapped, tipped you over the peak, rippled through you in waves from head to toe. You grinded your wetness against his face involuntarily, tensing up and jerking, then releasing with guttural moans egging him on; he kept your hips pinned firmly in place so he could guide you through it.

Finally, when you were coming down off your high, he came up for air, but kept teasing you by dragging the knuckle of his middle finger through your folds. “Oh my god, Joel”, you gasped, earning a low chuckle from him as he pushed the finger inside you slowly. 

He felt your walls clench and remedied your tension by slowly pumping his finger in and out of your pussy, curling it inside you to search for the spot that’d turn you even more pliable in his hands. “Shh”, he appeased, his hot breath fanning against your thigh as he leaned in to leave a love bite right there.

You frantically searched for purchase, fisting the sheets to either side of you when he added another finger and again lowered his mouth to lap at your clit. The overstimulation made tears well up and roll down the sides of your face, and the sobs and wanton moans were like music to his ears, prompting him to groan against you once again.

“Come on, gorgeous, give me another one before I fuck you back to sleep”, he finally broke his silence, and you cried out for him. His tongue flitting in tight circles around your clit and his two fingers buried inside you stroking your g-spot at just the right moment to tip you over the edge again.

He hummed into your core, fucking you through your second orgasm of the night with his thick fingers stretching you, getting you ready for his cock.

“Good girl”, he praised when you’d come back down to earth to join him on this plane of existence - the dangers of the escape in the morning pushed to the back of your mind now. He was everything you needed in this moment.

Your thighs were shaking when he sat up on his haunches between your legs, his big hands hooking into the bends of your knees to make room for all of him.

He came down to kiss you greedily, with the taste of your own slick on his mouth, and you both moaned into the sloppy kiss. Your hands back in his curls, carding through affectionately, needy expression on your face making him grin down at you with his glistening, hot mouth.

“Please, Joel”, you whined, chasing his lips for another peck as he lined himself up with your sopping cunt. For the first time somehow, you realized how thick he was - the head of his cock pressing forward into you slowly. It was a piece of work to adjust to despite the copious amounts of slick your pussy had wept.

“Please what?” he panted, holding himself up on his elbow, his cock in his free fist as he fed himself into you inch by inch.

You failed to elaborate before he was buried to the hilt, and before you could react to the delicious stretch of your walls fluttering around him, he began to move.

Joel started out slow, agonizing, you could feel him move deep inside you; it was a divine experience and he took his time smoothing you over the initial burn. 

“Fuck, you feel good”, he breathed into your ear, nipping at your neck to leave a mark, suckling and licking your soft skin there. You were speechless, your breath hitching before you looped your arms around his shoulders, digging your nails into his skin and releasing a filthy wailing moan.

“That’s it, you’re doing so good - Christ - I can feel your heartbeat around my cock”

Your eyes squeezed shut for a split second before he reached up to grab your face in one large hand, turning you to look into his eyes. “Keep looking at me.”

“Mmnnn” was all you could reply, a hum in your chest. He let go of your face and went to paw at your chest instead, squeezing and kneading your breast as he kept fucking you slow and hard. He was so big - positively splitting you in half.

The wordlessness left him for good then, he kept whispering the filthiest things into your ear, nudging your nose with his own, leaving the odd peck on and around your mouth.

“You’re so wet, shit, can you feel me move inside you? So easy to fuck that drooling cunt-”

Your eyes fell shut, tears burning, wet lashes sticking together as you let him hear your voice through increasingly loud whines.

His hand was back on your face, forcing you to look at him again.

“I said keep looking at me, beautiful girl -  and answer when I ask you a question”, he demanded; his tone was firm yet forgiving and you nodded.

“Yes, Joel - aah, I can feel you move, you’re so - hnng”, you babbled, having trouble keeping your own eyes fixed on his beautiful brown ones.

“Good girl”, he repeated - and then finally began to fuck you faster.

You felt like you were going to faint from the overstimulation, but you just sobbed and cried out in response to his movement. So close to another orgasm, and he was relentlessly thrusting himself against and into you, your legs shakily closed around his hips.

“Reach down and touch yourself for me, baby, cum with me”, he ordered, and you did as he asked.

You spread your wetness around your clit, your fingers slipping in circles so easily while the sounds of him fucking you with his impossibly hard cock accompanied your combined moans.

He was vocal, and you were into it; every sound he made sent a rush of adrenaline through you, building an orgasm you were certain would make you pass out. 

Joel kissed you again, swallowing your cries, snapping his hips into yours so harshly you could see stars behind your eyelids.

Your free hand in his hair, tugging and making his rhythm stutter for a brief moment, you were blissed out. His full weight was pressing you so deep into the mattress, his cock knocking against your cervix with every other thrust. 

You held onto him for dear life, the hand in his hair moving to grope at his bicep. Finding a hold there, you steadied and braced yourself for the blinding orgasm that was finally coming to its peak.

“Oh, ohh fuck” he cursed, feeling your walls clench and unclench around his cock. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, he stopped making sure your eyes were open; it was just impossible. You felt so good wrapped around his girth, the pull of your sopping, squelching cunt milking him deliciously.

Three, four more pointed thrusts into your heat and he came undone, a long guttural groan falling from his throat against the side of your neck where he stilled and nuzzled his nose.

You were both drenched in sweat and exhausted, but he stayed on top of you, weighing you down comfortably. His body heat was grounding you as you left small kisses along his neck, making the little hairs at the nape of his neck stand up.

Catching his breath took him a while; he wasn’t in his twenties anymore.

Slowly but surely, the movement crept back into his limbs and he moved off of you, pulling out and leaving you dripping his cum onto his sheets.

You sighed contentedly, rolling over onto your side and closing your eyes, feeling yourself drift off again. He got out of bed to grab a towel, letting some water run over and soak a corner of it to clean you up with. 

You were completely rid of tension and pliable in his hands when he spread your thighs apart, wiping at your combined juices, finally tossing the towel god knows where and joining you under the covers.

He held you the rest of the night and late into the morning.

Maybe he’d just be safe and make you stay inside until the sun set in twelve hours, maybe escaping in the dark was a better idea.

[deadqueenz]

Eddie Gluskin x Female Reader: My Everything

Part One: Monster

Love was, is a fickle thing. Always forever changing, never the same. For good and for bad and for the worse. You never know what life has in store for you, but you can choose what to do with the cards you are dealt.

At least, that's what you always heard. You never could figure out what it meant to be truly in love and to be loved back, and when life came into play, it confused you even more. Were you destined, to be this way? Murdering those that betray you and hurt you?

Was there another option or choice you didn't take to escape this route? What awaits you at the end, your own death? At this point you would welcome it with an all knowing smile, and let it take you away in it's cold embrace.

Yet, here you kneeled; beside the damaged corpse of your latest lover, holding the pocket knife they gifted you for Christmas. The pocket knife and your hands were coated with dark blood, their heart cut from their chest and laid in clear view for anyone to see if they got close enough to the living room window.

Calmly, you get to your feet, picking up the heart and placing it in the gift box that was filled with broken glass. You wanted to hurt them, but in the end, you killed them. What else were you supposed to do? They cheated on you and on top of that a child was soon to be brought into the picture due to their infidelity.

You tried with this one, you really did. Ignoring the constant texts, phone calls and abruptly leaving at early and late hours to "go to work" or "help a friend". Closing the medium sized gift box, you turn to the stabbed corpse, the song 'I'll be home for Christmas' playing softly in the background. Blood stained Christmas cookies and glasses of milk now tainted pink from blood sat on the coffee table beside the body.

Sighing softly, you state. "What a mess." In a soft tone before walking away to clean yourself up and plan how to get rid of your late lover this time. The last one you fed them to their dogs alive, the one before died after you poisoned their food. And the one before.....You release a heavy sigh, walking to the bathroom to take a long well-deserved shower.

This was starting to become tiring, but you know where you got it from; your guardian. The person who raised you. They taught you how to properly clean up after a crime. Checking to make sure, you left no traces behind. As you step into the shower, the clear water changing to red as it swirls down the drain.

If you had siblings, you didn't know. You were separated from everyone except your guardian due to being different from the others, but the same as them(your guardian). You never knew what that meant till you saw them cleaning up their latest body at sixteen.

They didn't get mad, only smiled at you as they drop parts of the body in the fireplace as logs. The smell of burning flesh wafted to your nose, yet you held no reaction. "So they were right," they begin as they get to their feet. "You are like us."

"Us?" You questioned. "Those before me and you, my dear. You are special, different. Just by the fact you haven't showed any emotions these past nine years, tells me everything I need to know." With a smile, they walk towards a door and motion for you to follow. It's then, that you notice blood sticking to their clothes.

"Come, let me show you something. First you will learn how to properly clean up blood...."

Emotionless most of the time, but when you find 'The One' it's as if you had them the entire time. Your heart races, and you can't help but stare at them and watch them when they are in your sight. You try to be normal, wanting to patiently wait to see them again. But you would feel uneasy, restless and mind filled with thoughts of them.

What do they like? What were their dislikes? Favorite foods and drinks? Movies? Hobbies?

You wanted to know, you wanted to know everything about them so they would only focus on you. And you did, you found out by stalking them, watching their moves almost 24/7 and when you couldn't you snuck into the place and put in a microphone and camera.

It wasn't weird at all, you only wanted to make sure they were safe, okay, and living well. Anyone that made them upset, well, they were never seen again. How tragic. Where did you put the bodies?

You thought you did everything right, up to when they finally came to you themselves and asked out on a date, you had the same interest, the same taste, likes and dislikes. Strange.... But the two of you didn't mind.

Everything was great, until....

Slowly closing your eyes, you turn your back to the shower head, letting the scalding hot water cascade over you. You sigh, feeling the tension and stress leave your body and relax your mind. Exes are exes for a reason, buried memories are buried for a reason. Why open up the corpse filled closet?

Wait for them to turn to skeletons before you even consider those thoughts. You had to get rid of the corpse in the living room first, and on Christmas Eve for goodness sake.

And what about their lover?

"Be quiet." You murmur aloud as the voice spoken with humor in their usually emotionless tone.

"Come now, don't tell me your gonna let them go free? After all, they ruined our happiness."

"Leave me alone, I don't need you in my head right now." You wince pressing a hand to your temple as the familiar headache came about.

"'Right now'?" They smile, leaning against the shower wall in front of you with a cold sneer. "I see-" "You don't see anything, leave me alone." The last thing you wanted to do, was deal with them. "Aww, you can't get rid of me."

In a blink of an eye, they were standing in front of you, a crazed look in their e/c eyes a wide smile that left you feeling like killing them, wiping that damned grin from their face. Everytime you saw it. Even though they were you,- are you- identical from head to toe, you felt annoyed and irritated all the same.

As if knowing what you were thinking, they smile, leaning in to whisper in your ear. "Monster." In a low growl, as they slowly pull away, they chuckle as you turn your back on them and continue your shower in mild peace.

Monster, huh? How so? Are you a monster for killing your exes? All you wanted was to be happy.

You find yourself asking once more, can someone like you ever truly be happy? Why did you always have to be betrayed, played with, taken for a fool. You did everything you could to make your lovers happy, and yet, someway somehow they were still unsatisfied.

And in return, instead of letting them go, you killed them. Letting them feel half the pain you felt. If that was so wrong, then yes, you will be a monster.

[camaro-and-smokes]

Little Bird Starts Nesting

Chapter 1: Little Bird

3rd and final work in The Way It Should've Been -series

Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen, M/M Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove & Original Character(s), Steve Harrington & Original Character(s) Characters: Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington, Original Character(s) Additional Tags: Harringrove, Alternate Universe - No Supernatural, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Domestic Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Family Issues, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Unplanned Pregnancy, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Summary: Billy and Steve find out that their eldest daughter Emma, at the age of eighteen, was coming of age in a way they never expected. They do their best to help her make a big decision about her future.

Notes: It took me ages, but here's finally the third and final part to this series! I'll be updating probably only once or twice a month because I'm working on so many different fics right now. Best to subscribe to this on AO3 if you want to know when a new chapter is up :) I'll be adding tags whenever chapters require it. FYI: You need to be up to date on the previous works in this series to get the best of it, so, off you go if you haven't read them yet

Read the whole series on AO3 >>

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“Dada?” Billy raised his gaze from the book he’d been reading. He saw Emma, the almost nineteen-year-old long-haired beauty who’s dada Billy was proud to call himself, standing at the bedroom doorway. “Yeah?” Emma was fidgeting with her hands, her chin quivering. Billy took off his reading glasses and put them away with the book altogether. “What is it, birdie?” he asked, concerned. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

Billy knew from experience that when your kid asks you to not be mad, it’s usually something you sure as hell might get mad for. A broken window in the neighbor’s minivan (courtesy of a new baseball bat and ball and 10-year-old boy who ‘just wanted to practice’). Or a defrosted freezer in the summer, thanks to a teenager left home alone for a few days (because apparently it was a good idea to pull the plug from the freezer ‘just for a few hours’ to video chat with a friend in the kitchen uninterrupted). Or bite marks in the arm of a kindergarten teacher (yeah, 5-year-old Annie reminded Billy then, once again, that she indeed was his flesh and blood. In her defense, even though Billy didn’t fully approve Annie’s approach, he thought that 'the teacher was stupid' too).

He sat up and patted the mattress next to him. “Ok, come here. What’s up?” Emma sat next to Billy, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, hugging her sideways. “You know you can always talk to me. No matter what.” Emma grimaced. “I messed up,” she sniffled. “Okay. But that’s kinda broad, birdie. You’re gonna have to fill me in a bit more.” “Please, don’t tell dad. He’ll kill me.”

It had turned out that Steve was the more strict parent of them too. All three of their kids had wrapped Billy around their fingers and he could hardly deny anything from them. So, having Emma come to him first when in trouble instead of Steve was no surprise.

“Hey, no one is going to kill anyone. But I hope it’s nothing I should keep from him, you know.” Emma looked down at her hands, and then at Billy with pained eyes. “I missed my period,” she whispered.

Billy had heard those words in the ancient past once or twice from a girl. The kind who were trying to get a leverage on him after it had turned out that his interest in them was more of a facade than anything else. Hearing the words from his own daughter, though, made an icy coldness grow inside him. “How many days?” “Three weeks.” Billy was speechless - or rather, chose not to say what came to his mind.

‘What the fuck’, ‘How in the hell’, ‘You knew what could happen if you weren’t careful’ and ‘I’m going to kill that son of a bitch’ all visited the tip of his tongue, ready to fly out of his mouth.

But he also knew that none of those would make the situation any better, so he reeled each one back in and down his throat. “Three weeks? Why didn’t you talk to me earlier?” “I didn’t know if I was just late or late. And I still don’t! I’m sorry, dada!” Emma cried. Billy hugged her tighter when she started sobbing. “Emma. So, you don’t know if you actually are just late or...the other thing?” She shook her head. “But I was really sick in the morning yesterday and today.” Billy took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes with his fingers. “Does Ryan know?” Emma shook her head.

“Ok, birdie, this is what’s going to happen. First, we’re going to get you a test and see what it says. Then we’re going to think this further. Okay?” Emma nodded. “Are you mad at me?” she asked between hiccups. “No, I’m not. But I would’ve appreciated if you’d come to me sooner.” He paused. “Uh, do you have any idea when...you know, when the accident might’ve happened?” Emma looked away. “Emma? Was there a time when the condom maybe broke?” She still said nothing and wouldn’t look at Billy. Billy had to take a few deep breaths to steady his temper. He still couldn’t keep all the edge out of his tone. “So you’re on the pill and it didn’t work, or you forgot to take it?”

When she still said nothing, Billy had to get up and walk by the window to keep himself from shouting at the girl. “Fuck. I knew we should’ve gotten it for you earlier,” he mumbled to himself. He turned to look back at her. “So, you had unprotected sex with Ryan, just like that? No protection at all? Not even a condom?” “He said he didn’t like using one and then we used this calculation method and...” Billy’s eyes grew large. “Birdie, that’s not a method a young girl like you should use!” he growled. “You’ve known him only for a few months. Who knows where he has put his dick in before...”

The moment the last words fell out of his mouth, Billy knew he’d gone too far.

Emma wailed as she ran out of the room, slamming the door of her own room closed behind her. Billy grimaced and took a deep breath. He ran his fingers through his hair, looking at the window. “Well, fuck.”

As Billy was trying to process the news, a boy’s voice sounded from the door: “Are you mad, dada?” Billy turned to look at the 10-year-old dark-haired boy, Junior, who’s big brown eyes always melted his heart, just like his dad’s eyes. Because he was Steve’s son. “No, Jr, I’m not. I just don’t know what to think.” The boy walked into the room and sat on the bed, tapping the mattress just like Billy had done. “We should talk about it.” Despite the severity of the matter at hand, Billy couldn’t help smiling. The kid was exactly like his dad. He walked back to the bed and sat down next to Jr., wrapping his arm around the boy. “Why did you shout at Emma?” the boy asked. “Well, Emma did something that I wasn’t happy about and I lost my temper.” Jr. looked at Billy, his eyes wide. “What happened?” “It’s an adult thing. But you don’t have to worry about it. I will talk with you and Annie about it when we’ve sorted it out a bit more with Emma and dad. Alright?” Jr. nodded. “Can you help me with my homework?” he asked, already moving on from the issue, trusting that his dads would keep him on the loop if necessary. Billy hugged the boy. “I have to stop by the mini-mart. But I’ll help you when I come back, okay? Just do the ones you can yourself and let’s look at the tough ones together.” “Okay.”

Billy changed his sweats into jeans and walked to Emma’s door. He knocked on it. “Hey, birdie?” No reply. “I’m going to the mini-mart to get the test. I won’t be gone for long and dad’s coming home soon, but could you please look after Annie and Jr. while I’m gone?” No answer. “Hey, Emma?” When there still was no reply, Billy leaned his head on the door frame. “I’m sorry that I shouted at you. I’m not angry, just really, really worried. Please, look after our siblings just for fifteen minutes. I’ll be right back.” “Okay,” Emma replied quietly. Billy sighed, relieved. “Thank you, birdie.”

He walked out and sat in his Camaro, turning the key in the ignition. The car barked to life. He placed his hands on top of the wheel and stared at the glorious view of the sea that was turning dark earlier than it had just a few weeks ago, thanks to autumn.

He bit his lip so hard that he tasted blood. His little girl, the one he’d held in his arms less than a day old in the incubator, was possibly having a baby of her own. The prospect horrified him. It was 2015, and it wasn’t like teenagers didn’t get pregnant all the time. And he was fully aware how they got Emma in the first place - but if it was Emma... He didn’t want that for her. To have a baby just when she was supposed to have the world open in front of her. To halt school and postpone going into college... She shouldn’t have to settle down with a family first thing... Not yet, at least.

And the worst was that he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to help his baby and he felt so useless that before he even noticed he was already hyperventilating with a full-on panic attack. He scrambled for one of the paper bags he had stacked in the glove box just in case. He hadn’t had a panic attack in a very long time, thanks to his medication, but the news was so overwhelming that probably no amount of medication would’ve been enough to keep him from having one.

When the attack finally passed and his breathing settled, he made it to the mini-mart.

He walked through the aisles towards the personal hygiene section, fidgeting with the nicotine spray he had in his pocket. As he passed other customers, he felt like every one of them was staring at him, judging him for not doing a better job as a father.

The last time he’d felt this nervous while approaching the hygiene section was when he’d had to buy first period pads for Emma. Then, too, he hadn’t known what he was supposed to be doing, and he’d just bought a pack of everything the mart had. Emma hadn’t needed new ones for months. Jesus. That was just a few years ago, he thought to himself. And he knew that at any moment now he’d have to buy pads for Annie too.

What the hell happened to the time suddenly? Everything used to feel like it lasted for forever. Summer nights at the quarry, stolen moments with Steve in the janitor’s closet, school year...

And now time was just running past them and he and Steve were just trying desperately to keep up.

Bill stood in front of the shelf that held the tests. Three different brands. He was a father of three, but not once had he been in this situation. He’d been in the ultrasound examination to find out if Sharon, the surrogate mother who they had Annie and Jr. with, was pregnant. But having to do a pregnancy test at his house... He let out a deep sigh and took one of each brand. Might as well go overboard than not be sure.

When he returned home, Steve’s BMW was in the driveway. “Shit,” he groaned. He put the tests into one of the paper bags he still had out on the passenger seat.

“Hey, firecracker,” Steve said from the couch when Billy walked in. Billy smiled a forced smile. “Hey, babe.”

The years had begun to show on Steve’s face and in the beard he’d began sporting a few years back, making him a snackable silver fox. But his dark eyes were just as they’d always been: deep dark ponds Billy could drown himself in. Billy shook the paper bag in his hand and went straight to the stairs. “Had to get something for Emma. I’ll come down soon.”

Billy sat on Emma’s bed with her and took the tests from the bag. “There were three brands, so I took one of each. Two ones are normal and then this one,” he took one of the boxes in his hand, “is digital. It’s supposed to be the most accurate. They all work with the same idea: you just pee on the strip on the other end.” Emma took one in her trembling hand. Billy set his hand on hers and brushed the hand gently with his thumb, soothing her. Just like Steve did whenever he wanted to soothe him. “Hey, Emma. It’s okay. We’re sorting this out. Let’s read the manuals and then you go to the bathroom.” “Don’t tell dad,” the girl begged again, looking up at Billy. He hugged her. “My little bird,” he said, and let out a deep breath. “We’ll tell him together if there’s something to tell.”

When Emma left for the bathroom, Billy went back downstairs and sat next to Steve on the couch. “Kids.” Steve pecked his cheek and wrapped his arm around him, pulling him into a hug. “Missed you.” Billy would’ve loved to be happy about Steve being home, but he was too worried about Emma. “Missed you, too,” he replied shortly. ”What’s up?” Steve asked. ”Something.” Steve looked at Billy. “Something serious?” ”You could say that.” ”Okay, now I’m worried too.” ”I’ll tell you when I know more. Okay? I promised her.” ”Emma?” Billy grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He closed his eyes and nodded. ”Hey,” Steve said and rubbed Billy’s arm with his hand. “You’re sorting it out with her?” Billy opened his eyes and looked at Steve. “Yeah.” “Okay. Tell me when you know more,” Steve said, and hugged Billy tighter.

They cuddled on the couch for a while until Emma called Billy from the stairs. “Yeah, coming,” Billy said, getting up. Emma was sitting on her bed when Billy walked in and closed the door behind him. “So?” he asked. Emma’s face was all white and big, fat tears fell on her cheeks as she looked at Billy. Billy’s stomach dropped. “Show me.”

Emma handed the tests to Billy. The normal ones showed two red stripes, a sign of pregnancy, and the digital one said 'you’re positive'. Billy knew it meant exactly that, that the test was positive, but right now he really didn’t feel too positive himself. He sat next to Emma and buried his face in his hands, leaning his elbows on his thighs. “What am I going to do, dada?” Emma asked, sniffling. “Birdie, I wish I knew.” Billy took a deep breath and looked at her. When she started crying, Billy took her in a tight bear hug. “We’re going to figure it out, Emma. Don’t worry,” he assured her, even though he sure as hell didn’t feel confident at all.

[yourlocalzombie]

(Bringing back the headcanons into this one yay)

"Of course you'd say that, " cleo retorted.

"Would you rather I lie?"

The figure floated several feet of the ground, and was only made up of half a human skeleton. It wore only a green rag of clothing, and it's only indication of emotion was a misty eye that carved itself right in front of the forehead.

Cleo hesitated, "I don't know anymore."

The figure gazed at the centerpiece, as if inspecting it. The splintered wood, spreading rust, and dangling string created such a familiar image to the being.

Not only of cleo but countless others.

Cleo practically muttered, "what does a watcher like you think of this piece?"

"Pretty little things wilt away all the time."

Cleo sighed, "you know nothing of more mortal struggles, do you?"

"I don't. I'm not like you or the others, my friend. I make sure things grow, wilt and return to dust. Sometimes I bring the dust back to the living. That is what I know best.

But something I do know is this: you have not lost the beauty of the cycle. You are a showcase of the entirety of it.

That is no small feat."

"I mean, there's plenty of other zombies and skeletons- and you're the one who brought me back to begin with."

"I wouldn't have brought you back, if your spirit had rested.

You were too stubborn to accept death.

And those other things, they are base creatures. They do not feel. They do not think.

You share nothing but green flesh."

"Most people disagree."

Cleo didn't really believe themselves to be so different. They had urges and cravings. They have even been cured.

And by all accounts, they have been hunted like the rest.

"Most people will.

But are you surrounded by them?"

Cleo thought.

"Well, maybe I am, maybe I'm not. Sometimes you think you have a friend and next thing you know....you end up like this..."

Cleo looked back at the centerpiece.

She remembered being down by the river, chased by an ally.

Apparently he yelled into the night that he was sorry.

She never believed that.

And everyone would know what cleo is willing to do in retaliation to traitors after that.

"I suppose that is true. But there is no reason for anyone to do that to you here.

In my decades of following you, I haven't seen a group of people so ready to welcome you.

So ready to keep you.

And ready to keep that promise."

Cleo didn't believe it either. She wanted to but she just...couldn't. She was different from the rest on a fundamental level. She was rotting. She was unnatural.

She was a monster. At best, a monster in the making.

Cleo only responded by shuffling away. They were exhausted and needed to sleep.

The watcher didn't move nor seem to care, simply floating there as cleo locked the skeletons away within.

.....

The zombie spent the next few weeks working away. Making stand bases, gathering woods and stones, as well as gathering their cloth and string.

Though no amount of work eased their troubles.

At night, the creature would be haunted by nightmares of deaths past, and allegedly future.

The hermit would change but the message the same: cleo wasn't welcomed.

Sometimes she was stabbed. Other times burned. Simply chased out. Abandoned.

All it meant was that cleo should've left.

But she didn't.

It's true she was stubborn, but... she had nowhere to go either. Even if they beat, stabbed, burned: she'd probably come crawling back.

She's been here too long.

Cleo's exhaustion caught up to them as they checked on their stand and statue shop.

They sat in between the roots of the ever-pink cherry blossom tree, nestling herself within the safety of the earth. Shr closed her eyes, and returned to sleep.

Their dream was unhappy about it, however.

The dream was the same premise as it had been, but this time the hermit was Gem.

Gem, deceptively sweet Gem.

Gem knew how to fight better than half of them, a sword rapidly tearing already worn flesh. Blood spilling to try and repair what would never be fully fixed.

As cleo fell to the ground, unable to stand or even sit, she looked up.

Gem's expression was blank. No anger or hate nor enjoyment or love.

Like she was just doing a job. Doing what needed to be done.

Nothing more, nothing less.

But the dream did not deem destruction sufficient.

The last thing cleo had seen and felt was a hoof ramming down, crushing into her face. Skull caved, brain mashed.

Cleo startled awake, tears rolling down her face and into the grass below. They spun their head around, looking to see if anyone was nearby.

Only seeing some distant figure, cleo rapidly tried to regain composure. Wiping their face and clearing their throat, cleo stood up and looked within their order storage.

Perhaps, it would hide their face.

The person approached rapidly, having likely heard cleo's rude awakening.

Fortunately it was Joe, who knew not to push.

"Howdy Cleo, how are you?"

"Oh, as well as I can be, you?"

"Considering nothing catastrophic has happened, great!"

Cleo chortled, given Joe's uncanny bad luck, she supposed that was good.

"Any orders?"

"Nope"

"Hm, well," Joe thought for a moment, "you should advertise"

"I'm not sure how to advertise statues, joe-"

"I think we should make statues and stands randomly appear in houses. All creepy like, too, put the fear of the void into them until they realize it's just a really good stand"

"....alright Joe, you win."

"Yes!" Joe exclaimed through a wide grin, "mischief!"

"Mischief!" Cleo mimicked.

Joe and cleo discussed the logistics, concluding that Joe will serve as a distraction and cleo would find some other way in after making the stands and statues.

Joe also encouraged cleo to seek some Redstone help from etho, given his prowess.

Cleo agreed, since it would also serve as a way to apologize too. Some extra payment or the like. Something like that.

Alas, it was starting to get late, as cleo had slept through most of the light.

After saying their goodbyes, the zombie returned to their castle and got to work: ignoring the call of sleep for however long they could.

[nightmarist]

A full summary of the campaign so far !

A bit long but enjoy !

DnD Session So Far

A party travels to a once-prosperous town that has been overcome by a strange blight - a black necrotic ooze that kills anything it touches. The soil is dry, the animals are rabid or undead, all have begun avoiding the town and it has thus lost its economic status.

Tork the boar-barian, loved this small town and seeks its renewal. Xehara the squid-rogue was interested in it academically but also felt he could do some good for the people. Ivan the vampire cleric thought it was delightful, wanting to learn its origins in hopes of studying greater evils for selfish gain. And Tahir the jackal fighter was in part escaping his past and took this quest to help others, both as personal catharsis as well as means of simply bringing aid.

They meet on the wagon that travels out to pick up travelers. The Orc named Korvak steering tells them they haven't been getting many visitors and is surprised the four of them bothered to come out here, knowing what lies ahead, but is grateful for the visit.

Tork tells them he knows where the Tavern is and that they make the Best sandwiches. They convene there and are met byMary, a black-colored dragonborn with white speckles and blue-green heterochromia serves them, apologizing for lack of options as the blight has picked off their game, sugarcane, wheat, barley, and many crops. Tork is personally upset because he loves their sandwiches (which is ham, by the way) and vows to help them in any way he can.

Craig the Hobgoblin Butcher tells them about a cave he's seen creatures come in and out of, but none of the townsfolk are adventurers - they've been relying on those who come in and out of the town to help fend off bandits or other things and bring commerce from outside, but without economy to have there's very little to defend them now.

Thus, of course, the party starts their search. They go through town first, trying to locate the mayor who is conveniently not around. His house is of course the nicest in town, but his vast farmland is all dried up. Tahir sticks his nose to the ground and tries to sniff him out. No sign of him. I remind him the crops are freshly fertilized. Everyone cringes but he's just happy to be a Good Boy. They collect some healing herbs from the pharmacy and head off. They find the cave system, and the deeper they went the more they realized everything was covered in flesh.

Undulating and twitching and breathing and beating, they moved onwards into the potential literal jaws of death, coming to strange flesh-like amalgamation in the middle of the way. They go up to it and it's amorphous body lashes at them. They prepare to fight. Tork's maul was taken from him and thrown, but Xehara and Tahir were able to cut the creature to pieces.

Tork took back his maul and tested the flesh on the walls, slamming it in the flesh. It got stuck at first, but it was good information - the walls were still stone underneath a few inches. This wasn't a living creature, it was a growth. When attacked, the growth twitched and convulsed, even under their feet.

The party of four moved on, coming to a supposed dead end - a curtain of red sinews. They tore through the muscular filaments and came to piles of corpses. As the party tried to move on, Tahir looked at an odd, deformed creature - three faces fused together in one, its body a mangled mess of many. Curiously, and boldly, he stabbed it with an arrow.

The creature' screeched with life and tore itself from the wall it was bound to. Tahir readied his weapon, but Tork stood in front to protect him as the creature charged, body-slamming into Tork with bone-shattering force. Tork realized they were not strong enough to take this creature, and with Tahir's help he hobbled as quickly as he could away.

Everyone ran and ran until they came to an odd dead end - the flesh receded into normal stone, a crude stone-made workshop carved into the back wall lined with books, weight scales, jars, alchemist tools, a horse's skull, and over it stood a tall, dark figure, poring over notes while holding a smooth, black stone. He was dressed in teal vestments, long black hair that reaches his knees, and his eyes an odd, solid green, no iris or pupil that could be easily discerned.

Teal and a horse's skull are common symbols of the God-Killer and his followers/worshipers, a mortal-turned-god worshiped mostly by cultists for killing the originator gods. They figured this man was an acolyte or priest of this god.

Ivan respects this god, but is culture-bound to his own pantheon (MtG Innistrad inspired, his pantheon consists of the first vampire who created a blood potion that turned others into vampires, and the demon and angel whose blood was used to make it).

Ivan attempted to charm him, but he shrugged off the charm with mild annoyance, absorbed in his work. Xehara asked for his aid, and as he turned, a wave of his hand and a simple word caused the horrific monster to explode, bile and blood and bone covering Tork. They were impressed by this incredible show of skill and were somewhat intimidated, thankful he was not actively hostile. Ivan apologized back-handedly about trying to charm him.

Seeing the sorry state of these adventurers, the priest helped heal some of their wounds.

They asked him how long he had been there and he truthfully admitted he did not know.

As he left the cave, letting the party take whatever they wanted from his workshop, and the flesh began to rapidly decay back into stone.

On their way to civilization, they ask the priest his name. Sigurd, he tells them, but he remembers little else. They ask what he knows of the blight affecting the town. He had no idea a town was ever built, and feels sympathetic for the residents. They realize that this man is incredibly old and has likely been trapped in the cave all this time.

Tork fell ill after being covered in offal and his bone nigh-shattered. Sigurd cannot heal him by himself and asks the adventurers to find a bogheart, a special petrified wood heart of a swamp hag that can cure many illnesses.

They enter the country of Myri, but only the edges as they come across a vampire in the middle of a swamp, slashing madly at nothing. They avoid the creature. Ivan comments he finds the "other" kind of vampires crude, uncultured, and uncivilized.

The party comes across a swamp hag covered head to toe in vines. As they fight this creature, its face is revealed underneath for a fraction of a moment, the wind of war moving the foliage just enough out of the way that it freezes everyone with fear - except Tahir (who is immune to fright).

Everyone was struggling to attack this creature, horrifying and quick, missing almost every other attack. They whittle it down to tatters, but it's Tahir who hits it with a powerful, critical blow, splitting the wooden-body creature in half as it shrivels, revealing a small, black stone-like heart. I gave him inspiration for his heroics.

They take this back to Sigurd, who takes his time making a medicine. And drinks it himself.

As his mind clears, he becomes lucid, thanking them, and gives them a small list of ingredients for actually curing Tork (whose player was sick IRL at this time and could not attend). They do eventually find all they need.

In the meanwhile, Ivan is low on rationed blood. Sigurd allows him to drink from his own veins. As the party returns and Sigrud cures Tork, Ivan is suddenly overcome with necrosis - Sigurd tells him "I've always wondered what would happen if your kind drank of me. Now I know." He used an ancient word for vampire Ivan didn't recognize and had to ask.

With the help of magic, Sigurd cures him, too. With that, he leaves.

The party searches through their findings, not quite believing they found the true source or cure of the blight and wanted to look further into it.

Among them include handwritten letters, a multitude of glass jars, beakers, distillation tools and more, a weight scale, four books in a foreign language marked with a unique sign (a sun, a moon, a star, and a comet), a set of star charts also in foreign language, several candles, an incense brazier, a few stones, the black stone Sigurd was examining, a few jars of herbs and magic materials, a horse's skull - a symbol of a death god cult - and ancient coins from Sigurd's belongings.

They take the coins to the bank. The bank teller, Ari the wood elf, tells them that these coins are incredibly ancient. They are from an old bartering system, where the coins would be melted down into the needs of the user, such as weapons or armor or jewelries. To have these in their initial coin form was beyond rare. She tells them the country of Draghule was their most prominent use, a peninsula country in the far north (they are currently in a far southern peninsula).

They have one last rest and gather resources at the Fissure Inn, and Xehara gives Mary the Dragonkin a single coin as a tip - who is nearly brought to tears as such a thing could buy her a whole new house.

The rest of the party berates Xehara for his generosity - believing the coins to be necessary for a future advantage. Xehara refuses to apologize and holds on to the coins. Tork, strong enough for it, carries all their new belongings.

As they move north towards the country of Myri, they come across a strange ritual. Three acolytes standing before a stone altar, chanting, the middle one stabs his wrists straight through. The party watches with morbid curiosity. Tahir is uncomfortable - he recognizes the ritual but says little else (it is a ritual of possession, his twin brother took part in one and is now dead/possessed by a spirit of ancient times that once served the God-Killer). Attempting to speak to the acolytes results in them praising the God-Killer. With no other information and a general sense of self-preservation, they leave the cultists.

In the swamp, they come across a vampire village - one that Ivan berates for being "barbaric" much to Tork's personal offense. Ivan discloses he is from a "civilized" society in the mountains and thinks its "cute" these villagers learned how to make houses out of sticks and mud as they com across pyramidic, adobe houses with an intricate irrigation system. Ivan expresses he is impressed they know what irrigation is. In several pens are a hippo-like tapir-faced creature with odd plugs in their sides. They gather, correctly, these are creatures used as blood banks.

They cannot find a single soul in the village and follow the road to a large swamp. The Throne of Mires sits on a small island in the middle, wrapped in thick vines and decorated with massive chitinous black material. At the throne sits the King of Mires, Phairen Yugwai. He is taking the concerns of the local villagers. Ivan and Xehara break custom and swim directly to the king as all the vampires whisper to themselves at the audacity.

The King, amused by their boldness and lack of civility tell them to wait. Eventually, hours later, it is their turn. They want to ask him about the origin of the ancient coins. Xehara takes them out to show him.

The King explains their culture is one that barters, no use of money or gold when they do not reach to the outside world nor many survive long enough to reach them. however, he does know somewhat of these coins and their origins, but unfortunately his Chancellor, who would know much more, has gone missing. The King allows them a place to stay and arranges food and rations for them in exchange for finding the chancellor, Tuang Anthan.

Anthan had encountered a strange black bile and wanted to study it, but he became ill and slowly started going mad. When he was sent to the healers and alchemist, he attacked them and destroyed the infirmary and left. King Yugwai wants them to find him and bring him back, preferably without killing him. The chancellor isn't just an important member of his counsel, but is personally important to him as a person. They piece together that the vampire they saw weeks ago was probably him.

They agree, stock up, and barter for some items.

Tahir manages to steal the coins off Xehara without anyone's notice.

They learn with certainty now that the penned animals are called Haoma and are a source of blood farming for the vampires (I based this off a field trip I took when I was like, 5 or 6 yrs old, we went to a cow farm and the cows had plugs in them and we were allowed to stick our (gloved) hands inside to take out grass. I know the plugs for cows are for like, releasing gas build up but it stuck in my mind lol)

The King lets them borrow a Haoma for Ivan to have blood from under the condition they do Not take it nor kill it, and Ivan stocks up on blood rations (basically just. enchanted bottles so blood doesn't spoil. my vampires can eat regular food, but blood is what keeps them alive).

Xehara gets some poison ink sticks, which can dissolve in water and be used to tip his weapons. He also gets a special ironwood bolt which that deals an additional 1d4 of damage. Tork gets a black chitin two-handed axe (kind of, the bottom point of the blade extends the entire length of the handle, sort of like a guard). It has vein-like grooves for housing enchantments.

The party discovers amongst one of the things they took from Sigurd's cavern that one of the potions enchants a weapon with fire damage. Ivan got a stone that when used for enchantment or crafting can heal him by a fraction of the damage he deals (im still figuring it out but he hasnt used it yet so, lol)

They all head off towards the infirmary. It's completely blasted apart, as if something had exploded from the inside. Black, ink-like sludge is everywhere, a familiar sight at this point. They collect a couple healing potions from the ruins and follow the trail of destroyed trees.

They come across a clearing, where the canopy of jungle trees breaks open. There is a pitch black bridge, segmented, leading up towards the trees on the other side. At the base of it on the ground, it swirls into a spiral. They were suspicious but before they could investigate, Tahir jumps on the bridge to test it. He failed an acrobatics check and was thrown off. Tork succeeded an acrobatics check and caught him in his pillowy, furry bosom (a silly joke throughout the campaign).

A giant centipede-like monster reveals itself. Its top half is like a cobra hood housing a human torso with a strange, expressionless face, its humanoid mouth segmented as if it is meant to split open. It speaks to them, asking what they want.

They aren't very good at trying to charm it, so it insists its hungry. They are all a bit terrified and agree to hunt something for it in exchange for passing (and preserving their own lives from its hunger). Tahir puts his snout to the ground and takes a big sniff to search for a deer. he smells a deer. At the same time, Tork tracks the ground. They bump into each other, but they point out in the distance at the same time, "Deer!"

They kill the deer and bring it to the Centipede King, in which he nearly knocks them over, enclosing its hood around the deer as bones crack and crunch, blood squelches. They leave immediately.

They come to a large swamp, filled with beautiful lilypads and white lilies that illuminate a faint, pale glow. They see a figure in the middle. They all get in the water, chest high (Tahir is 5' even and doggy paddles). Despite leeches and other minor unpleasantries, they reach the figure.

It's the vampire from weeks before, his hair is long and melts into the blackness of the swamp. His eyes are an eerily familiar solid green. They immediately connect this to Sigurd and believe the blight was really his doing and feel foolish for not questioning him further or just letting him go. With an Insight check, they discern that this vampire is not hostile, but definitely confused and frightened. Trying to talk to him, he doesn't know where he is or what's happening. They ask his name and he can't remember.

They ask him if he is Anthan, and he has a moment of clarity. Yes. he is Tuang Anthan. He was studying the black blight. He felt the trappings of madness. He remembers little else except fever and fear and unwarranted anger. They try to take him back but he stops short of leaving the water. He's embarrassed about being naked. Ivan, in a surprising moment of selflessness, gives him his cloak.

They make it back to the clearing, and find the visceral remains of the deer, but no Centipede King in sight. They hear distant screams.

Rushing back to the village, they see the Centipede King is attacking the villagers. Each are trying to fight back. Anthan casts Entangle to grapple the Centipede King. Each player attacks it, breaking apart its chitinous armor and attacking its new wounds. Xehara's rapier broke after a Nat 1, trying to aim for the meat in the cracks of the exoskeleton, but instead bent and broke on the chitin.

Tork, however, kept missing, so he Rages and managed to cleave it in half, killing it. The King thanks them all for saving the village and embraces Anthan. They thank the part together, and allow them further aid. They stock up on rations. Xahara is given a gift from the village smithy, a beautiful crystalline rapier with a deep red tint, the hilt and guard made of the chitin from the Centipede. He also gets a few jars of water to keep himself moist.

During this time, Tork is having a Ferris Bueller's Day Off moment staring at the Haoma in their pens. One goes up to him and snorts. They snort at each other a few times. The King allows that Haoma to go with them, since it seems to have bonded with Tork. Tork is ecstatic. And the player reveals to me he was definitely going to steal one if I didn't give them one lol. I gave everyone a level for a job well done, buffing them up to level 3.

Tahir the Jackal Fighter chose to be a Champion.

Xehara the Squid Rogue chose to be a Phantom

Ivan the Vampire Cleric chose my homebrew Horror domain at first level so only needed some spells.

Tork the Pig Barbarian couldn't decide ; he really wanted to have something to do with Hank the Haoma (he named it).

I ended up homebrewing a quick Ranger subclass to suit him so he can use Hank the Haoma as a companion beast. It's just called "Path of the Beastmaster" for now since Beast Master is what the ranger archetype was called.

They wanted to ask the Chancellor about the coins. When Xehara tries to show him, he discovers they're missing. Phairen and Anthan in their native language whisper to each other, trying not to laugh as the party points blame at each other for "losing" the coins. Tahir feels bad and admits he stole them for safe keeping. Everyone gets mad at him. I don't remember who (Ivan I think) but someone called him a Bad Dog and he was devastated.

Chancellor Tuang Anthan offered them more knowledge on the coins:

Chancellor Tuang Anthan offered them more knowledge on the coins: they have origins in a country called Sigartha, the history of these coins were rather than used as traditional currency, were traded to make things with, but coins were preferred for easy handling.

They were used to be melted down into weapons or jewelry, and have become very rare because of this. He tells them one of their largest uses was at the Temple of Sigartha in ancient times.

The northern mountain-forest country of Draghule was the origin of the metal they were mined from, but the actual origin of the coins as currency was Sigartha. They thank him and take their leave.

They find another small village that has been wracked by the blight, every individual is dead, adults and children. It's difficult to tell exactly if it had been a couple weeks, a few days, or hours by the odd decay timeline, but they knew from the state of the village it couldn't have been long ago.

They scour the village. Xehara finds and takes a bolt of woven blue silk with a pretty, geometric gold pattern. They find a little violet, velvet bag with gold drawstrings that is definitely not a Crown Royal bag, and discover is Larger on the inside. A very useful bag of holding!

Tork finds a black helmet that fits him a little too perfectly. They discover, tentatively, its not cursed, but it's made in the shape of a horse's skull. They take a 5 pound bag of dried beans and put it in the bag of holding.

Ivan offers a funerary rite and they cremate the bodies.

Leaving the swamp, they take a deep breath of the crisp air of the meadow they found themselves in, a beautiful flatland of plains that stretches out far. They camp for a time. In the morning, Ivan feels... hot. Too hot. He reaches for his cloak — and realizes he never got it back. Xehara lets him borrow the bolt of blue fabric as a cape. When trying to tear a piece off, he discovers it's tougher than it looks, with a slight magic bend to it. They take note to check out later.

At night, they take out the star charts from Sigurd's belongings. Xehara and Tork compare them to the night sky. They discover the stars are very similar, but there are some stars that are missing. Its difficult because the charts are in an ancient language.

The charts are big squares and fit together as a larger piece. They discern these charts are old enough that the stars that are missing simply don't exist anymore. But, the constellations are similar enough that they can figure out the correlating time of the year will be in a few months.

Xehara and Tork have the idea to compare the labeled constellations to ones they would innately know in order to learn some of the vocabulary. I let them roll a general Intelligence for language and they both got Nat 20s. I loved this solution, too, so I let them use the star charts, and told them they recognized the books and Sigurd's handwritten letters were in the ancient language, giving them plenty of references to learn it. I told them it would take in-game 2 months for them to learn the language fluently, but they would be able to know key words.

They were worried about how far from civilization they were at current, but were thankful they have many rations to avoid detouring to the western desert of Dauthas (Tahir's home country) — they have a little over enough rations to reach the Temple of Sigartha and plenty of beans still, and enough to go to the western deserts of Dauthas if need be after the Temple.

At night, when they are enjoying the cool, crisp breeze and the beautiful stars, they feel... Uneasy. Like something is watching them. They ignore it when they don't see or sense anything. Tork suddenly feels a searing pain in his back.

They all scramble and see a giant bear. Tork took a chunk of damage. Tork used Animal Handling to check the bear. It wasn't malicious, it was desperate, starving, and hungry. They poured out 2.5 pounds of dried beans and escaped while it ate.

They eventually come to a sudden fog surrounding the area. It's not too cold, but it makes Xehara much more comfortable as a very oceanic being surviving off jarred water. Where Xehara is thriving in the wet mist, Tahir, who is from the desert, is miserable. Everyone complains of wet dog smell. He shakes and gets everyone wet to spite them.

The meadow that they're in they discover has many useful plants. They take up many poppies for medicine, and some herbs and white clover for food. Xehara feels good about the weather and lets them use some of his water to soak some beans overnight and the next day they prepare a fire to cook an herb, clover, and bean soup. I was charmed by how sweet this was so I told them it had some healing properties so I gave them +2 temporary HP (without making them deplete over a long rest; when they're gone they're gone). Except Ivan. He didn't want to debase himself eating Food.

Eventually, they see the spires of the white, pristine temple. As they come up to it, Ivan detects magic. He finds it is protected by some kind of abjuration. As they try to look around it's solid white walls (that for some reason I kept calling a fence), they found the illusion dizzying - no matter what angle they looked, they only ever saw the front of the temple.

Tork was tall enough that his snout and eyes could see over the walls. He saw a statue in the distance. ivan tried touching the wall but was shocked with 1d4 damage. Everyone else tested it and nothing happened to them (it as because he's the only Evil in the group, but they dont know yet).

Xehara and Tahir climb Tork's back and tie a rope around their waists and climb over the walls.

They are suddenly collapsed by a huge, heavy gravity. They fight through it, gritting their teeth to reach the statue by this strange magic trying to prostrate them. They reach the statue, a hooded figure with a pair of candles in its hands, and two braziers on either side.

Candle wax has built up over the years, decades, centuries at its feet in piles but there is an empty indentation where something used to be. The inscription above it in in an ancient language, but Xehara can only understand the words "Dark" and "Reborn"

I tell them it comes from a common phrase used in the world, "from darkness come, and to darkness reborne"

They make it back as Tork pulls them out. They search through their things and take out from Sigurd's belongings: a Horse's Skull, a Brazier, two candles. They can't replace the candles. They place the brazier at its feet but it doesn't quite fit. They place the horse's skull and it fits perfectly.

They realize the statue looks, not just similar, but exactly like Sigurd. After about an IRL hour they figure out to blow out the candles and braziers to open the way and relent the spells. It was a bit frustrating for us all, but it helped me learn out how to better handle a puzzle, communicate to my players, and how to better encourage and guide them.

Thart's where we stopped for now.

FOR THE NEXT SESSION TODAY/TOMORROW (its 4 am lol)

as funny as "haha players suck at puzzles for babies" i DO think that their difficulty last time was a good lesson for how I can better tell the story and push them towards a right answer, how the items I preemptively gave them several weeks prior kind of muddied the puzzle, especially when three of my players told me after the fact "yeah i thought that was the solution but I wasnt sure"

I have a new (ish) puzzle for them that sort of rehashes the last one but cements it as an overall theme of this location, and mapped more more precisely and linearly how to help them get it without making them feel like theyre stupid or like its too easy.

i'll have to like. literally make a map/blueprint of the temple theyre in now, I have some basic ideas but Ive never had a group get this far in the campaign before ORZ its both exciting and like, "oh fuck! i have to actually plan the rest of the campaign!" you know lol

They will enter a room that is a long, tarnished gold/bronze bridge with nouveauan railings preventing them from falling into the dark abyss that's surprisingly deeper and darker than they'd expect from the temple. At the end of the bridge is a tarnished gold/bronze door etched with a pair of hands holding a tipped over goblet, the goblet labled as "life" or "blood in an ancient language Tork and Xehara will be able to know (which I'll just give it to them, no checks needed). Above the door in common says "waver not, for in darkness be reborne"

Four Braziers are chained to the ceiling in the four corners, but they can't reach them by normal means as they hover over the abyss. They braziers will need to be extinguished (hopefully "a the same time" but like, we'll see how it goes and what I need to adjust)

If they do a successful investigation check (Ill probably botch my rolls just in case) I'll tell them they can discern that there is nothing to indicate blood is needed to enter, no smears or tithes or bowls, but rather the blood goblet probably has something to do with the room's contents, not the door's key, as to help them aim towards the braziers as the solution.

The engraving is a reference to one of my player's backstories and i'll remind him just in case.

There are other "races" of vampires that Ivan thinks are inferior, barbaric etc and his entire society and belief system is based on the idea that they were created by a special holy figure who created a holy blood potion that turned the first vampires, and his society bases their hierarchy on how distantly related you are to The Original vampires.

His race of vampires live in the mountains of a far eastern, mountain country called Aeonaclys. They're the typical European style vampire with superiority complexes. Hence Ivan's own superiority complex with "those other" vampires.

BUT I want it to be eventually revealed that all the vampires were made by one man (the main villain) as an early necromancy attempt, but he abandoned them for dissatisfied results. I want to shatter his (character's) superiority complex by telling him his entire species is a failed experiment, but the full reveal will take a little while longer. It's symbolic enough to get him to suspect it at least though.

Of course hoping to rope in other backstories as we go along, too, Ivan's just happens to be more present at the moment.