#Iffy Writes

[iffondrels-library]

New work has been added to The More Things Change! Wild and Wars go off on their own to further investigate the Arbiter's Grounds of Wild's era. Warriors is looking for something special that he left there after his own journey, but does it truly still exist? Warriors looks to find any connection he can to his own adventure, in a version of Hyrule where everyone but him had managed to do the same.

[lacircificance]

“Don't stop” - Ifrit/Aether

A request from a friend on discord a few nights ago <3 I love these two n it's a shame there's so little about them online.

Word count: 593 words

"Fuck!"

The sudden burst of exclamation almost shocked Aether out of his skin, jumping away from his partner like he'd been electrocuted.

"What?" He finally managed to gather his brain from the puddle it'd melted into moments beforehand, "What's wrong?"

Ifrit didn't move; his arms crossed under his forehead, back and chest heaving under the intensity of every intake of breath. Aether couldn't help but settle his eyes on the Fire Ghoul's dusky nipples and prominent chest.

As Aether watched, his partner raises his head from his forearms, eyelashes wet with unshed tears, cheeks stained with soft pink as the flames of his gaze licked at Aether's consciousness.

"Nothings wrong," reassured, Aether deflated slightly, only to perk up again when Ifrit continued, "I didn't tell you to stop."

Shaking his head with a shaky intake of breath, Aether watched his bandmate settle into position again. Forehead nestled against his arms, knees pressed deep into the white silk of his bedsheets, denting the mattress under the effort of holding up his hips.

Presenting himself so wonderfully for the Quintessence Ghoul.

His mate.

In that moment, Aether thought he must be the luckiest Ghoul in the Abbey – blessed by Satan himself – Ifrit could be nothing else but a gift.

Leaning down, he bent himself over his mate's waist, his chest pressing firmly against the other's as he nudges the head against Ifrit's clenching hole.

Aether presses a gentle kiss to his nape, reassuring the other of his presence, the tension trapped in Ifrit's shoulders seemed to melt away with every hot press of gentle, full lips against his heated skin.

"Beautiful," he whispers, his hips pressing on until he felt the warm flush of Ifrit's flesh against his stomach, listening to his beloved cry out as his body was breached, "So gorgeous, bellezza,"

The room felt hot – humid. He could feel the Fire Ghoul's body warming under the palms gripping the flesh of Ifrit's hips. The heady breaths and gasps for air wrapped around the two Ghouls in a thick blanket of lust, both eager to hear every noise the other had to offer.

"Move," Ifrit pushed back against Aether's hips, an indirect urge to push forward and give both of them what they wanted, "Fuck me, Aeth."

The sudden spark in his chest – be it lust, affection or passion, he couldn't quite put his finger on it– melted his brain once more. Aether felt his body move of its own accord; grabbing the other Ghoul's thin waist and driving himself deeper and deeper into him.

Shouts of pleasure and shock cascaded from Ifrit's slack jaw like water, filling the room and pouring into Aether's ears. The gasps and moans only serving to spur on his frenzied movements.

"Aether!" The cry was wet, ebbed with the tears that had finally started rolling down the Fire Ghoul's flushed cheeks.

No matter how many tears were shed during their sweeter sessions, Aether knew his mate greatly enjoyed enjoyed the closeness that came with making love rather than heartless, rough fucking.

Eventually, cries and moans melted away into mewls and sighs of soft pleasure. Aether's strong hands encompassing Ifrit's pecs, kneading the supple muscles with his fingers.

"You're so very gorgeous," he offered once more, silently delighting in the way Ifrit's eyes finally brightened at the comment, his senses returning to him as the waves of his orgasm finally settled.

"Don't even try it, Aether," his voice still faltering slightly, evoking a good natured laugh from the Quintessence Ghoul, "flattery won't get you anywhere."

[letsplaythermalnuclearwar]

hey you know what would be like. the WORST possible thing? if no time had passed for mortals during God Games. if the entire time, Odysseus had just been frozen on that ledge. and at the start of the Vengeance Saga, Ody's still on the ledge. he looks to the skies, to the trees, out over the ocean. he looks for an owl with knowing eyes and strains to hear her voice over the waves, because surely, surely she'd come for him. the haven't spoken in nine years and he ruined whatever relationship they had when he stupidly, foolishly let the cyclops live, but she has to still care, right? she was his mentor. she was his patron. he meant something to her. he's sure of it

but she's not there. he waits, but she's not there. he closes his eyes, sparing himself the view, and steps off the ledge

and is saved by Hermes. and Odysseus briefly thinks that he has died, since Hermes escorts souls to the underworld. but Hermes assures him that, no, he's alive, Athena heard him, she bargained with Zeus, he can go home now. he can finally go home

his friend came through

[uzurakis]

in the face of uncertainty and despair, two hearts confront the possibility of loss, grappling with the question of what remains when yuuta okkotsu is gone.

n. wrote this to cope with whatever fucked up mental shit going on in jjk261. god please take away his suffering and triple it to gege. comfort? angst if you squint. the theme is similar to canon. please be safe my glorious morally grey king.. we will miss u..

“what will you do if i’m gone?”

yuuta's shoulders slump, his eyes reflecting the weight of his thoughts. you notice the tension in his posture, the way his hands fidget nervously in his lap.

“huh?” you ask softly, the sound very audible in the heavy silence that surrounds him. “what kind of question is that?”

he turns to you, expression a mixture of exhaustion and despair. “what if something happens to me, what will you do if i’m gone?”

the weight of his emotions bears down on you as if it were a tangible force as you sit next to him. his breath escapes him in short, jagged gasps, each one laced with doubt.

“then i’m gonna be sad. really, really sad,” you murmur, reaching out to touch his stiff hand. a lump forms in your throat, the thought of losing him too painful to bear. “and i will miss you, every single fucking day.”

“i don’t want to live without you, yuu. i can’t live without you.”

he shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “but what if i’m not myself again? there’s nothing—“

“shh,” you interrupt, placing a finger against his lips. you pull him into a gentle embrace, hoping to offer some small measure of comfort in the face of his pain. “even if you change, even if you’re not yourself anymore. who gives a damn about that?”

the man’s eyes enlarge, a kaleidoscope of feelings tumbling through their depths. his eyebrows wrinkle slightly as shock leaves its mark on his appearance, resembling cracks in a fragile facade. you can see the desperation for reassurance battling with the unknown.

“so what? i’ll always love you nevertheless, yuuta okkotsu.”

with a hesitant breath, he leans backwards, away from your touch with his hands on your shoulders. his gaze locked onto yours with such intensity. it's as if he's searching for something, something elusive yet vital, within the depths of your soul. you can feel the weight of his scrutiny, the silent plea for truth in the midst of everything uncertain.

“my love for you will always stay the same, yuu. nothing matters beside that, ‘kay?”

and then, like a dam breaking, understanding floods his expression, washing away the shadows of doubt that had clouded his mind. tears began to form at the corners of his eyes slowly, barely noticeable.

and yuuta's breath hitches, his grip on you tightening. "but i don't want to leave you…”

"then don’t you dare die on me, dumbass,” you say passionately. "you’re not leaving me, yuuta. we’ll go through this together, i fucking swear." softly brushing his hair, attempting to provide some comfort in this time of turmoil.

"i need you here with me."

@uzurakis

[softartemisart]

temple to a god of hedonism that gradually changes those inside to best live lives of pleasure and feasting

if you visit once, and stay for only a few minutes, you might get out with only a little extra softness on your frame, easy enough to work off. if you stay for much longer, well...

theres a growing hunger in your stomach, despite not eating that long ago. but it's a temple to a god of parties and feasting - there's plenty of food available. the dishes only seem to grow more aromatic the longer you stand near them and, when you cave and try a mouthful, it's unbelievably delicious.

you're so taken with the taste, you don't notice what's happening to your body. your stomach bloats from your gorging, and then softens into a wobbling belly that tests the durability of your clothes, hanging lower and lower towards your thick thighs. leaning over the table for another plate, your ass sticks out behind you, round and cellulite-ridden. your figure is soft, swelling, a picture of indulgence.

and it's not long before the servants of this god come and show you another kind of pleasure. warm hands make contact with sensitive skin and you moan through mouthfuls of rich food. they guide you to a soft chair, lean you back, make sure your every want in this moment is fulfilled. one continues to feed you all manner of decadent desserts. several more attend to your body, removing the remains of the constricting clothes you entered in and then kissing, massaging, rubbing every growing, jiggling inch of you. your chest is squeezed, nipples toyed with. your gut is oiled and played with. once they're done teasing you, one hefts the blubbery mass up while another finally reaches between your legs.

the next day, you wake up in one of their luxurious beds, the most well rested you've ever been. you're free to leave, of course. but as the heavenly smell of breakfast finds your nose, you also notice the new set of temple robes at the end of your bed, inviting you to join their ranks

[th0ti-th0ts]

just desserts

hobie brown x reader, miguel o’hara x reader (implied)

summary: leave it to the big guy to be so damn obvious. if only it wasn't this fun for hobie to mess with him.

or: hobie exploits miguel’s one weakness for some shits and giggles (but also to stick it to The Man).

cw: fluff but hobie makes some innuendos. jealous!miguel, miguel who can't admit his feelings, hobie who knows this and knows he has more game and takes full advantage of this

You’re talking to Hobie when his attention is captured by something behind you. His gaze shifts as he raises a brow challengingly, mouth pulled into a cocky slant. It’s quick, quick enough that most people wouldn’t catch it, but you’re not most people. Not with your reflexes.

“—And I was—Hobie? Something wrong?”

You’ve got his attention again. “Yeah, luv? Sorry ‘bout that, got somethin’ in my eye.” He wraps an arm around your shoulder, and gives you a lazy grin. "Distracted me fro' your beauty for a minute."

You roll your eyes as you continue to tell your tale, Hobie listening to you with the kind of careless intensity that only he could pull off. While his flirtatious comments could be construed as something more, he says them with such a dry wit that it's hardly anything more than friendly. As the the two of you meander down the line of the cafeteria, grabbing whatever food spikes your interest, his arm remains a steady presence around you. Again, you don’t think much of it—Hobie's a touchy guy with his closest friends.

“Ya’ ever wonder 'ow these futuristic blokes come up wit’ some o’ these pop flavors?" he asks you, holding a can of soda in his hand as he languid reads off the label. "‘Sparkling orange cream cider with a 'int of lime...'" He pulls a face. "Sounds mad.”

You laugh. “It’s actually kinda good. Peter recommended it to me last time.”

He looks at you, surprised. “Huh." And then, with a hint of suspicion, he asks, "...Which Peter? Ya' can't trust all ov' their taste buds...”

With his arm around you, Hobie steers the two of you around the cafeteria, and you end up accidentally bumping into the person next to you in line. The two of you continue to chat--that is, until you hear someone clear their throat meaningfully. You glance behind you, unaware of the challenging glean in Hobie's cool gaze.

"Oh, hi, Miguel! I don't think I've ever seen you out here before."

He raises a brow. In his hand is a box of the empanadas he loves so much.

"I do... eat, you know."

Miguel's usual dry and blunt manner of speaking has hardly deterred you before.

"Yeah, but I don't think you really leave that dinky, dark room of yours," you say thoughtfully, to which Hobie snorts next to you. His body shakes with the effort to contain his amusement. Your eyes widen. "I—I didn't mean it like that!"

"I know what you mean," Miguel cuts you off. He jabs the empanada before him with tongs, puncturing its shell. His irritation is palpable. Maybe he's having a bad day? "I..." He sighs heavily, surveying the two of you, his gaze lingering on your shoulder. "Just felt like a change of scenery."

"Or at least I did," he mutters, but you don't quite catch it.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing."

"'Ey, 'ey. Look wha' we got 'ere." Hobie, the ever keen observer, steers you around Miguel, to direct your attention to today's dessert on the menu. Your eyes widen at the various flavors of cupcakes before you. You fucking love cupcakes.

"Lemme guess," Hobie says. "You're a chocolate kinda gal?" He snags a cupcake for each of you. Just as he hands it to you though, you're distracted by the sound of tongs clattering.

You glance to your right, only for Hobie to end up smearing some of the cupcake's icing across your cheek. You blink in surprise.

"Hey!"

"Oops." An amused smirk stretches Hobie's face. “Made a mess o' yourself, looks like it."

"You're the one who did it!"

Hobie puts his palms up, stating solemnly, "All's wort' it in pursuit of something sweet."

You glower at him, rubbing your cheek. "Did I get it?"

He shakes his head. "Nope." You rub again. "A lit'le to the left. Nope… Is a bit like finding a needle in a 'aystack for you, innit? Lemme help.”

Hobie’s thumb comes up to your cheek, swiping the suspect away. You scrunch your nose up, to which he makes a satisfied noise in his throat.

"Almos' regret doin' that. Ya' pull off the 'cream on ya' face' look."

You roll your eyes at the obvious innuendo, smacking his chest. “Hobie. Not in public!”

He shrugs unapologetically.

CRCKK.

The sound of cardboard crumpling meets your ears. The both of you turn around.

“Ay, chingados,” Miguel curses at his crushed box, meat and veggie filling from his empanadas splayed across the ground. He kicks the box away, before slamming his hand onto the counter. Hunched over, a hand tensely massaging his brow as he mutters, “Maldito sea. Estoy harto de ver esta mierda amorosa."

You raise a brow. You think you hear Hobie mutter something to the effect of, "Stickin' it to the big guy one step a' a time," and you're certainly not sure what that means. Miguel stops only when he notices you and everyone in the cafeteria watching him. He straightens up, and clears his throat before summoning his AI.

“Lyla, just have someone bring food to my room,” he grumbles.

"Roger that," she says.

And then Miguel is stalking away before either of you know it.

You watch his retreating back curiously. "I wonder what that was about..." you think aloud.

“No idea,” Hobie drawls. Of course, it's a lie, or as Hobie likes to think of it, a covert truth. He salutes in Miguel's direction.

Leave it to the big guy to be so damn obvious. If only it wasn't this fun to mess with him. And... Hobie glances down at you. If only you realized how much power you held over him.

Both of them, really.

—

translations:

estoy harto de ver esta mierda amorosa = i'm sick of seeing all this lovey-dovey shit

the other phrases are just a bunch of cursing lmao

[ghostr0tz]

Very specific human Vox I've been trying to shake for weeks

[otaku553]

Other than ASL, which characters do you like in One Piece? Whether it’s design, story role, personality etc.

I have SO many favorites in one piece it’s kind of difficult to choose lmao

Storytelling wise, outside of ASL and the main crew, I’ve really enjoyed Bonney and Law! Bonney especially with the recent arc in the manga :’) she’s so loved…….

(We don’t talk about Bonney’s canonical design. Or, at least, I won’t. Also whoops I forgot law’s other knuckle tats,,,, ignore that)

Otherwise I also really enjoy Robin (but I’ve drawn her already for another ask hehe) and Koala? But completely for story reasons. I would say there’s probably not a single female character in one piece whose design I fully enjoy just because at times I am convinced that Oda has never actually seen a woman before. But their stories are so incredibly compelling,,,,,,

Visual design wise I kind of enjoy Koby and Helmeppo and how they’ve changed over time! And I absolutely adore Jinbei and Brook and Chopper! Design wise I actually probably most enjoy brook and jinbei, and maybe post time skip zoro? I just think they’re really neat,,,

OH. AMD GEAR 5TH LUFFY. I CANNOT BELIEVE I ALMOST FORGOT GEAR 5TH LUFFY. that is just. Chefs kiss. EXCELLENT DESIGN

I think probably part of the reason I enjoy sabo so much is that he’s the only character design that just like. Fully appeals to me. Like I love his character design soooo much it is unreal. But also because he’s such a unique design among the characters (being about the only character with as much screentime as he has that dresses up as a noble) it’s difficult for me to find other characters that I enjoy so much visually. As reprehensible as nobles are in the story of one piece, I tend to especially enjoy characters that are more formally dressed,,,, honestly if they extended that sort of aesthetic to the entirety of the revolutionary army I would probably have a lot more favorite characters lmao

[nattikay]

Spider is not Jake and Neytiri’s kid and they had no obligation to act as his surrogate parents

[toneelspeelster]

i've lost a lot of people in my life, jack. i don't want to lose the guy i love.

[aroaceleovaldez]

they girlbossed Sally Jackson

[iffondrels-library]

Conclusion to the chain's adventure in Gerudo Town! Time picks a fight, but at the price of reuniting a family.

[lacircificance]

"Against All Odds" - Omega/Alpha

Angst :)

Word count: 414 approx

If one of the younger Ghouls asked about his life, Omega would probably brush off the question without a second thought.

After all, what was there to know?

The newly summoned Ghouls always had some unrealistic and wild ideas about what topside life would be like; comfortable living quarters, warm food, shelter, the possibility finding a mate.

It never failed to make Omega's stomach clench and twist itself into unrelenting, painful knots whenever a new arrival asked anything about mating.

He'd always reluctantly tried to answer questions from nagging Ghouls or Siblings, but it wasn't worth the memory of the heartache that came with recounting the loss of his own mate.

At least that's how Omega saw it.

If any of the younger Ghouls asked about Alpha, Omega would surely pause.

He'd think for a few moments, a flash of emotion behind his violet eyes – what emotion exactly, he couldn't quite place – before, once again, brushing off the question as crudely invasive.

Truth is, Omega didn't exactly know what had exactly happened to his mate. Though he'd heard a rather persistent rumour that had been carelessly floating around the Abbey since the loss had taken place.

Over a decade ago, Omega had awoken in a cold sweat. He could almost feel the searing, agonising pain pumping around his body, biting at every nerve and scrambling his thoughts. His heart raced, eyes watered and claws buried themselves deep into the silk bedsheets.

But most notably overall, the sinking pit of emptiness that weighed down his hammering heart.

The pain had been indescribable. He'd been confined to his sleep chambers for months; writhing around on his bed in unrelenting, all-encompassing loneliness and agony. Every night, he'd find himself crying out fruitlessly for his missing mate. For hours on end he'd remain awake howling Alpha's name; begging and pleading for his love to come and soothe him.

Only after those months of isolation did he come to find out what had caused his month-long bout of anguish.

Alpha was gone.

Sent back to the pits, from what he'd heard. Apparently he'd gone feral on Imperator and she'd banished him for his disobedience.

Omega always thought the story was utter bullshit. He knew his mate. They had been mated since day one; stuck together like glue since their summoning. Alpha wouldn't just go feral without reason, and Omega knew that better than any Ghoul, Sibling or Clergyman.

If one of the younger Ghouls asked about Alpha, Omega would brush them off.

But between the growing anger that came with the defiling of his long-dead mate's name, and the pangs of empty loneliness that the severed mating bond still burdened him with to this day,

He still felt the same fondness for the memories of his mate.

Still remembered the way joy would spark a grin across Alpha's usually stoic face, and how the other's hands felt resting atop his hips when they embraced.

The pain would never truly go away, and Omega knew that. But at least he was left with the bittersweet memories of the snarky Fire Ghoul he'd been lucky enough to call his own for many a century.

[loveyouanyway]

wip wednesday

"I was at the pier when the tsunami hit. And there was this kid by himself so I tried to protect him. God, he's awesome. He was actually the one reassuring me, telling me about these cool space facts and trying to make me laugh. But I lost him, Christopher—that's his name—and I'll never forgive myself for that.

So it is him. It really is the guy who saved Christopher. It warms his heart that he didn't mention his son's cerebral palsy and instead focused on his personality.

"Wait are you Buck?"

"Yeah. What— how do you know?"

Eddie exhales. "That was my kid. Christopher.

"Fuck. I'm so sorry. God, I'm sorry."

"You saved him. That's how he remembers it.

"Eddie," Buck says in a broken voice and Eddie just wants to take all his pain way.

"And from what I heard, you didn't just save him. You saved others. You did good, Buck. You're so good. Thank you."

thanks for the tags 💖 @wikiangela @smilingbuckley @inell

@dangerpronebuddie @kitteneddiediaz @loserdiaz

npt 💕 @steadfastsaturnsrings @monsterrae1 @hippolotamus @diazsdimples @spotsandsocks

@bi-buckrights @disasterbuck @tizniz @theotherbuckley

@jesuisici33 @watchyourbuck @exhuastedpigeon and anyone else who wants to share <3

let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 42

Call Jaskier a fool, but he's fallen in love with a witcher. As a merman. But despite what all his peers tell him, he wholeheartedly believes the witcher would never hurt a merman, let alone one as harmless as Jaskier! They'll make great friends! And even better lovers! Hopefully! So when Jaskier learns the witcher is camping not far from a river, Jaskier literally jumps at the chance to get close to finally meet the man he's admired from afar for so long. Only problem is that the river is muddy in some parts, and in other parts thinner and more shallow than he thought, and though he loathes to admit it, he does get stuck. He's beached. He hasn't even met his witcher and he's BEACHED! BEACHED! AND HE'S NOT EVEN ON A BEACH! He's tied between being horrified he's dying alone, and being thankful nobody is seeing the embarrassing way he's leaving this world. He's not getting nearly enough water into his gills, and the sun is merciless. It's been nearly two days since he first got stuck. His eyesight is blurring and all he can hear is his own breathing. But then he's suddenly hefted up into arms and being carried away, and he can't even worry about who has found him, because he's finally drifted off into a (sadly very dry) slumber. He wakes up to find himself in a small pond, just barely big enough for him to swim a lap, and that was pretty much it. Clearly for healing and not long-term stay. But it was big enough to live. The gills on his sides near his ribs are fully submerged in the water, and he belatedly notices that water is being repeatedly poured on the gills on his neck. He turns to look at what is dripping on him, and finds it to be a waterskin. His witcher found him! His witcher found him, and is filling up his waterskin with the pond's water and pouring it on Jaskier's fills repeatedly. He's caring for him! Oh, how Jaskier's heart is singing! Jaskier tries to talk to him only to cough and let out a weak chirp noise. The witcher shushes him and warns Jaskier that he was in a very bad way and that it'd be best for him to rest for now. Jaskier decides not to take his advice, and instead stays up to stare at his witcher and chirp at him. One time when Geralt pours the water over the mer's gills, he reaches his head up to bump at Geralt's hand until Geralt allows the Mer to limply nuzzle his wrist. It's a tad annoying that this mer Geralt saved is so relentlessly determined to shower him with affection, but after a few days of the attention, Geralt submits to the routine. It only gets more intimate when the Mer regains speech and now keep asking Geralt things about himself and showering him with compliments. Geralt learns about the merman, and grows attached, he admits, but he can't keep care of a mer. He has to continue on The Path and the Mer cannot follow. So one day, he picks up Jaskier, brings him back to the ocean, and sets him free. Four times. It takes four times before Jaskier stops trying to beach himself to follow. Geralt is miserable without his little merman companion, but he knows it's for the best. That is, until a few months lather, when he hears word of a merman being captured nearby and he knows deep down it's his merman. I don't know if Jaskier is captured by poachers intent on killing or harming him or if he's been captured by some sort of circus/freakshow but I DO know that Jaskier got captured because he started recklessly talking to any and all humans asking for anyone who knows how to turn him human (so he can be with his witcher)

[lunarw0rks]

slasher!graves 🩸 in honor of spooky season !!! w/c; 2.7k

warning(s): implied violence/gore, drugging, fem!reader

endless crop fields surrounded the dirt path, crunching under the tires audibly, overbearing the hum of the pickup's old speakers. as soon as you crossed county lines, only the two local stations played: gospel or vintage country. any tuning of the knob, and it was buzzing static.

mellow country music it is. preferable to a pastor lecturing you about the ins and outs of hell. don't worry father, i'm already there. or i've made it halfway to purgatory — east Texas backroads.

though, you don't need the faceless pastor; the decaying signs along the way are enough. hell is real, God bless, repent — every single one rusted, scratched, peeled in some way.

limitless, barren farmland; half-murky swamp the further east you go.

who's feeding the lumps of livestock you see grazing? what about the herding dogs that lay by rickety fences and intently watch your car pass? if it weren't for the occasional passing truck, you'd assume no one inhabited this county at all.

your pupils retract, blinded by the sun glaring off the hood. vibrant hues of orange and yellow, that would otherwise be soothing if you hadn't been in the driver's seat so long. for once, the lack of traffic and straight and narrow is a blessing, otherwise, you surely would've caused a collision.

the blinding sunset fades over time, indicating that you drove through golden hour instead of lying back and enjoying it. though, the thought of pulling over in this area sounded like a painful ordeal.

from straight, unpaved roads to skinny windy ones with taller grass on the border. as the sky darkens, the foliage is surely full of critters, snakes, and spiders that would crawl and tickle your flesh the second you stepped foot. the thought alone makes you shiver against the leather seats.

as the tires climb a particularly steep hill, the engine sputters, as if hacking and choking from the exertion. please don't let it happen here, is all you can think. the vintage pickup creaks and moans the further along you go — but thankfully doesn't let you down. it's any wonder you've made it this far in your trip.

your fingers reach across the seat, peeling back the page of your guide. the map you snagged at the first — and only — rest stop in the area. a few pages, tainted with coffee and grime, aside from hints of its original eggshell stain. the booklet is rough in texture but still partially legible, so you decided to take what you can get.

besides, once you finished up in the bathroom, bought water, and felt the judgment of the locals, you weren't in a position to ask for a clean map. and the geriatric clerk, brandishing a crucifix and eyes so blue they could pass for pearl, staring at you with grief.

for what, you couldn't wager. your unsaved soul?

your unwise decision to stop there? at least you can agree with the latter.

at last, your finger skimmed the section of road you were supposed to be cruising on. a straight one, like you had been on before. not the thin, windy dirt you're nearly stuck in — which doesn't exist on the map. either you're trespassing in some form, or you really have gotten lost in purgatory.

muttering a curse, you twist and turn your heads in hopes of finding an opening. somewhere, anywhere to turn the truck around and get back on your intended route.

once you spot the first opening, you turn into it. the truck travels down the short path, mud squishing underneath the overworked tires.

up ahead, the first residence you've seen that wasn't moldy or collapsed. three floors, milky paneling, original windows older than two of your lifetimes, and steps sure to give you splinters and creaks under the slightest movement.

from the outside, it's... average.

only slightly unsettling at best, which was a major improvement from the rest of town. frankly, it was shocking there wasn't a higher fence around the perimeter. you imagine this property being prime pickings for bandits and adventurous country teens.

after taking in its appearance for a few moments, you begin to reverse, now feeling the most resistance in the entire trip. the harder you push your foot down on the gas pedal, the deeper the back tires go into the thick mud.

the engine sputtered louder, beginning to spit out smoke from under the hood. considering your efforts, all you'd successfully done was splatter mud on the windows and kill the engine, hopefully not permanently.

you slumped forward and lightly smacked your head against the rim of the steering wheel, cursing yourself for literally ending up deeper in the mud.

through the cracked window of the truck, the windchimes sounded, reminding you of your only way out. raising your head, you laid eyes on the white farmhouse again, taking in its mystifying essence. the decor rustled in the gentle breeze, as did the fuzzy white clusters blowing off the cottonwood trees.

against the unforgiving summer elements, the outmoded residence stood still — as if the stoic constant stuck in the middle of a brewing summer storm.

motionless and deathlike; if a tornado dipped down through the dusky clouds, you were mildly convinced the residence would be the only structure left standing.

as it stands, your options are either to sit in the truck and sulk or take a gamble and knock on the old farmer's door. deciding on the latter, you step out, not bothering to shut the car door behind you, in case you're met with a cliché shotgun barrel for trespassing.

the rickety porch creaked under your weight when you stepped up, occupied with examining its every detail. there were the chimes you heard. some were standard, high-pitched jingles — others made from small animal bones were dull clicks — all suspended with twine.

aside from the roadkill and rocking chair, there were few signs of life in terms of decor. through the windowpanes, you were only met with pearly, lace curtains blocking any view inside.

caving, you raise your fist to the door. it's slathered in the same blanched paint as the rest of the exterior, only riddled with indents and scratches from age. three small knocks against the wood, and you're hoping whoever's behind it won't lead with hostility.

the house settles and croaks from inside, its joints as noisy as the deck you’re standing on. eventually, the door opens. behind it, the owner reveals himself; and it’s not the stereotypical image of an old man with overalls and a noisy coonhound at his side.

your prediction couldn’t have been more inaccurate.

“how can i help you, ma'am?” the voice speaks, oozing a subtle regional twang. casually, he leans against one side of the doorway, blue eyes sweeping you up and down.

younger than expected, and clean despite the gritty environment he lives in. his blond locks are carefully groomed and swept, and an aroma of musk and cedarwood permeates from him.

"i don't mean to be a bother," you stammer a bit, then motion behind you. the man's demeanor remains unbothered by the intrusion. "my truck is stuck in the mud, and i was wondering if you could get it... unstuck?"

he hollows his cheeks as if taking a few moments to consider your request.

but Graves already decided the moment he saw you. with a click of his tongue, a rumble rises through his chest, "no bother in askin' for help, is there? why didn't you just say so?" a faction of a smile spreads on his lips, easing the tension in your shoulders.

you return the break in tension with a small chuckle, biting back the urge to start twiddling your thumbs. he glances at the truck, "i'll pull her out for you. keys in the ignition for me?"

you nod, and he steps out of his relaxed pose. "i would really appreciate that. thank you, sir."

but instead of stepping out toward the vehicle, he moves to the side and flicks his head. "don't mind waiting inside, do you? 'sides, young lady like you shouldn't be shivering."

you really were helpless, or at least, that's how it felt.

the desire to reject is futile and forgotten. before you knew it, you stepped inside and followed him. the entryway was quaint with only a coat rack and mat, and open to the kitchen. the gray and white tiles were patterned like a checkerboard, blended with natural wood cabinets that matched the original wood everywhere else.

in the middle, a circular dining table with two chairs, brandishing hack marks — some fresh, some old. with a scrape, he pulled out a chair for you, and you settled on it.

rather than asking first, he went straight to the vintage refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher. he reached into the ice bucket and dropped a handful of cubes into two glasses, then tipped the pitcher and filled them with lemonade.

you stopped watching when he turned, instead setting your attention on the decor. it was as average as the exterior; a country kitchen that was slightly rough around the edges. Graves slid the glass in front of you, then set his own on the opposite side, sitting instead of heading straight outside to deal with the truck.

he sighed when he sat down again, holding onto the glass but not sipping from it. for a few moments, there was silence between you; a studying stare making you feel like you were in a fishbowl. swallowing dryly, you raised the glass and took a sip from it.

lemonade, a partial punch of citrus, coaxed by tons of added sugar. you let out a polite mhm and smiled, hoping to let your courtesy break the silence again.

"gets awful lonesome out here, don't it?" the man finally spoke, and you took another gulp to pass the time. "can't say i mind the company. not a lot of tourists in these parts, i guess."

you nodded in agreement, eyes darting toward the ticking clock behind his head, "i'm sure it does." you really should be back on the road by now.

he must've noticed your eagerness, because he gave his knee a slap and sat up, "here i am, talkin' your ear off again. should only take a few minutes if you don't mind waiting here."

his footsteps retreated back down the hall, leaving you in silence except for the ticking, which now sounded louder. you glanced down at the glass and swirled it around, deciding it best to finish your drink off before you left the man's seemingly good graces.

once the front door opened and closed, you took a better look around at the kitchen. the knickknacks along the wall, and the dusty china in one of the cabinets.

further along, you skimmed past the doors leading to the rest of the home. the l-shaped staircase came down to the kitchen, steep and rickety. adjacent, was a door similar to the one in the foyer.

when curiosity got the better of you, you stood up and crept over. pressing your ear against it, you heard no one behind it; not even the drone of a television.

you wrapped a hand around the knob and twisted it, pushing the door open. it led to a sitting room of sorts, or perhaps the only living room in the farmhouse. an old-fashioned wood fireplace in the corner, a brown couch against the wall facing the back windows, and the box TV posed on an end table.

the windows had the same sheer, white curtains as the kitchen, blowing gently from the breeze outside. custom shelves covered the other wall, filled to the brim with outlandish decor.

you first stepped closer to the window, seeing his figure outside. there was your truck, still in the same position you'd left it; the door still cracked, and its tires were embedded in mud. and the man, a distance away and moving toward the red barn in the distance — a more powerful, agile stride than he'd shown with you.

thinking nothing of it, you occupied your boredom with snooping. the shelves were what caught your attention, so that's where you ended up.

standing in front of them, you scanned through every item, growing more unsettled the longer you ogled. first, it was ancestral photos old enough to be in black and white, eerie but not abnormal. then, on the second shelf, the appeared uncanny.

quaint, mason jars and teeth.

fangs from coyotes and bobcats alike, mixed with bloodied molars that only could be pried from human mouths. the sight was akin to a gnarly car wreck, causing your morbid curiosity to overtake your sense of danger.

you glanced out the window again, seeing the barn door cracked open, indicating he was still occupied. crouching down, you examined the lowest shelf. the only clutter visible was VHS tapes, thick books, and small chests and boxes.

you took the first one that caught your eye, undoing the clasps and opening the velvety chest. newspaper clippings and passages alike, and a mini-Bible lay in the mess of words.

shaking your head, you set it aside and grabbed one of the tiny boxes, taking off the lid. your blood flow went icy, and your fingers trembled as you set the lid aside and continued processing.

possessions; watches, necklaces, wedding bands, and choppy strands of all hair types. when you noticed the hair, you gasped and ejected the box from your grip.

they weren't belongings; they were trophies.

the front door creaks from across the house, then slams shut again. you scramble to put the lids back on and pinch your finger in one of the latches, reflexively dropping it. all its contents clatter against the wood floor, compromising your cover.

"find somethin' you like?"

his voice appears behind you, effectively sending you into a startle. graves glances at the mess below you, still maintaining an eerie stillness about him.

frantically shaking your head, you begin to feel sweat cake your hairline. you ball your fists and go clammy, taking steps back, "this is my fault— i shouldn't have let my curiosity get the better of me." he remains untouched by your apprehensive shift, only worsening your instinct to run.

but he doesn't lunge or creep closer; all he does is linger by the shelves.

despite how dry your throat is, you gather saliva and gulp tensely, "i should get going. long trip ahead." that's hopeless; you know he didn't move the truck. you would've heard an engine. how far could you make it on foot?

your words come out sluggishly as if your brain is working at half speed. you peer down, stepping around every morbid souvenir — though all you do is stumble, rather than make any distance.

"won't be necessary, sweetheart." his voice echoes, stance unchanging while he observes your struggle.

you grasp at one of the walls, lids drooping as your feet drag. the lemonade he never once put his mouth on, laced with some sort of sedative. it all hit you too late; too late to retch it up or bolt down the hall ahead of him.

eventually, he steps closer, watching as you make an 'attempt' to swat him away. all you do is whack your hand at the air, thoroughly wasting more of your dwindling energy. instead of words, all that comes out are slurs or whimpers of intense turmoil.

your view of the doorway tilts and twists, turning blurred and doubled the further you stagger. a swirl of nausea erupts in your stomach, causing your knees to buckle. your head collides with the edge of the coffee table, leaving you stunned.

as the tranquilizer pumps through you, the drowsiness is indomitable. you roll onto your back and cough, lying at his feet. with the last of your remaining lucidity, you tug on his jean leg, as if in one last ditch effort to get to your feet again.

despite his opportunity to kick away your pleas, Graves stands idle, his neck craned down to watch every moment of it, a sick rendition of his favorite hobby. the most noticeable sensation — the tender skin of your temple throbs from the impact, until any and all discomfort fades away.

eyelids weighed with bricks flutter shut, squirming limbs cease, and the heave of your chest slows into gentle waves of slumber.

"atta' girl."

‧˚₊ divider cred. - cafekitsune ‧₊˚⊹