#and most of it is just sad and pain (and so much research into like medically feasible wounds) but there is at least this funny

[qwuilty]

Hey wait a minute.

[shock]

i want to hold my tongue and not share the depth of my opinions about the two-headed cow but it upsets me so much every time i see it, i really do hate the narrative of 'rooting for' an animal like this to live despite it being unable (and will be unable, for its entire life) to do the most basic of things life has to offer, even breathing, eating, moving, to prioritize the savior myth that everything can and should be saved, that every living creature should be treated this way as though its not one of the greatest mercies that we as humans have the ability to enact a quick and painless alternative to a slow and miserable life that ends in slow and miserable death on our livestock when they can't advocate for themselves, the ability we have as humans to see the research and make a prognosis and decide that the spectacle is not worth the extended misery, but this life is worth the dignity of a peaceful death we have the capacity to grant

because there is a difference between helping a baby animal in the first legs of life knowing it has a chance to have a quality of life worth fighting for, not a life doomed to be painful that we KNOW is painful knowing all that we know about animals who come with this specific type of physical abnormality, what we see on the surface is only a fraction of much more malformation and deterioration on the inside that we can't just decide is not happening because they 'look' fine, and what we see on the surface is already a life from start to finish without any experience an animal like this should have by virtue of being alive, with no life at all and no understanding of why it is going through this

the assumption that there is no suffering despite eating, breathing, moving never something that this baby will be able to do unassisted, despite knowing the longest a two-headed cow has ever survived was not even a year and a half and that record hasn't been broken in over thirty years, that's not even a quarter, an 8th, a 12th, a 15th of a cow's normal lifespan, and doubtfully much of that was pleasant or comfortable, and even if this cow does get to the point of being able to stand on its own, we can't ever know the full range of agony this animal is going through, all we know is there is and there will be agony, and we need to not see life as inherently successful or painless just because something is going in one end and coming out the other, that isn't what defines an animal's quality of life to me

the two-headed calf poem is beautiful to me because it's a miracle that something so rare (luckily) and so doomed could see one extraordinary thing before passing. the sky ceases to be beautiful when forced to live every day for the sake of social media's voyeurism, it makes me so sad that someone who raises livestock would put public attention over their duty to their animals ☹️

[mysicklove]

𝐒𝐎 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋

DAY 12: SOUNDING

With: Keigo Takami (Hawks)

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Sub! Hawks, gn! reader, sounding, HEAVY sub/dom spaces, hints of sado/masochism, mentions of anal fingering, keigo crying and twitching, cursing, pee/urine mentioned throughout

A/N: This is one of those smut fics that are heavily unrealistic (which i LOVEEEE), keigo says some cringe things at some points tho. LOL

Keigo has such a pretty face. People stop and stare at him on the street, he has been recruited by multiple modeling companies and is lusted over by teenage girls all over the world. Born to be nicknamed, “Pretty Boy”. It was cute, really, and he seemed to love the name.

But to you, he doesn't look his best when he is photographed in lewd poses, or when the media catches the way he looks at you, or even with his candid hero photos that are unbearably hot.

No, to you, Keigo looks his absolute best when he cried. Of course, not from sadness, from pleasure and pain. When his face is flushed, his eyes are hazy, and tears coat his cheeks. When he looks up at you in pure adoration, and trembles under your hold.

But that was the sadistic side of you talking. The side of you who wants to completely ruin the man. It's hard not to when he looks so pretty during it.

So, slowly you've been finding new ways to wreck him and with each one, he reacts perfectly. You've gotten addicted to it. Him, really.

Tonight you are going to try sounding. You stare at the small metal rod, and then back to your lover, who is leaning against the headboard, and trying to act like he is not completely terrified. He gulps when you peer at him, straightening his back, and trying to uphold his cocky grin.

“You're scared, aren't ya?”

He scoffs, looking away. “No. I'm the one who asked for this, why would I be scared?”

As much as you like ruining Keigo, Keigo loves being ruined. You have to keep a close eye on him because he swears he has no limits and has not used his safeword so far. Everything is on the table for him, and that sometimes worries you. You've held down your desires but he voices them and is the one to beg you for more and more.

Urethra play was not something he has tried. “Mhmm. It will be fine, we will go slow,” You reassure him despite his words. You place a comforting hand on his thigh and he sighs, smiling at you softly.

“Yeah. It'll be fine. You're right.”

Horrifying is the best word to describe what's in front of him right now. The “thin” rod is now lodged halfway into his urethra and he's panting out, thighs trembling. It doesn't exactly feel bad, but it's foreign, and the sight in front of him makes him uneasy. Nothing is supposed to go in that hole.

He's gripping onto your hand for comfort, eyes wide as saucers. “We aren't even all the way in yet, Keigo.”

He whines out at the words, resting his head on your shoulder. Sweat beads at his forehead and his face is flushed. “F-Feels so full.”

You teasingly tap on the rod, and his back arches, wings fluttering out at the strange feeling. He grips your hand and stares at you, silently pleading. “Sorry. Forgot. Let's put it all in, yeah?”

“Dont–Dont know if I can.”

You stroke the bottom of his shaft and smile at him. “Got plenty of room still. It's supposed to touch your prostate, y'know.”

Yeah, he definitely knew that. For the last couple of days, he researched the ins and outs of this. But still, he doesn't know how the hell it could go any deeper. He feels overwhelmingly stuffed even from half of it being inserted. He gulps and glances at you, but nods.

“Take a deep breath for me, Keigo. Promise it'll feel good in a bit.” You're right, and he knows it. Just like when you fingered him for the first time, it feels weird in the beginning, but now he's addicted to it. This could be a new thing to drive him mad. He sure hopes so.

He takes a deep breath, and you slowly continue to inch it in, letting gravity do the most part. The road is slippery from the lube and it goes in without much difficulty.

Keigo on the other hand is going insane. He is moaning and whining, gripping onto the sheets with such force that you are afraid he is going to rip it. You watch his arm muscles clench and unclench, and he throws his head back. “Oh. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” He cries with every second it goes deeper.

You hush him, using your other hand to stroke him gently, hoping to coax it in. His squirming makes it harder, and you don't want to hurt him, so you try your best to pin his hips down beneath you so they won't jump up.

And at last, it reaches the bottom. You pull away and look up at him. Keigo is trembling, back arched pornographically, and staring at the ceiling with an open mouth. Tears drip down his cheeks, and his legs are trembling, bent, and spread wide. “All done, it's all the way in now. Shhh, just gotta get adjusted to it.”

He shakes his head and lets out a cry, “Fuck. It's weird. Feels so weird! Full–I cant–”

You lean forward to press your lips to his, cutting his frantic rambling off. “Keigo, do you want to use your safeword?” You ask, just for reassurance.

He shakes his head frantically. “No! Wait! I-I never said I didn't like it!” He pleads desperately to you, even if you haven't tried to make an effort to remove it. His mind seems to be scattered, but this is how he is when he usually tries new things in bed. Today, just a little bit more extreme, considering you haven't tried anything even close to this.

“What does it feel like, Birdie?”

He takes a deep, shaky breath. “Feels full. D-Different type of full. It's weird. And it also feels like I gotta pee a little bit. But in a good way? It's all so weird and overwhelming, Y/N!”

You gulp, watching the way his eyes move around frantically. The way his body is bright red, and he's staring at you with desperate eyes. His mouth is glossy, and his eyes are wet. This is your favorite face of Keigos. This is what you have been wanting to see.

The urges get the better of you. “I'm going to move it now Keigo.”

His eyes widen, and before he can even protest, you move it upward, slightly. His back arches again and he gasps for air. “O-Oh–Its–Fuckkkkk.”

You push it back in completely and he keens, gripping onto your hand with wide eyes. A loud, desperate whine is let out, and more tears stream down his face. He's withering under you, and you can't help but stare at his pretty physique. “Are you oka–”

“Again!” He sobs, legs moving sporadically against the sheets.

His words make you gulp. He's falling into that state again. The one where his only task is to get himself completely fucked dumb. He doesn't want to think about anything except his pleasure, and frankly, his adorable facial expression is pulling you into your very own state with him.

You lift the rod up, farther than last time, until more than half of it sticks out. He stares at it, panting loudly and waiting for you to push it back in. It makes his adrenal pulse, and his mouth begins to water.

You don't tease him too long, and abide by his wishes, pressing the full thing in until it reaches the very bottom of his cock. He moans this time, enjoying it more with every second. Tears continue to fall, but he can't pay attention to them, instead focused on the feeling of being so full. If he had a toy in the other end, he surely would have lost his mind. Next time, for sure.

You continue to bring it up and down and he gets louder and louder with each stroke, not caring for whoever hears him. He is feeling such intense pleasure, everyone should hear his cries. Or at least that is what he believes.

“So cute. We found another hole for me to abuse, yeah Keigo?” You purr, eyes traveling up his shaking body with hunger.

He nods his head frantically. “Yes. Yes! Please fuck it more, I'm begging!”

You stop for a moment, a teasing gleam in your eyes. “Want me to fuck your pee hole? How lewd, Birdie.”

But to your dismay, he isn't responding to the teasing as you hoped. Instead, just agreeing with every word, too lost in the subspace to really care for how dirty your words are. “Yes! F-Fuck my pee hole. Need it. S-So full!”

You don't mind your failed attempt, now staring fondly at the pretty boy in front of you, who is completely out of it by now. It usually takes him longer to get to this state, and it was intriguing that this little rod had such a huge effect on him.

Your pace is quicker, and you use your other hand to stroke him off. His mouth hangs open, and drool begins to bead at the corner of his mouth. Every breath is a high-pitched, airy moan. It's adorable, really.

You watch his thighs start to clench and you raise your eyebrows, knowing that he's going to cum sometime soon. When you glance back up at his face, he's staring back at you, sniffling gently, but his eyes are full of adoration.

“C-Cum? Please?” He is struggling to speak, and you can't help but take mercy on him. He was so cute not to.

“Sure, baby. You can cum,” You coo, leaning forward to kiss his abdomen. He lets out a whine in thanks and nods his head.

A couple seconds go by and his breaths become quicker, louder too. His toes begin to curl, and he grips onto the bedsheets. “N-Now!” He begs, and you quickly take out the rod for him to cum.

White liquid flies out and falls onto his stomach, and you continue to use one hand to stroke him through it all. He takes loud gasps and lets out a loud shaky moan, and then another equally loud and high in pitch. His body constricts in odd, but cute ways, and he clenches his eyes shut, causing more tears to fall down his face.

You sit and admire him, only stopping your hand movements when he lets out a broken sob at the feeling of overstimulation.

A couple seconds go by, and you hum quietly, waiting for him to talk. Depending on what he says will determine if he wants to keep going or rest. The ball is in his court.

It doesn't take him too long to decide, obviously still in the subspace, but willing to communicate.

“Wanna. I wanna. H-Hey, why did you stop?” He complains, whiny and dramatic. You raise your eyebrows at him and bark a short laugh.

You aren't even surprised at this point. So, you pick up the rod again, and he stares at it, like a dog to a bone. He grins, the smile fucked out, and lazy. “Feels, so empty. Put it back, pleaseeeee!”

When you plunge it back in, he almost cums again on the spot.

PREV POST | MASTERLIST | NEXT POST

[cripplecharacters]

How should you write/draw burn survivors? I know this isn't a drawing blog but I don't know of one that I could ask this question to.

Hello!

I'm not a burn survivor myself, so I'll mostly talk about facial differences/visible disability in general and link some stuff made by burn survivors.

First thing, I think it's important to remember that being a burn survivor changes a lot of things - not only appearance. Very important part is the psychological one, but I'm not a burn survivor so I will just let the resources linked below speak.

From the physical aspect, burns can also come with: chronic pain, limited range of motion due to scarring, tightened skin, problems with regulating temperature, itching, skin irritation, and even different nutritional needs during the initial healing process.

There is also specific everyday care associated with burns - something you basically never see in fiction. That could be things like occupational therapy, physical therapy, skincare (like heavy moisturizing and scar massaging), wearing sunblock, wearing splints, or stretching to prevent contractures or tightness.

There are also different types of burns and they (unsurprisingly) differ from each other - for example, electrical burns have a much higher rate of amputation than any other type. Chemical burns can cause eye issues. A burn caused by a fire in a closed space might result in a brain injury due to the lack of oxygen. A much larger portion of people than you (probably) assume have survived burn injuries as small children, and if they were young enough they might not even remember the event at all, unlike older people who might be very affected by the trauma.

Experiences of a person with 80% body surface burns, a person with quadruple amputations from an electrical burn, a person with a facial burn, and a person burnt very recently will be different from someone who has a 5% body surface 2nd degree burn in a spot that’s usually hidden, who has lived with their burn for a decade - despite them all being burn survivors.

When it comes to more thorough research, I recommend going through Phoenix Society’s and Face Equality International’s websites to learn more about both real burn survivor’s perspectives, and face equality as a social justice topic. I think the 3rd link (see below) puts it very well when talking about burn survivors being represented in fiction:

“Most likely, these characters were not created by someone with lived experience. The result is an increasingly garbled game of telephone [...] To avoid contributing to this false narrative, embrace research as part of the process. Explore interviews, first-person accounts, and articles from reliable sources.”

I personally think that the links below should be mandatory reading for writing not only burn survivors, not only people with facial differences, but visibly disabled people in general - because the treatment we get is often so similar the advice still holds up just fine. And if you don't plan on writing any of these, you should still read them to see how prevalent of a problem ableism in media is.

Lise Deguire's Hey Hollywood - scars don't make you evil.

Face Equality International's International Media Standard on Disfigurement.

Niki Averton's Tips for Writing about Burn Survivors.

The main sentiment that you will read from basically any first-hand source is that if you're writing the burn survivor to be either:

evil (just throw the whole character away. please.)

a guy with the "World's Saddest Most Tragic Backstory Ever and It's So Sad and Tragic" (because he revealed he has a scar.)

a helpless victim who is there to be The Helpless Victim

...then you're already doing it wrong and need to make some major changes.

From our blog's reblogs and posts, you might want to look at tips for writing a visibly different/disabled character and tips on drawing people with facial differences. Neither are specific to burn survivors but cover the topic of visible disability and facial differences.

Now for tips on drawing burn survivors (that weren't included in the last link);

Reference real people. 99.9% drawings of burn survivors seem to go through the same "increasingly garbled game of telephone" that Niki Averton mentions with how burn survivors are written, in that the newer the drawing, the less in common it has with how real people with burns look like because people reference from each other and none of them ever think to actually check if their depiction is accurate. If you just google "burn survivor" you will very quickly notice that burn survivors don't have that damn red overlay layer put on top of their skin. It just doesn't look like that, and basic research (aka Google Images search) will tell you that - and still, people color a hand with bright red and think that's how it looks like (it doesn't).

In the same vein, maybe don't just draw an able-bodied person and then put some scarring on top (or maybe do exactly that. No burn scar and no burn survivor is the same, and there are people that fit what I just described... but hear me out for a second). Think about how scars interact with their features - do they have both of their ears? Do they still have all of their hair? Do they only have parts of their eyebrow? Do they have all of their fingers? Can they move the same as before their burn, or are their scars limiting their joints? How did their body react to the post-burn hypermetabolism? Lots to think about. Take into account what type and thickness of burns your character has.

Ditch the mask trope. Just ditch it. There's no need to cover your character's scar from the world unless you as the author think it requires to be hidden, is too scary to show, or other ableist trope that seems to always come up with drawings of visibly disabled people, especially burn survivors. The one exception I will mention is a transparent face orthosis/mask (TFO) that facial burn survivors might wear while awaiting a skin graft early after their injury. But as the name suggests, it's transparent and doesn't work for the awful "ohh scary facial difference better cover it up and only reveal it in some hyper dramatic scene!!" trope because you can see right through it. (I will also mention that TFOs are a very modern thing. Your medieval burn survivor wouldn't be wearing one.)

No "body horror", no "gore" tags or trigger warnings or whatever. That's a human being. If you feel the need to warn your followers before they see a disabled person existing, you're better off not drawing them.

Some last notes;

Throughout this ask I used the term "burn survivor" rather than "burn victim" because that is, to my knowledge, the general community preferred phrase. Individual opinions will differ (because no group is a monolith) but "burn survivor" is generally the safest term to use and probably the best if talking about a fictional character.

Similarly, I used "facial difference" rather than "disfigurement". Just as the above, opinions will differ on what is the best to use but I personally, as someone with facial asymmetry and a cranial nerve disorder, heavily prefer the term "facial difference" over "disfigurement". (I am in this case The Individual Opinion Differing because you can notice that in the links above, facial difference and disfigurement are used interchangeably. The general community uses both, some people have specific preferences. I'm some people.) When talking about a fictional character, "facial difference", "visible difference" and "disfigurement" are all probably fine. Just stay away from calling a person "deformed".

mod Sasza

[puff0o0]

Hes so goofy I literally love him

(credits to @niktocallofduty for the image !!)

It pains me how underrated Nikto is, he's such an amazing character with an amazing storyline. AND HIS VOICELINESS??? AUUUGHHSHSHSHSHSHHDHD

So little content for a guy with such an interesting backstory. Like he was a CIA agent??? and he was captured?? escaped with his life and then became this brave soldier that never stopped fighting to protect those who can't protect themselves??? the torture is sad though :( my pookie bear did NOT deserve that

I love how they wrote his lines and I LOVE the voice they chose for him. It fits him so perfectly it's unbelievable, Gideon emery did such an amazing job with voicing him

His personality is hard to analyze (because he has many) and I really wish we got to see more of him so we could see more of how he's like. The only thing that is helping me is researching DID (which is what I belive he has, if I'm wrong please correct me) and colliding his canon personality with it

its so worth it in the end though

hes so pretty

his eyes are gorgeous

i sob everytime

Not a single time where he looks bad in all these images

hes so perfect

I also feel like so much content can be done with him and it's not limited to one category. he is such a interesting yet complex character and honestly deserves the world for all he's been through 😢

ANYWAYS, SMALL HCs

☆ He is the type of man to distance himself from you when he's upset so he doesn't take it out on you. Most of the time it's him taking a long shower or spending time driving around.

☆ He doesn't really go anywhere except sometimes sports bars, but that's a rare occasion as he doesn't wanna leave you alone too long

☆ but he can't be perfect all the time, sometimes he snaps and it leads to him taking some of it out

☆ He understands when you don't accept his apology and that you were hurt by his words and he makes sure he does everything he can to make up for it and prevent it from happening again

☆ he never wants to hurt you nor does he mean to hurt you. He tries his hardest to be away from you while he's having an episode

☆ he adores cuddling but he will never say it outright. He doesn't even correlate it to the word, just seeing it as a means of showing affection. His favorite way is holding you at night on top of him, almost as if you were a weighted blanket for him. ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡

☆ You always wake up away from him or without him as he's already up

☆ He'll wake you up with breakfast in bed sometimes

☆ He makes you breakfast in the morning, usually he picks but if you want something specific he'll try to make it. He has to practice it if he's never made it before though 𖦹 ´ ᯅ ` 𖦹

☆ His favorite meals are Kasha or Blini ₍^ >ヮ<^₎ .ᐟ.ᐟ

☆ His nicknames for you are: Куколка (doll), принцесса (princess), драгоценная (precious), Родная (sweetheart), and ангел (angel) ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹

[byunpum]

My lost child…

Pair: Aunt Sully human x Spider Socorro (mother and son)

Warning: None. Cute, Kinda sad, Y/N being a good mother.

+REQUEST "Here"+

Note: My baby spider need love and attention. I got sentimental doing this writing. Auntie Y/N would be the perfect mother for him.

"Are you sure you want to keep this baby?" says norm, as you hold spider in your arms, a baby just 10 months old. The first time you saw this baby was in the arms of Socorro, a coworker. You were from the research area, but you still shared with other friends from other areas of work. And it was also the first time you saw the child of your husband's lover Miles Quaritch, who had betrayed you with this woman a few months ago.

She had a smile from ear to ear, showing her son to the others, with an air of self-satisfaction. She gave you a few glances as she laughed. You barely approach the group of ladies now surrounding the newborn. You decide to turn around and go back to the laboratories, you had a lot of work to do and the mission to escape to a safe area, in order to save the Omaticaya was your priority at the moment. After the war, many people were sent to earth, but some were too young to travel.

And there you were holding a baby that reminded you of all the pain you once had. But, what was this child's fault? None. "Yes…I'll take care of him" you say, pulling the spider closer to your chest. Norm watches you, he has been by your side all along, he knows how you feel. But he also knows your heart is so big. "You and your brother Jake have a heart like a chicken," he jokes. Norm knows he'll be safe with you.

That same night you are with spider, in your room. A small room, which had a very small bunk bed. A small dresser and a mirror next to it. You had to decorate it so it would be perfect for a baby. You are preparing a kind of nest with the sheets, you wanted him to sleep next to you. "ba b aba" spider barks, as you set up. "You're in the mood to talk, huh?" you laugh, as you reach over and give him a kiss on the cheeks. And you lay him down next to you, as you wrap him in your blanket. Your face is close to his face, while his cute little hands touch and caress your cheeks. As he lets out a few laughs. "You're a very happy baby… aren't you" you speak, stroking his golden curls. Spider begins to cry a little, and you pull him to your chest so that his head rests on your chest, so that he can hear your heartbeat.

This hurt you so much…you were not able to have children on your own, you had so many pregnancy losses that you had already lost all hope of being a mother. This was one of the many reasons why Quaritch had decided to look for another woman to give him what you could never give him. But here you were… caring for a baby that was the image of the betrayal that those two people had done to you. But your heart was not selfish, it was not cruel. It never had been… you couldn't be cruel to a baby who needed you. You needed him.

His little hands squeezed your hands, bringing one of your fingers to his hand. "I will take care of you… forever" you speak, as you stroke your boy's hair. For a moment you come back to reality, and there was spider, scared and hurt. His body was shaking with cold, as he hugged you and his head was pressed against your chest. Even though he was all wet, you could still feel the tears coming down from his eyes. "Mom…I'm scared," says spider, trying to breathe calmly into his oxygen mask.

You hadn't seen your son in the last 4 months since the RDA had kidnapped him, and now he was hugging you so tightly, you felt like he was going to crack a rib. " Darling…I'm here…it's ok. I found you, mommy is here" you speak while hugging your son. As you watch the boat sink into the sea. Your whole family was together, Jake and Neytiri and your nephews. Neteyam was hurt, but he was okay. Everyone hugs each other, while your sight drifts to the water… you almost lost what you loved the most in this life. You feel a hand drag you by the arm, and you see it's Jake. Hugging you and spider. "Here we are…together" Jake says, as the other family members gather to hug them.

Hours later, everyone was at the metkayina clan, in the marui that everyone shared. Neytiri was taking care of neteyam, and your other nephews were talking to each other. Jake had gone to talk to Tonowari and Ronal. While you were tending to spider's wounds, the boy was silently watching you carefully place the medicinal paste on his wounds. With such love and passion. "And how is he? Did you like meeting your father?" you ask him. Spider just says " mm yes" after a while you ask again.

"And you saw pictures of her… of your mom?" you ask, spider swallows hard. "Yes… and they told me about her. I even saw videos" says spider. Your heart squeezes a little, you're sure they told him about her. That they told him how wonderful his mother was, how he was such a wanted child. "It's good that you know who your mother was," you say, a little hurt. Neytiri was listening to the conversation, she knew the pain in your tone of voice. You had always had the feeling that the day would come when Spider would know more about his mother and you would move on.

Spider can see your face of disgust and sadness. The boy comes up to you and hugs you. "He and that woman do not affect my feelings for you. The one who took care of me…who raised me, and loved me is you…mom. My mother Y/N" says spider giving you a smile. You caress his face, and give him a kiss on his forehead. "I love you too my life" you speak. " I love you more…mama" spider rests his face in the crook of your neck.

Jake had returned from talking to Tonowari, as he walked in he saw the scene. Spider was still hugging you, while you stroked his hair. Jake carefully approaches neytiri's side, just as he sits down and begins to speak, the woman speaks. "eywa gives second chances, gives us something we have lost. It doesn't have to come in the best way…but it will always bring two lost souls together…like those two," says Neytiri, pointing at you. Jake is thoughtful for a moment.

"Am I missing something?" asks Jake, Neytiri just laughs and continues to look after Neteyam. Jake takes another look in your direction. You were hugging your son, he had never seen you so happy, your smile was just like his mother's, right there he could understand everything. Eywa always brings together souls that have been lost…always.

[galedekarios]

Gale headcanons go! :]

thank you for your ask. i'm sorry it took this long to get around to it. my mind blanked.

i want to add that these are solely my own headcanons and just that. nothing more. if you have a different opinion, that's valid. i'm not here to argue or debate about it.

anyhow, these aren't in any particular order, just writing as i think of them:

-gale was clean-shaven before the orb and being discarded by mystra. his hair has outgrown its original style as well. this is the reason why tara hates gale's beard, even when felines usually like to rub their faces against them.

-while gale has enchanted the piano in his tower to play by itself, he can and does play himself when the mood takes him.

-gale doesn't truly get jealous or possessive. he skips that step and slips right into questioning himself and feeling sad/insecure.

-gale tends to overthink, he struggles with anxiety and feeling overwhelmed esp after the orb, but has found methods that help him deal with these feelings and bring them under some form of control to examine them ("please, i need to think... i need to retrace my steps to a glade of calm and think.")

-he cries at his wedding & struggles through his vows

-he never takes off his wedding ring

-while he is very much an acts of service person in a relationship, he learns to accept and love being taken care of and doted on by his partner

-gale is very much able to find beauty in the mundane and simple things of life: beautiful flowers in a garden, the way the light falls at sunset, the sound of rain tapping against the window, the fresh salty sea breeze in the morning, a warm cup of expensive tea, a beautiful piece of art, a touching poem

-he often prefers walking home with his partner after work instead of using portals or teleportation. it allows him to talk about both of their days and show his partner things about the city he loves so very much. it also allows him to clear his head after a long day.

-his spellbook has pages that look like this:

when tara has decided that nagging him to stop working didn't cut it anymore.

-speaking of: gale gets so absorbed into his work and research that he skips both sleep and meals

-after his long isolation and depression, struggling with orb and being affected by it physically, gale is quite slender/willowy (tara has several lines reminding him to eat and take care of himself in an origin run) with a soft stomach and no muscle definition

-he's ~175 cm

-he's touch-starved

-while he does like to cook for others, he doesn't tolerate anyone helping him with the task. he will however appreciate it if his partner cooked for him.

-his tower now is quite barren, except for his extensive book collection, having consumed most magical artefacts he owned

-after his return to waterdeep, he likes to fill it with little things he has collected over time. the space is healing as much as he is.

-gale still suffers from chronic pain flare-ups, even after the orb is gone/calmed

-he likes it when things (fabrics, clothes, pens, books, etc etc etc) are well made and of high quality, but not necessarily ostentatious

-he has an eclectic taste, sort of imparted on him by morena's own

-his father abandoned him and morena

-gale is extremely open-minded and accepting, and will entertain almost any and all thoughts and opinions as long as they are well argued for / follow a sound logic

-while he's not easily spooked or scared given how diverse and open waterdeep is, nothing quite managed to prepare him for the things he would see during the journey to cure himself and the others of the tadpole. his knowledge was mostly academic, save for the stray unfortunate death slaad encounter. he works through these things by compartmentalising. writing them down, examining them and going over them in his mind.

-he hopes that he and the friends he's made on this journey will stay close. he writes them regularly and is elated when he receives a reply himself, but will need encouragement and reassurance to organise a get-together in waterdeep.

-his biggest flaw is not hubris or the ambition in the pursuit of knowledge he held as a chosen, his biggest flaw is his sense of worth as gale dekarios, the imperfectly perfect human being, the person behind the titles and accomplishments and perceived failures and insecurities

-he still has to realise what truly happened in his 'relationship' with mystra and still has a lot of healing to do after the game ends

-in the early stages of his relationship with his partner, he's very willing to please/tolerate, at times sadly to the detriment of his own preferences (drow twin scene)

-while he takes compliments in stride, he still likes and appreciates word of affirmation and praise; his partner insulting or degrading him would wound him deeply

-while he wouldn't be a father himself, he would be perfectly happy to be the eccentric uncle. yet even so and while he does love it, he would need time to recharge his social batteries after / recover from the overstimulation that being around children for a prolonged amount of time brings.

-gale's magic is a second nature to him and he likes using it even for the many mundane things, turning the page of a book, getting a spice from a high shelf, etc

-he's a born sorcerer with a wizard's education

-after settling in waterdeep with his partner, he lets his hair grow out more

-while easily lost in his work and research, gale is extremely thoughtful about anniversaries or birthdays, always striving to find the perfect gift

-he likes reading to his partner or being read to & discussing it, exchanging thoughts and opinions

-it's canon that he does write poetry, i like to imagine he'd sometimes leave little haiku-esque verses for his partner

i'm sure i have more, but they escape me right now so. 🖤

[porkcutletbowl44]

More Simon x Goth!reader

(SFW & NSFW MDNI)

๋࣭ ⭑🕸🦇🕸๋࣭ ⭑

Simon happily listens to everything you explain about your love for goth music and the culture of it. He even researches on the side to talk to you more about it!

He's your man now, you're his girl, you both indulge in each other's interests and hobbies so of course Simon is going to be the most supportive boyfriend he can be!

"So.... What is clean goth?"

(Glaring) "We don't talk about that."

You both are so different, yet the exact same no one knows what to classify your relationship together—so similar in styles, the black clothes, black makeup (warpaint for Simon, and makeup for you), the gloomy aura, you both seem the same on the outside.

But when people talk to you, they immediately realize you are just a little ray of sunshine hidden in shadows, while Simon rarely ever talks and stays close to you as your big scary guard dog boyfriend privileges.

Simon definitely has some art skill, he's drawn on his own arm while on deployment to pass time (and as free therapy) so he definitely does a few tattoos for you!

When they are particularly painful spots, he's got a light hand and making sure you're alright.

He's always making sure you have your snack and drink nearby, keeping your Nintendo switch charged as a distraction so you can be relaxed when you're getting inked.

"Doin' good, hard part is almost over."

"Breathe, helps wi' the pain. You're doin' so good."

You're Simon's now, if he can make you happy then by God he's gonna do it if it's the last thing he does! If you want a tattoo in a more private area, Simons is jumping on it. Researching about the tattoo sight, best needles, best position for comfort, anything and everything. He's not gonna let some other guy tattoo the small of your back, your upper thigh, your sternum, pelvis, nope. It's just not gonna happen! He's not taking that risk of some other man putting his grimey hands on you!!

Sometimes Simon gets sad when you don't let him kiss all over your face, he just wants to show you some love :(

Your makeup might smudge, ruin all your hard work from the hours it took to get your hand steady.

Simon had an easy fix for this, he buys you top of the line makeup that's water proof and smudge proof! Even buys plenty of the made remover to take it off easily!

Now Simon gets to kiss you whenever he wants! (although he very much enjoys when your make up smudges from the tears of trying to take all of his cock, smudging your black lip stick on your lips and cheeks, your mascara and eyeliner running, but hey, it totally adds to the aesthetic!)

Simon loves obedience in general given his military work, but in love with the way you're his good girl.

He knows you live for the praise (and he's very open to anything else you're interested in on the table ;)) you're just so sweet!

Loves how you come to him with a new idea every night, almost busted in his pants when you showed him one of your slip chains with a little skull on the end of it. It's by far his favorite accessory of yours!

"Perfect thing, you are..."

"Fuuuck, you're takin' me so well, princess."

"Eyes on me, wanna watch you cum, want you to watch me cum inside you."

He's gonna pull it up high to maintain eye contact with you, nowhere you can turn your head when his cock is kissing your cervix over and over, he wants to watch your face when you cum and make a creamy ring at the base of his cock.

"like tha', don't you?"

"Pretty, perfect, gorgeous pussy, all mine..."

"Gonna cum? Yeah? Come on, fuck— thas it, thaaass it—"

🫠🫠🫠🫠

[sexydoffyman]

this one is kinda strange

so basically reader is a female, and really wants to please her partner, konig. so she tries losing weight, but ends up exaggerating and it ends in fluff. tysm if youll consider doing it <3!

SAVIOUR

genre: slight angst to fluff

characters: König

A/N: Hope ya liked it.🦖

You were never in love throughout your life. You always tried to get into a relationship, but since you didn’t fit the beauty standard, you were always met with the same answer. “Sorry, but I like thinner girls.” You never gave it much thought. You didn’t love them anyway, so why would you need to change?

That was your mindset until you met him. König. You both fell in love the moment you met. You started meeting more often and it eventually ended up being a relationship. You finally, for the first time, felt love.

Everything was just right. He was a little awkward at first, but he warmed up to you a lot over time. The longer you were together, the more you fell in love. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only thing that came into your life. You started thinking about the reasons why everyone rejected you. You looked at yourself. You immediately started to feel like you disappointed him.

He was a mountain of a man filled with muscle. You thought to yourself that a guy like König couldn’t possibly be attracted to someone like you. It made you feel sad, but you couldn’t just give up. You researched every diet you could. Most of them were just misleading, but you tried anyway. It did result in you getting thinner. Sadly, thinner doesn’t always mean healthier.

You were finally able to look at yourself, ignoring the stomach pain you had to endure every day. You were always tired. You started to get sick more often. Konig never really noticed that you became thinner, but when you started being overall less energetic and more tired, he noticed.

“Hey, are ya feeling well?” He asked worryingly. You looked at him with a smile “Why wouldn’t I be?” He looked at you even more concerned as he noticed your prominent cheekbones. “Have you started taking any new meds?” He continued questioning. “Oh common. You don’t have to worry about anything. I’m absolutely fine!” The more you spoke, to more he noticed that the shape of your face changed.

He finally noticed how much you actually changed. He looked you in the eyes and spoke. “Baby, look at yourself. You can’t possibly be healthy.” His gaze looked urgent. You continued insisting that there was nothing wrong and that he was just seeing things. You kept up the act for quite a while, but you wouldn’t be able to do so for long.

“Imagine if I started starving myself.” That, for some reason, brought you back to your senses. You bawled your eyes out to him, telling him how you thought that he was way above your league. He kept looking at you in disbelief. “Baby please just… let me help you get through this. Alright?”

After that day, he always made sure that you ate enough. And your weight started getting back to normal again. Finally, after such a long time, you managed to get over it. For years, it stuck with you. It was hidden in the back of your head.

He was the only one who was able to fix your problems. Your one true love.

[anonymous-chicken-was-taken]

There is a man named Stanford Pines.

Just about anyone in the scientific community knows his name, and most know his face. It would be hard not to. It's plastered on magazines, on websites, on informational guides about the Institute of Oddology. Stanford Pines is synonymous with the word odd, peculiar, strange; it takes very little digging to find that.

Yet, when it comes to actually meeting the man? No matter who you ask, the answer is almost always no, they have not met him. Everyone knows of him, but nobody knows him. They see his face, they hear his name, they read his papers, they know his arguments. A lucky few even converse with him through email, or letters, or phone conversations. However, meeting him face to face seems to be an occurrence even rarer than the beasts he writes essays about.

Sometimes, he makes a public appearance. Sometimes, someone will see him walking about in some small, secluded space. His co-founder follows him like a shadow, never long taking his eyes away, full as they are of both care and peculiar caution.

Even more unheard of, sometimes, Stanford Pines will do something that interacts with the public. Once every few years, he will appear for an interview, or a photo, or something else to please the magazines that fill up his inbox. McGucket will be with him, every single time, and afterwards there will be whispers on the very internet he created from the people he'd spoken to. By all accounts, Stanford Pines is a very subdued, polite gentleman. Someone who is very intelligent and awkward, and attached to his co-founder at the hip. A man who is followed at all times by an army of personal security and NDAs. "For safety," McGucket will say as Pines' face goes dark. No one ever explains who's being kept safe, or from what.

To the students at the Institute of Oddology, it's even stranger. Nowhere does it say that seeing or meeting the core founder is guaranteed -- in fact, in comparison to other institutes, it's hardly even advertised that he's there -- but it's still surprising. If Stanford Pines is seen at all, it's almost always from behind a screen. Some students graduate without ever having seen him in-person. He does not attend events. He does not greet families. He does not make speeches unless he's being projected on a screen, a stark contrast to McGucket and his exaggerated mannerisms as his very real and present form hovers nearby. He holds no office on the entire campus. It is not unheard of to see him taking a walk with his co-founder, but it's rare enough to be shocking.

Rumors fly. Some are silly, absent things that would seem implausible to anyone who hasn't spent time in Gravity Falls. He's a vampire. He's a robot made by McGucket. He's a whole eldritch entity. Some rumors are more serious, whispered when his reclusive nature rings suspicious among the masses. None of them change the facts.

Perhaps it would make more sense if his co-founder was similar. However, Fiddleford McGucket is the polar opposite of Stanford Pines. He responds to interviewers asking about his computers. He makes speeches. He wanders around campus, stopping to chat with anyone who cares to listen. He's amiable and approachable as long as you can get past his rather extreme eccentricities, with an open-door policy and only one question he won't answer. If anyone builds up the guts to ask about Stanford Pines, and why he's so gosh darn reclusive, his only response is a sad, painful smile and a change of subject. In general, however, if one were to ask a given student of the institute where they could find Fiddleford McGucket, the chances are would be they'd be able to relay the information. However, like so much having to do with Stanford Pines, there is always a but.

At least three days a week, Fiddleford McGucket disappears for hours at a time. In theory, this would not be unusual. There's a section of the campus, slightly separate from the rest, dedicated to research. It takes much clearance to get to this area, for it is full of many very dangerous things. Some of the newer students fall under the misconseption that this is where he goes off to. However, there is a secretary at the entrance to this section of the campus, and when McGucket disappears, no amount of asking will get them to respond that he lies within. There is no summary of what he's there for, and there is no estimate of when he'll be back in his office. He is not there. For those hours, it's like he's vanished off the face of the planet.

There is another building seperated from the rest, barely visible through the trees. Tucked far behind the research area of the campus and heavily guarded at all times. No amount of clearance, or ID, or begging, will get anyone in. This place, most know, is where McGucket goes. No one can be certain, but there's a conviction there that this is the truth. It's the same way people know that this is where Stanford Pines resides. In those hours, McGucket disappears to the same nowhere at all that his co-founder lives.

No one tries to get there. Not anymore. There would be no point.

In order to do so, one would have to get into the research zone of campus. Already, this requires more clearance than most students could imagine. From there, one would have to go through a building only staff can open, at the very back of the campus, where only the most dangerous of research is kept. A security officer stands ever-vigilant at a back door leading to a winding pathway, intersected halfway through by a pair of guard stations. Past them lies a towering locked gate, centered in the midst of a towering electric fence. There is no guard station at the gate itself, though guards patrol the perimeter, even though the underbrush is too thick to walk through. There is no visible way to unlock the gate, but if one managed to get through regardless, they would find that the obstacles were still not over. The acre the fences encircle is thick with security, only some of which is human. It's impossible not to get caught, but if somehow, someone did, they would find themselves face to face with the sloped roof and charming wooden exterior so vaguely visible from the more well-trodden paths.

If one were to make it behind the reinforced door and yet one more pair of security guards, they would find nothing of note at all. In fact, were the windows not so thick, and the place not full of rooms with no place in a residence, and the path not so elaborate, and the whole area not so heavily reeking of isolation and uncanniness, one could almost mistake it for a normal home.

Inside, one would find Stanford Pines. Shorter than his head-and-shoulders shot makes him seem, and with a tangible air of melancholy about him that no projection could ever communicate.

Above all, Stanford Pines would appear incredibly alone, with only security, a McGucket Computer, and shelves upon shelves of books for company. If this someone who somehow managed to sneak in got lucky, they would arrive in this not-quite-a-home while McGucket had disappeared to there. They would find the two of them in deep conversation, and Stanford Pines would appear happier and more animated than most any living soul had seen him in decades, content in the company of his one connection; his shadow. Even when they had serious conversations, about the most serious topics in the world, something about him would be just that bit more lively. The visit would end, every time, with McGucket asking the same question. Every time, Pines would shake his head sadly as he responded; would the answer have been different, they both know that McGucket would have been informed long before he arrived.

Upon his co-founder's departure, one would be able to see Stanford Pines either sigh and sink right back into his melancholy, or the energy persist for another handful of hours. One would wonder why he was so reclusive, if he seemed so much brighter when he was among friends. One -- the impressive, unstoppable individual who managed to get into such a heavily monitored area -- would more than likely leave confused.

They wouldn't realize, unless they stayed within the bounds of the not-quite-home until it was far too late, what the hoards of security was designed for. Wouldn't realize that just as much as much as they are meant to keep someone out, they are also meant to keep someone in.

[oracleact]

« nothing on me »

bayverse raph x reader / fluff + angst

notes: 1.8k words, first person pov, established relationship, gender neutral reader (no pronouns used,) details of injuries and tending to said injuries.

a knock on the window at 3am? that only means one thing: the turtles are here. smiling, I rub the remnants of sleep from my eyes and hop out of bed to open up the curtain. only one turtle faces me at the window though - raphael.

I open the window and help his wide frame step down from the ledge, but my previous smile fades fast when raph groans in pain as he steps onto the floor.

“raph, what’s wrong? where are the rest of the boys? what happened?” I speak as fast as possible to try and get to his answer, worry eating away at me with each second that passes.

my raph is the mass strength and rough hand amongst the turtles. he can handle a lot of damage since he always manages to deal out more than what is done onto him. seeing him bent over, actually using my arm for support and not simply holding me because he wants to, groaning in genuine pain rather than letting out his usual gruff noises of acknowledgment - that scares me. it terrifies me when I don’t know what has happened.

“I told them to check on dad,” he begins breathlessly, “I needed you. it’s really bad this time.”

my eyes widen and I hurry him to the side of my bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. I grasp his face in my hands to check him over, turning his head every which way, but see nothing apart from a few new scratches on his skin.

“what do you mean ‘really bad,’ raph? you’re scaring me.”

“my—“ he lifts his arm and tries to reach for the back of his shell, failing miserably and almost howling out in pain, “my shell, sweetheart. I haven’t seen it yet but I heard it crack and this pain is too much for it to just be taped up.”

I scuttle around his large form and am immediately hit with the sight of a deep crack in the middle of his shell. he was right to come straight to me with this one. he should always come to me with injuries but is too stubborn most of the time and rides out the pain: ‘it may look bad to you but it’s nothing on me.’

when the boys started to properly use their skills outside of the lair, with the risk of larger injuries increasing, I began to research and teach myself how to handle ones specific to these mutants. thanks to many in depth articles about turtle care, I have safely cleaned and covered up small cracks before. the only difference between the boys and ‘normal’ turtles in regards to care like this is their size - it takes longer and requires more focus to clean cracks, ensuring that they can heal appropriately over time. although tonight’s damage will take double that, and maybe more.

“oh raph, oh my…how? wait, don’t answer that. I’m doing my first aid stuff then we can talk about it, okay?” he nods with a sad smile and all I can do is reach out and cup his cheek, returning the expression he gave me. he moves my hand to his lips for a quick kiss before I start scurrying off to grab what I need.

let’s see - chlorohexidine solution, q-tips, cotton pads, adhesive patches and a towel. is that all I need? I have no idea right now; I’m so scared to touch him that I feel like stalling for as long as I can.

I walk slowly back to where he sits on the edge of my bed, his head resting in one hand as the other rubs at his tired eyes. I lay down all that I grabbed from the bathroom before taking a deep breath and sitting down behind him. the room is silent for a couple of minutes after that, my heart beating loudly in my ears. I can’t break my anxious stare away from the crack in his beautiful carapace.

“hey…” raph speaks ever so softly to get my attention.

“yeah— sorry. I’m sorry,” I feel tears begin to form in my eyes. I hate seeing him hurt like this. “I’m going to fix you up. I promise I’ll fix this. I’ll touch around your shell, away from the crack, and you tell me how it feels. let me know how much the pain has spread.”

he gestures ‘yes’ to me but with a frowned brow, “don’t cry, love. everything is okay. I’m raphael, remember? this is nothing on me!”

but I can see it - I can see the pain written on his face, the way his eyes look misty. I don’t want to push him to talk nor do I want to directly acknowledge the pain I can see; I don’t want to break his protective wall at a time like this. it wouldn’t be fair to do so. I wipe my tears and get straight to work instead.

my small hand reaches out for him, gently patting around the edges of his shell then smoothing over the surface, “that’s not bad at all. it just feels tingly, like the nice kind of tingly you give me.” I giggle at him. it’s a relief that the shell hasn’t shattered or anything and he can feel my hand like always.

I’ve spent so many nights tracing over the faint patterns of his plastron and committing the texture to memory. it helps calm him after a stressful training day or when he can’t sleep. it secretly calms me too because it’s just us in those moments, the rest of the world fading away and leaving only raph and I. there’s no need to jump away from my hold to save new york when my touch melts away the city completely. nothing can break us out of that warm paradise as long as we are together.

despite the touch test going well, the cleaning of his wounds will definitely be painful since the crack is open and noticeable. I pour some of the solution onto a q-tip and tell raph to start breathing slowly and deeply. I help him set a pace for it before I begin to clean.

he hisses in pain when the piece of cotton comes in contact with the wound and my tears start to flow again, “I know baby, but this part is important,” I sniffle and reach my free hand for his, “use me to balance yourself.”

“I’ll break your little hand,” there is a fracture in his voice as he speaks but he still manages to let out a chuckle with his words.

“breathe and squeeze, raph, don’t worry about me.”

and so he did - each time I dipped the cotton into the crack he inhaled and exhaled quickly whilst grasping my hand in his. I rubbed my thumb over his rough skin in an attempt to ground us both over and over again.

“one last clean and then I’ll patch it up and be done for tonight.” he lets out a loud sigh at that, obviously glad that the stinging will be over soon. I hear him lowly whimper but force a cough after in an attempt to hide the noise. once again I don’t press him on it, I just kiss the back of his hand to let him know it’s alright.

the last step is to cut adhesive patches to fit the crack, making sure to leave small gaps at the ends to allow air to flow through. this process isn’t all that different from putting a bandaid on a human arm, and thank goodness for that. I want to do everything I can to help raph, to ease his pain, so this being a somewhat ‘easy’ task to complete means luck is on my side right now.

with the last piece secure I get up from the bed to face him again, giving him a small smile to let him know it’s done. I slip myself between his legs and reach out to untie his bandana. his eyes close as he presses his head onto my chest to give me access to the tie at the back.

sliding the cloth from his face, I set it on the bed and wipe underneath his eyes; he looks so worn out. my fingers move down to draw along the scars from previous battles and to check over any new cuts, the pad of my thumb eventually landing on the most prominent scar across his upper lip. my raph, my hero, our hero…with the scars to prove it all.

“give it a week and see how the shell starts to heal. if we need to do more then I’m ready for that. I’ve done my research, you’re looking at a certified mutant turtle nurse,” I wink at him as he laughs and nuzzles further into my hold.

he looks up at me with those gorgeous eyes, the light of the moon catching in them. he may be hurt but he’s here with me and healing in my arms, and I’ll hold this man forever to show him how much he means to me. he’s looking at me in the same way - in awe of what’s in front of him - both of us dumbly grinning at each other. although, he does break eye contact when a yawn suddenly comes bursting out.

“do you want to talk about what happened, or do you want to catch some z’s first?”

“hmm…as much as I want to tell you about how much of a badass I am, I really want to crash.”

he moves to lay on his back before I catch his shoulders with high pitched squeak, “shell!” I whisper-yell at him. his lips form an ‘o’ and I shake my head. only raph could forget about his injuries that quickly.

I slip into the bed first and hold out my arms, beckoning him to follow and to lay on his stomach. he does so almost instantly, getting comfy against me and wrapping his arms around my waist.

“thank you for everything. I trust you with my life, you know.”

“and I trust you with mine, big red.”

I’m seemingly stuck staring down at him, just in stupid awe once more. watching how his eyes are effortlessly closed, evident that he is exhausted, with a faint smile playing on his lips as he shifts around to find the best snoozing position. his shell is now what catches the attention of the moon and I feel satisfied with my work on the crack. I’m still worried but the patch looks good and secure from afar so I’ll take it for it now.

I’m so happy that this brave and unstoppable mutant turtle trusts me with his open wounds, with his physical and emotional scars, with his love and being. this life of ours is crazy in so many ways but I wouldn’t ask for anything to change. well, less wounds here and there would be nice but that might be asking for too much.

[ghostlychief]

Hey i hope your doing well! I was wondering if you can do a oneshot of just ghost taking care of their partner while they're on their period. Kinda like a comforting type thing. Idk i just need some type of comfort at the moment and i would appreciate this so much 💜 thank you

Hello! This request came at the perfect time because i just started my period so, thank you for requesting! The thought of having Ghost as your boyfriend to help you through the aches and pains of it all sounds so nice😭 so, i hope you enjoy the little oneshot i threw together. I also hope that it provides you some comfort, and i hope that you're doing ok <3

--

Heating Pad

Oneshot- Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader

wc: 1062

warnings: none really unless you count periods as one lmao; there's like one mention of blood; otherwise just cuddles and kisses from your big boyfie Ghost

summary: It’s that time of the month again. The time when you’re bloated, bleeding, in pain, and a bit sad. Luckily for you, your boyfriend makes sure you’re looked after during this emotional time.

--

Simon secretly loves how much you need him when you’re on your period. He loves the feeling of being helpful and wanted for something, and one could argue that you’re the neediest during this time. But who can blame you? You’re cramping, bloated, in pain, and overall, just not having a good time.

The first time you got your period when you guys initially started dating, he wasn’t quite sure how to provide for you, or comfort you, in the best way. Did you want to be left alone? He couldn’t imagine you wanted to be around people during this time, but he was wrong. You rarely wanted him to leave your side.

He may or may not have researched the menstrual cycle and learned how your hormones dip and rise throughout. He understands when your energy levels are at their highest and lowest, when you’re most fertile, anything you name it, and he knows it.

He started tracking your cycle, so now he knows which day is your potential ovulation day, and when your period begins and ends. He’s very conscious of the ups and downs you go through throughout your cycle, never one to judge you for having good and bad days. He understands after all, he has good and bad days too.

He quickly came to the realization that you love cuddles and naps when your cramps are raging. You have a heating pad that is never turned off during this time, and can always be found placed on your lower belly. One of your favorite things to wear while bundled up in bed with your heating pad is one of Simon’s large black t-shirts; the lingering smell of him comforts you.

He’s a heating pad himself of sorts, his large frame and body is just always warm, so you love to cuddle with him either on the couch or bed, soaking up all his warmth. Your favorite positions to lay with him are either little spoon, or tucked under his arm with your leg thrown over is waist.

If he’s spooning you from behind, he will stretch an arm out for you so you can rest your head on his bicep. He wraps an arm around your middle and pulls you into him, leaving kisses behind your ear. He will also massage your lower tummy, trying to assuage any cramps or discomfort you may feel. His large hand working wonders. Though his hands are usually calloused and a bit rough, they are always so gentle in handling you, taking extra care and caution when touching you. He knows you’re not made of glass, but you seem so vulnerable during this time and he finds himself being extra protective of you.  

If you’re cuddling in your other favorite position, Simon will wrap a secure arm around your shoulders, pulling you as close to him as possible. His other hand will either be holding your leg that’s thrown across his waist or, rubbing your head; something that always makes you sleepy.

You’re typically more tired during the days in which you’re bleeding, so often times your cuddle sessions with Simon end up with you falling asleep. In these cases, Simon just continues to hold you, and sometimes he'll find himself trailing his fingers along the plush areas of your stomach, and tenderly massages you, continuing to provide you with sweet caresses as you sleep in his arms.

If you were lounging on the couch and Simon found that you fell asleep, he would gently wake you up so you could wrap your arms around his neck and legs around his waist. He’ll carry you to the bed and tuck you in, and place a kiss on your cheek before leaving you to peacefully sleep.

Along with offering you consolation with his touches, Simon also does little acts of service to make your time more bearable.

When you wake up in the morning, you’ll usually find him making your favorite breakfast and a steaming cup of coffee is already waiting for you on the counter. In these instances, you always greet him by wrapping your arms around his waist from behind and give him a warm, long hug. He immediately turns around to properly hug you, swaying you back and forth. You sigh into his chest, tightening your arms around his waist, hands gripping the material of his shirt. He leaves a kiss atop your head before breaking away and leans down to kiss your sweet lips.

If one morning you woke up and there was an unfortunate dark red stain on the sheets, Simon would just coo in your ear and rub your head letting you know that it’s alright. He ushers you to the shower to so he can throw the dirty sheets in the washer and put a clean set on the bed.

When he notices that you’re avoiding his eye, he reassures you that it’s ok and nothing to be embarrassed about.

“A little blood doesn’t scare me, sweetheart. Now go get in the shower and I’ll take care of it.” He leans down and gives your nose a kiss before he gets to cleaning.

When you get out of the shower, you feel much cleaner and more refreshed. You notice that your towel is warm, and conclude that Simon must have thrown it in the dryer to warm it up for you. You change into a fresh set of pajamas, and your find that your socks are warm too.

Like most women, the week of your period generally comes with heightened emotions. You feel overly sensitive and sad, crying at the silliest of things. Sometimes Simon will come home and find you laying on the couch sniffling while you watch tv. He of course comes over to you and makes you sit up so he can pull you into a tight hug, gently rubbing your back before asking you what’s wrong. No matter how big or small of a thing you may be crying about, Simon never laughs at you or makes your feel invalidated. He always accompanies your tears with forehead kisses and warm hugs.   

Simon never fails to provide you with a blanket of protection and warmth as you bear the aches your period brings. He’s extra attentive towards you, making you feel comfortable and safe, which eases the pain of it all.

--

masterlist

[katyaromanoffpetrova]

2 + 1 = 3

Maya is six and will be placed in foster care soon, much to Katya's fear and pain, but Natasha has other ideas.

• Natasha Romanoff x Fem!OC • Wordcount: 1.4k • Warnings: none •A/N: thank you for this idea @drama2005 ! I can't believe I never wrote this scene before. Masterlist

Do not repost my work as your own or translate my work!!

2019

Katya crashed into Natasha's body with a sigh, nearly knocking a pan out of her hand in the process. Technically, she didn't have ''shifts'' at the orphanage, but ever since Thanos was defeated and half the world was blipped back, it was chaos. 

In the midst of that chaos, she—and the rest of her staff—was trying to get the orphaned kids back with their blipped-back parents or family as fast as she could, before the government could come up with some law that prevented it, or made it more difficult. 

It meant lots of paperwork, lots of research, and lots of calling around, all while caring for the kids and trying to keep their environment as stable as possible. Most of them were confused, lost, and didn't know what was going on and what was going to happen. Some had trouble eating, others had trouble sleeping. A lot of tears were shed on a daily basis. Katya tried to be there for them as best she could.

''Another four kids were picked up today by family,'' she mumbled as Natasha set the pan down and wrapped her slumped body into a tight hug.

The redhead hummed, slowly caressing her oily, dark hair. The physical affection was getting more frequent and started to feel like the time before Thanos again. It made her incredibly happy. ''Isn't that a good thing?''

Katya sighed again, reluctantly peeling her face from Natasha's shoulder. ''Yeah, but…'' Dark eyebags stuck out from her pale face like blood in snow, her eyelids heavy like they were being pulled down by strings, but funnily enough, Natasha worried less about her now than a month ago. 

''But what?'' She asked softly, her hands on Katya's cheeks, lightly caressing her cheekbones with her thumbs.

''I don't know.'' Katya looked away from her, around the plainfully plain kitchen and the even plainer living room. They'd only moved into their lake house three weeks ago. ''I spent the last five years with them, I'm kind of sad to see them go, even if I'm really happy for them to be back where they belong.''

''What about—''

''She isn't getting picked up, Nat,'' Katya sharply cut her off, the frustration that she felt accidentally slipping out. The hopes she had for a happy ending for her favorite kid were getting more crushed by the day. ''She doesn't have anyone coming back for her. Her parents are dead-dead, not blipped, and the family we tried to contact doesn't want anything to do with her.'' Her jaw tensed. ''Makes me want to track them down, and—''

''Hey, hey.'' This time, Natasha cut her off before she could get angry, gently turning her head back towards her. ''She'll be okay.''

''No, she won't. She's fragile and sensitive, and she's going to end up in foster care, where there's creeps who take advantage of a sweet girl like her—'' Katya caught herself this time, taking a deep breath in and out until the deep crease on her forehead disappeared. She just felt so powerless. Pitifully, she buried her face in Natasha's shoulder again. ''I'm scared and sad for her.''

''I know, I know.'' Natasha rubbed her back, barely hearing what her wife said. Her mind was reeling with thoughts it had before, or maybe it were dreams. Anyhow, they were worthless back then, wrongly timed, but now… She took a deep breath and took the leap. ''Why doesn't she come and live with us?''

Katya didn't react like she thought she would. The brunette didn't move a muscle, mumbling into Natasha's shirt. ''I thought of it, but… I didn't think you'd want that.''

''Honey, it's been the two of us for five years now. This place could use some life.''

Carefully, Katya picked her head up, as if she was scared she was being pranked. ''Really?''

''Yes.'' Natasha smiled carefully, seeing the hope flare up in her wife's eyes. ''We have two empty bedrooms upstairs. One could be hers.''

Katya fully perked up, her mind going crazy with plans and ideas. ''Until we can find a good family for her. It'll give us time to vet check them.''

Ah. That's why she didn't react surprised before. She thought that Natasha meant the girl would only be staying temporarily. She never thought that she would suggest adopting. 

Weird excitement caused Natasha to contain a smile as she prepared to give Katya the biggest shock of her life. ''Actually, I was talking about a permanent stay.''

Katya froze, her eyes widening. It was nearly comical how it took her a few seconds to process. ''Per— You mean adopting her.''

''We've always talked about kids. We know her, she knows us, it feels right.'' Natasha seemingly spoke very casually about it, but her heart raced in her chest. ''Don't tell me you haven't thought about it.''

''Not thoroughly,'' Katya answered slowly, wide-eyed. ''It flashed across my mind, but I didn't think you'd want it this fast. Not after…'' Natasha nudged her chin up when she saw that Katya was mentally drifting to a bad place. The brunette shook her head, breathing out hard. ''Everything is just back on track. We are just starting to come together again.''

''True, but I doubt the adoption process is that fast. We probably still have a month or two to get used to the idea.'' 

She had completely knocked Katya into a state of disorientation and disbelief. The woman was just staring at her, lips slightly parted, as she tried to comprehend the entirety of what she was implying. Usually, Katya was the dreamer, and Natasha the realist. So this was by far the most unexpected thing Katya had ever expected to come out of her wife's mouth.

''Really?''

Natasha nodded, running her hands down Katya's arms until she could hold her hands tightly, giving them a reassuring squeeze. ''I've wanted nothing more than a family with you my whole life. You know my silent dream of being a mom. Maya's—''

''Perfect,'' Katya breathed, starting to get on board with this crazy dream.

Natasha nodded again. Maya was perfect, damaged and all. ''She came onto our path for a reason, Kat.''

''I thought you weren't superstitious,'' Katya teased. Natasha half-heartedly rolled her eyes.

''Well, after the twists and turns our lives have taken, and the place we ended up, how can I not be? I got everything I wanted. Peace, a home, you.'' She let go of one of Katya's hands to pull her closer by her hip. A light blush spread across the brunette's cheeks. ''There's only one thing missing, and I feel like it's her.''

Katya could barely contain her excitement. She wanted to take that leap of happiness with Natasha, but cautiousness slipped into her system after everything that happened. ''Can we even adopt? With our past, it's not exactly the best background to raise a kid.''

''Well, we did save the world… twice. And the universe… once, so who better to raise a kid than that?'' Natasha shrugged with a smirk. ''Besides, if Tony Stark, of all people, can raise a half decent kid like Morgan, then surely we can too.''

Katya snorted, untangling her hand from Natasha's to drape her arms over her shoulders. Their fronts were pressed together, creating an intimate bubble filled with pure bliss. ''It's a big responsibility,'' she muttered, staring deeply into those warm, familiar green eyes.

''And nothing we can't handle together.''

Natasha's confidence was contagious. Katya's heart beat with hope. ''You're serious?''

''Dead serious,'' Natasha promised, pulling her hips closer. Motherhood was the last thing she would ever think lightly about. ''Do you want this too?''

Katya breathed out a disbelieving laugh, shaking her head slowly. ''More than I want to kiss you, and I really want to kiss you right now.''

Natasha smiled joyfully. ''Then I'm in if you're in.''

Her answer came in the form of a lovesick look that meant a thousand words. The love poured out of Katya's eyes as she stared at her wife in excited disbelief. They were doing this. They were finally going to have that family they always dreamed of. 

The road may have been long, and incredibly, incredibly difficult at times, but this was where they were always meant to end up. Together, safely, as a family. Fate had a weird way of working out exactly like it was supposed to.

''I love you,'' Katya whispered, affection dripping from every syllable so heavily that Natasha felt her knees weaken.

''I love you too.''

[auncyen]

SO WHEN I STARTED Sif having a bad King fight and then freezing (which lead to Isa and Mira being sad), I'd. kind of wondered where that left Loop, and that's like the one part I wanted to get to, even if I don't plan on writing past that.

Loop is...not doing that great. I'm still figuring out how exactly this conversation would go (Odile wasn't planned at first LOL) but yeah there's a lot of "UM":

You got better. You got to leave the infirmary, though they still wanted you to stay in the House itself for a bit, just in case something happened, rather than being all the way out in the clocktower. You didn't mind, because you felt you needed to be here.

Sif wasn't getting better. They were still frozen on the highest floor of the House. You started helping M'dame with the research she was doing in the library, including the secret library after Euphrasie entrusted her with the knowledge. She raised an eyebrow when you started skimming through tomes and summarizing the chapters aloud to judge if you should give it a closer look, put it back on the shelf, or put it in the 'maybe' pile--only tangentially relevant to healing Craft or Time Craft, but sometimes writers do go on illuminating tangents. "I, uh, used to be a huge nerd," you muttered, because it didn't feel like the time to hide your smarts when Siffrin needed a cure.

Odile looked surprised for a few seconds. "Interesting. I'd wondered."

"You'd…wondered?"

"You're the only man I've ever heard sound smarter with three drinks in him. I'm curious, but it's fine if you don't want to talk about it. We've business right now, anyway."

You did indeed have business. Unfortunately, it was a bust; none of the books you found had an insight into healing a powerful Time Craft curse that M'dame or Mira hadn't already considered. Mira looked increasingly tired and miserable by the day, and at the end of the week Bonbon came in the House to visit Sif and came down yelling because someone had left flowers at his frozen form and that wasn't right, it wasn't right, because Frin was going to unfreeze and be greeted by dead flowers and that would suck, and if someone had left them flowers the way you would at a grave that was even worse because Frin wasn't dead. Bonbon was very clearly more worked up at the idea of Sif being considered 'dead' than Sif waking up to see dead flowers, but you promised them that yeah! You'd tell everyone to wait to give Sif flowers until they were able to appreciate them again. Because of course Sif was going to be able to appreciate flowers again.

You didn't want to think about the other possibility any more than Bonnie did.

The four of you were all stuck in a painful limbo. The Housemaidens and townspeople didn't seem to know if they should treat you as heroes to be celebrated or glass vases ready to shatter, and as much as you tried to smile you felt increasingly brittle. It was kind of a relief when a new issue popped up: there was a stranger at the Favor Tree.

So, strangers usually weren't a problem. Most strangers are nice! Accepting the change that strangers may bring is a key part of the Change faith!

…Most strangers, even if they had different ways of dress and custom, still looked…well. People weren't sure if the stranger was even human? According to the scattered descriptions, they had a human-shaped body, but the skin was like the night sky stuck over the House when it was frozen, and on top of the body was not a head, but a spiky orb radiating light. Some people were scared the stranger might not be a person at all, but some new kind of Sadness left over from Vaugarde's ordeal, or even the King's creation, since…well, yeah. He'd pinned the night sky over the House while he was controlling it. And he'd had stars on his armor. And the night-sky stranger was lurking at the tree, hiding, which unnerved people once they noticed the new and unusual presence. One of the kids had gotten bold enough (he'd been dared) to approach the tree anyway, trying to call out the stranger to talk, and had gotten frightened by an inhuman voice snapping at him to go away. So. Even if this was a human stranger who'd done extreme Body Craft beyond what anyone in Dormont knew to be possible, they were a rude human stranger who'd decided to take over a town's Favor Tree.

…That was the best case scenario. At worst, they were something created by the King.

You decided that as an ex-Defender you were probably the most qualified to have a talk with the stranger and try to figure out who (or what) they were, why they'd taken over the Favor Tree, if there was an alternate arrangement you could work out… or to take them on if they proved hostile.

M'dame decided you were under no circumstances to do this alone, regardless of how well you'd been feeling lately, so she was accompanying you to the Tree. Which you had no complaints with! M'dame was good backup. You got to the base of the tree, standing under its crown. You didn't see anything yet, but the small handful of townspeople who'd seen the stranger had said they'd always ducked behind the tree or had already been hiding behind it, allowing only glimpses of them. They must have already hidden. "Hello, stranger?" you called. "I'm Isabeau, a Defender from Jouvente. Well…ex-Defender, but, um! My colleague and I would like to talk with you?"

"So now we're colleagues?" Odile murmured to you, smirking even as she scrutinized the tree ahead of you.

"Well!" You lower your voice, flustered. "That's how I was used to approaching people on the job."

"I'm teasing, Isabeau."

You know, you know. It still flustered you.

…Although the lack of response was quickly growing more concerning. "Stranger?" you called. "Are you there? Can you talk?"

Still nothing, except for the faint sound of grass being stepped on, like someone was shifting their weight. Odile huffed. "You go right around the tree, I'll go left--"

"Go away!"

You jumped at the voice. The kid's description really hadn't done it justice, mostly because it was inhuman, crackling in a way you'd never expect from a human throat. But after the brief shock, you moved to stop Odile from going around the tree. "M'dame, wait."

"What?"

"I think they're scared." The way the kid had described it, the voice had been threatening, but the kid had probably already been scared himself. Underneath the strange crackling, the intonation, the way the pitch had wavered… it sounded like the stranger was panicking. You didn't want to make that worse; you might force a confrontation where none was needed. "Listen," you said, raising your voice again. "You don't have to come out right now if you don't want to, but we still need to talk. Okay?"

"…Fine."

"First things first, are you all right?"

"That's your first concern?" The crackling voice was tight, almost sarcastic.

"Um, yeah?" It was now. "Look, people have been getting worried about you hiding out here, but… it's not like you've been trying to scare anyone, right? You've been keeping to yourself."

"I didn't mean to scare that kid. I haven't scared anyone else, unless people are scared of beautiful stars!"

So the stranger…didn't consider themself a person, but a star? Like in the sky?

"People are, in fact, a bit wary of strange stars after the King," Odile pointed out, which! 100% true!! But not something to point out right now!

The stranger immediately got upset, the crackling in their voice sharpening. "So, what, the King has a monopoly on stars now? Isn't he dead? It's not like you beat him with the power of friendship. Oh, King, I'm sure there's a reason you're doing this! We don't have to fight!" The stranger scoffed. "I know that didn't happen."

"The King is dead," Odile confirmed. "You didn't know?"

"You think I can just walk into town and ask questions looking like this?"

You and Odile looked at each other. Some of the tightness left Odile's posture. "They're acting scared," she said, and you knew from that word choice she hadn't ruled out yet the possibility that it was only an act. But she was willing to give the benefit of the doubt for now. "Isabeau, you're better at this, you talk to them."

…Well. Hm. They didn't seem all right, but they also hadn't answered straight when you asked about that. Maybe they weren't ready to talk about themself yet. "If you've got any other questions, we can try answering?" you offered. "I'm Isabeau, he/him, and M'dame Odile uses she/her."

"…They/them for me."

Odile arched an eyebrow. "But no name?"

"No, my turn for questions!" the strange voice said, but then it fell silent for a moment. Were they still scared, or struggling to think of any? You folded your arms and waited, not wanting to rush them. "You're…two of the Saviors. Is, um, the Housemaiden--Housemaiden Mirabelle okay?"

The question made Odile frown. "Why do you ask?"

"It's a little strange that you came out here to talk to me without her, if you thought I might have anything to do with the King. Not that I do!" the voice said quickly. "Good riddance."

"Three-on-one would be pretty intimidating," you point out. That's exactly the reasoning you would have told Mira if she'd asked to come along, too… but the truth is, she didn't know you were out here. Even though her long quest was done, the stress hadn't disappeared, and Siffrin's condition wasn't helping anyone. You hadn't wanted to toss more on her plate. "We were hoping for a nice talk! Anyway, she's fine." Burnt out, but time would surely help.

Time, and Siffrin getting better.

"And the kid traveling with you? They're fine too?"

They knew about Bonnie? "They're fine too. We kept them away from the fighting."

"I know, but--" The voice stopped abruptly.

"You know?" That…was kind of odd, especially with how quickly they'd shut up, like they hadn't meant to let it slip. You'd reassured more than a couple people that Bonnie didn't actually fight with you, was only tagging along with your group because even if they weren't old enough to fight they were old enough to decide where they wanted to be and they'd made it very clear they'd chase after the group if they were left behind. So the star could have learned that secondhand, but that seemed unlikely if they were afraid to approach people with their appearance. Along with the slip, it made you wonder… "Did you, um. Did we meet you before the Body Craft? …Is that Body Craft?" You cringed a little. "Sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but--"

"It's okay. I, uh, I've been told how I look right now."

You immediately felt a pit open up in your stomach. They hadn't seen for themself how they looked? There was no way this could be Body Craft, then, at least not the way you knew it. No one in their right mind would Body Craft themselves without being able to track the process. But 'right now' implied there had been a Change. Odile had caught that too, her expression torn between wariness and alarm.

[gretavanmoon]

an omnipresent force• ch 1

Chapter 1- DARK PHENOMENON

Jake x reader (we'll get there... I promise)

Words: 10.5k

A/N: Semi-AU// Set six years in the future, the world has decided to cast humankind aside, starting with the poisonous entities that are destroying her the most.

Warnings: Dystopian Horror Cursing, Smoking, Mention of Alcohol, Feelings of Fear and Uncertainty, An Apocalyptic World, Hunting, Violence (mention of firearms), Looting, Kidnapping, Wounds and Pain, Blood, Death & Dying, Burials, Lying, Deceit, Sadness

enjoy my dabbling in the sci-fi world

•

Cheatham County, Tennessee 2030

Y/N

It feels like only yesterday that I noticed that the hillside beside my garden seemed as if it had taken on a different shape, the sycamore tree perched at the foot of it tilted and stretching way lower than it normally did. I squinted in question at the sight, wondering if my eyes were playing tricks on me. The day was chilly and windy but the sun still shone, casting late-evening shadows across the garden ground. ‘Strange,’ I’d thought to myself as I realized. ‘A sinkhole?’ 

I stood from my knelt position, wiping my hands against one another as I cleared the dirt from them.

I wasn’t wrong, the ground was sunken and almost rutted, almost as if it had quietly shrunken itself down five or six feet sometime throughout the day. When my toes poked up to the edge of it, I backed away quickly, realizing that the ground could potentially give way again at any second, and take me right along with it. The wind had picked up as I skipped backward, putting as much distance as I could between it and me. A strange type of fear had taken over my body, one that I’d never felt before. ‘Sinkholes don’t happen here, do they? Don’t they normally occur in sea-level land, or near river beds where the bedrock is weakest?’

Hell, I didn’t know for sure. I’d never seen a sinkhole in real life before, nor had I ever really done much research on them. I made my way back inside as a light drizzle began to coat my face, letting the door slam behind me with the vacuum pull of the wind mixed with my open windows. I sat down at my kitchen table, pulling my phone from the charger as I searched up my grandfather’s contact. 

I pulled the phone to my ear and listened to the tone ring out, and his gruff voice greet me on the other end. 

“Evening, youngin’! What are you wastin’ time with today?” he joked. 

A smile cracked across my face. “Nothing, Papaw… was just cleaning up the dead weeds from the garden. Hey, I noticed something out in the yard, I think I have a sinkhole…”

I heard him inhale his cigarette smoke. “A sinkhole? How in god’s name…? You sure, youngin’?”

“I’m positive. Look, I’ll send you a picture.” I turned my phone and snapped a quick few photos out the kitchen window, showing the land he knew just as well as I did, and how it now sat very, very differently. “There. Should be coming through, now.”

I listened as he puffed his cigarette again and clicked around on the screen of his phone, still very uncomfortable with the thing, and why it was really necessary in his life. “Hell’s fire, you’re right. When’d you notice it?” he asked. 

I sat back down in my kitchen chair, crossing one leg over the other as I peered up at the ceiling. “Just… Now…” My voice trailed off as I inspected the ceiling and wall in front of me, seeing that a giant crack had formed right along the load-bearing wall in the center of my small home. “Damn, Paps, there’s a crack in my wall, too…”

Suddenly, I felt panicked, standing up to run my hand along the fracture. It was big, almost a centimeter thick, all the way from the floor to the ceiling. 

“You’re kiddin’ me. Go downstairs, go to the basement, see if there is a crack there…” he ordered, so I did. I kicked the old paint cans to the side as I rounded off the bottom step of my basement, trying to make sense of where the floor would line up with the walls above me. Sure enough, there it was, the old stone foundation that was holding up the footers of my little home had begun to collapse, sinking down into the ground right in the center of it all. 

“Shit, it’s here, too. It’s bad, Paps, what do I do?!” I panicked, looking around for something as if I could prop it all back up. 

“Get everything that you can, all your valuables, sis. Pack it all up and come here. Come stay with me and your Gran. Don’t be afraid, just be aware. I’ll call your Daddy and tell him what’s happened. Me and him and your brother will come out and assess it once’t this rain passes.”

I felt as though my chest was starting to heave, the sudden mind-bending fear that my whole home was going to cave in on itself and crush me now scaring me more than anything I’d felt in a long, long time. “Okay, okay I’ll be there soon. Thanks, Paps,” I said as I hung up the phone, making sure to snap another few quick photos before I dashed back up the stairs in search of my suitcase. 

Little did I know that that would be the last time I would ever set foot in my tiny little cottage, the first home I ever had after I moved from my parents’ in Nashville after college. I’d bounced from apartment to apartment before I finally moved back out to the country to be near my grandparents. The cottage was tiny, and it wasn’t much, but it was mine. I’d stayed single for the majority of my life, never settling on any one man, finding flaws in damn near all of them that I brought home with me. I was 32 at the time, and settling down into a relationship or marriage was the absolute furthest thing from my mind. I’d cherished that home, filling it with antiques and spice racks and multicolored lace curtains… transforming it into the home I had always wanted while maintaining my steady work-from-home career. 

I remember my head spinning like a top as I packed up my valuables… my laptop and my important paperwork, my toiletries that would last me a few days, along with a few practical outfits that would keep me warm with the changing season. Surely I didn’t need to pack for more than a few days, long enough for my dad and brother to come and see if they could fix the footer under my house and allow me to grab a few more things.

But I was so, so sadly mistaken.

I never got to set foot in my little cottage again. That home eventually got eaten up in what turned out to be the first sinkhole in Tennessee. Well, not the very first, obviously. But the first one that would spawn a series of many more across the state of Tennessee, and Kentucky, and all the way down into Alabama and into Mississippi. 

That was so long ago, now, and the way of life I knew and loved changed forever that day, as the world as we knew it tilted itself on its axis, never to be the same again. 

That day, that very day, the Earth had decided that she was going to rid herself of these heartless beings that someone had decided would inhabit her, stretching and breaking and destroying everything in her power to extinguish all of mankind and all that mankind had created in spite of her. The Earth didn’t need us anymore, and though we were all completely reliant on her, we had also created an invisible force of a blend of scientific knowledge and powerful mechanics that, inevitably, had drained her completely dry of her natural resources. 

No one believed it was the end of days, there was no giant announcement that came across our radio waves and on our phone alert systems. There was no dark, biblical occurrence or seven plagues like those who believed in such things had predicted… it just… happened. 

One day I was weeding my garden, and the next, I was coming to terms with the fact that I had no choice but to thrust myself into full on survival mode. Living with nothing more than what I had at that very moment, and watching as everything in my life dwindled down more quickly than anyone could even fathom. 

Earthquakes shook the planet. The rivers all over the world had begun to overflow, the trees began to uproot themselves and fall like timber. Animals would be dead on the side of the roads, even animals that seemingly had absolutely nothing wrong with them. Birds, bears, wolves… lying and littering the hillsides as if they had just laid down to go to sleep.

Even the sun wasn’t the same. It just felt different. The normal heat that fell onto your skin seemed to sear it now instead of warm it. The wind, when it did blow, made a hissing noise as it’d pass by. The sinkholes continued, even some as big as lakes, swallowing up unsuspecting neighborhoods and taking everything with them in their wake. 

In the weeks following that day, my father had forced my grandparents and I to come back to Nashville, given that there hadn’t been any disturbances in the land there, yet. So the three of us packed up what we needed, saying goodbye to the home that my grandparents had lived in since marriage, and loading everything into their old pickup truck. We made the short drive back home to my parents’ where they had prepared the guestroom and my old bedroom for our arrival. 

My younger brother James still lived at home with them, still young but never having the want to move out and be on his own. He was eight years my junior, twenty-four years old and working on his master’s degree in engineering and technology. Truly, he was too smart for his own good. My parents had allowed him to live at home as he was a very quiet creature, devoting most of his life to his studies instead of being any type of social butterfly. He was strong, though, and never hesitated to be the one to come and pick me up after I’d had one too many drinks at the bar. 

“Hey, sis. Sorry your house got swallowed up,” he’d said as he took me in his bear-hug embrace, patting the back of my head with his giant hand. 

Though my body was reeling with fear of the unknown, James was the one to bring me back down to earth with his overwhelmingly warm embrace and matter-of-fact way of speaking. My only sibling, though much younger, always knew exactly what I needed, right when I needed it. “Thanks, pipsqueak. Kinda fuckin’ sucks, actually,” I’d replied with a defeated lilt. “Didn’t think I’d be living back at Mom and Dad’s during the apocalypse,” I joked. 

I still remembered how his face had contorted hearing that word, still a shock to the system to hear it said out loud. It shocked me too, even as I said it. The two of us retreated to the living room as my parents assisted my grandparents in getting their room unpacked, which at the time seemed like nothing more than a menial task to mask the reality of what was happening around us. Menial actions to make the situation feel less threatening and more like something we could ignore. 

“Is this shit really happening, Y/N? Like are we really going to have to–”

“Yes, James. You saw my house, you’ve heard the talks on the News… it’s happening. And it’s happening fast. Everywhere.” I was always a very straightforward person, getting right to the point of things instead of beating around the bush. I always thought it was a waste of time, ignoring the reality of things. 

“Fuck,” he’d mumbled under his breath, his leg bouncing up and down as he hugged one of Mom’s old decorative pillows on his lap. My little James, always wearing his heart on his sleeve and possessing the inability to hide his emotions. Though his stature was monstrous, his personality never mirrored it. 

My eyebrows furrowed as I pondered him, feeling that strange aura that only siblings share bouncing right off of him. “What is it, James? What’s wrong?” I’d asked, now really getting worried as I watched his eyes scan the room aimlessly. 

He sniffed hard through his nose, scooting closer in the chair. He held his giant hands out to me, palms down, his knee still bouncing furiously. “What?!” I asked. “I’m confused… What is it?”

He swallowed and finally flipped his hands over, revealing to me something that I had never seen on him before. His palms and fingers were covered with some type of bruise-like rash, marks that resembled heavy birthmarks but a very deep purple as opposed to a light pink. “What happened? Did you burn yourself?” I’d asked, taking his wrists in my hands to observe him.

He shook his head. “No, they just… it just appeared a few days ago. It started out like weird bumps, then it’s turned to this. And it’s spreading, sis. I don’t–” his voice trailed off as my eyes met his, full of worry. 

“Does it hurt?” I asked, not prepared to hear the truth. 

“Yeah. It doesn’t feel good… I’ve been hiding it from Mom and Dad, I don’t want them to worry any more than they already are, ya know?” 

I shook my head in agreement as I let my fingertips brush over the strange marks. “Anywhere else on your body?” I asked. 

“No. Not yet, at least…”

“Care if I take a photo, just so we can try and look it up? I’d make you an appointment, I just don’t think…” I trailed off again as the same thought process flew through both of our heads. There won’t be any more going to the doctor.

“Yeah, sure, go ahead,” he muttered as he exhaled and I snapped the photo, my recent album now no longer full of my lavish boardwalk lunches and blurry nights out with friends, but instead screenshots of international news articles and how to tie paracord.

We’d holed up there with my parents for a month or so before our next greatest fear came crashing down over us. Suddenly, like a blackout in a storm, every piece of technology as we knew it ceased to do its job.

The big stuff went first– internet telecommunications and hubs… then went the cell phone towers and television broadcasts, little by little it all began to fail, thus cutting off communication between us and the rest of the world completely. There was no such thing as using your cell phone anymore, and those who still had landlines only were able to get them to work some of the time. Wind turbines, hydroelectrics, newer vehicles… all of it simply just stopped performing. Though the most intelligent scientists and blue-collar employees on earth tried as they might, nothing worked. Nothing held up. It was like all technology had forgotten its only purpose, the only reason it was created in the first place.

We knew things were bad when we caught word that the major hospitals had closed down and had already begun resorting to old medicine. A new sadness fell upon us as we realized that my grandma would no longer be able to just run out to the pharmacy for her medications, and the realization of that was almost harder to swallow than knowing that James’ hands were being eaten alive by something inside him.

But I would find them. I would venture out and get them for her, no matter what it would take. None of us had really bothered to leave the confines of our home, knowing that anything past our neighborhood was probably a warzone of greed and looting. Or worse, full of more sinkholes. We truly had no way of knowing, except for the quiet and quick conversations held with our trusted neighbors over the fence line. Everyone was simply terrified.

We’d already started to notice a strange amount of people walking the streets by my parents’ house; the normally calm and quiet neighborhood full of retired musicians and elementary school teachers was now teeming with sketchy foot traffic. My dad and grandfather wasted no time in resorting to armed protection, pulling out my dad’s arsenal of weaponry he kept locked away in the basement since my childhood. Never did he think he would actually think about using it.

The days were long, and the nights were even longer. Each day brought a new fear to us, a new way of questioning how we were going to survive, if we were going to survive. It was almost like we were sitting around waiting for someone to tell us what to do next. And when we expected to hear something from our government, all we got was silence. It was like they had left us all for dead, never once giving us even a sliver of advice.

There were days when my mother would have a complete mental breakdown, her fearful tears turning into full-on panic attacks that would leave her exhausted and still, my sweet father and grandfather by her side whether she needed them or not. 

Next came the fall of electricity as a whole. The whole world, shrouded in darkness as panic fell upon everyone surrounding us. No longer did we have the simple luxury of being able to turn the lights on and off. Hot water had to be heated manually, and we learned to cook over a small campfire in the back yard. 

One night, as the weather began to cool, the six of us gathered in our living room, cooking over a propane stove Papaw had thought about packing last minute. The wind was blowing a lot colder, now, but we managed to keep warm as the season began to change over into winter. Luckily, the almanac had said this was to be a mild winter, and we still had enough supplies to last us through, but my grandfather and I had noticed that it would be necessary to venture out for food, soon. 

He and I were always on that same wavelength, speaking to and through one another and making decisions far ahead of time. We were both doers, and pretty smart ones, at that. 

“We’ve got to go back,” I whispered to him after supper that evening as we did our best to clean the dishes. “You know that, right?”

His crows feet became more prominent as he winced at me. “I know we do. But the question is when? And how will we convince them that we need to retreat back to Cheatham?” It’d become obvious to me in the past week or so that it was time to go back out into the country to my grandparents’ home, away from the middle of the city where the dangers were creeping in around us at a quicker pace.

“There will be an argument, I’m sure. I know your mother won’t want to leave her home, and she will say that the city can give us more supplies than my farm could,” he whispered. What my grandfather and I both understood was that while that much was true, the supplies would only last so long before they’d be all gone, forcing us all to retreat anyway. Not to mention the stores have probably all been looted clean, by now. 

“Dad and James and I will go into the city for last minute supplies. Gran’s medications and anything else we can get our hands on,” I decided as he dropped his dish, grabbing my wrist firmly in his, holding it steady. 

“You’ll do no such thing, youngin’. I’ll go. You stay here, with your mother and grandmother.” His voice was stern, and though I was a full-grown adult, I knew better than to argue with my elders. 

“But Paps, you’re… no spring chicken,” I said with a hint of warmth in my voice. One last attempt to make him stay, and let me go. He may have been old, but he was still stronger than any man I had encountered in the past few years. 

“No matter. You’re stayin’ with them,” he said, picking up his dropped dish and rubbing the cloth over it again. Deep down, I knew it was because if it really was as dangerous as they said it was out there in the new public, he’d selflessly choose to put himself in the middle of it if it meant saving my life. 

I sighed. “First we’ve got to convince them to leave.” And that was going to be the hardest part.

+++

The next morning, I awoke to the sound of my grandmother shrieking in pain. It woke all of us, actually. My family and I met in the hallway of the freezing cold home, all of us rushing to my grandparents’ bedroom to see what was happening. 

We pushed the door open to find them both in the floor, my grandfather hunched over my grandmother’s body in the fetal position, her hands gripping at her chest. 

“Dad, Dad what’s wrong with her?!” my father yelled as we all fell to the floor with them in a panic. “Is it another heart attack?!”

“No,” my sweet and timid grandmother was able to choke out. “My skin, it’s– it’s burning so–” just as her words stopped, her body lurched backward, her muscles tightening so rigidly that my grandfather had no choice but to catch her. Her hands still gripped at her chest, her fingers now scratching  and ripping her pajama top off, the buttons flying all across the room. “It burns!” she cried.

My father and I crept closer, my brother helping my grandfather to hold her body. I ordered my mother to grab a flashlight, and when she returned, we shone the light on the area that my grandmother was grasping so tightly. And there on her chest, right below her breastbone, right where her heart was, was the exact same bruised rash that had overtaken the skin of my brother’s hands. 

My eyes shot to him, both of us falling into pure panic as we simultaneously realized what we were seeing. 

“Is it a heart attack, Jane, are you–”

“NO!” she cried. “My skin is on fire, right there, right here–” she pointed, and another look to my brother told me that the fire sensation was the exact same that he had been experiencing on his hands. Suddenly he shot up, rushing into the living room while the rest of us tried to console my grandmother in the pale darkness of the morning. He returned quickly with a cloth in his hands, soaking wet and sopped with water. 

“Here, Gran. Let me… this will help,” he begged, kneeling beside her as he flattened the cloth over her rash. She yelped in pain again, her hands and legs growing stiff at the reaction as he forced the cloth to her. But after only just a few seconds, she relaxed, her once screwed-shut eyes finally opening to look at us.

A tiny cry of relief left her thinning lips as her muscles fell limp, obviously feeling somewhat free of the pain. 

“James, how did you– How did you know that would help her?” my grandfather asked as we all stayed sat in the bedroom floor. 

I watched as James swallowed, finally sitting up enough to bring his hands into the barely-there glow of the rising sun through the window. He slowly turned his giant palms upright, showing my family the wounds that he had been secretly hiding from them for some time, now. Except since he showed them to me last, they’d doubled in size. Exact same color, exact same shapes as the bruises on my grandmother’s chest. 

“James, what on earth is that?” my mother cried, rushing to his side to hold his hands and inspect them more. “Why didn’t you tell us?!”

“Couldn’t worry you more, Mom, I just couldn’t add to the…” James shook his head, unable to finish. 

“Do they hurt, son? Like Jane’s…?” my grandfather asked him. 

James nodded, swallowing harshly. “Yeah, and they’re only getting worse.”

+++

A bit later that same morning, James found me in the hallway, bringing his face close to mine as he spoke quietly. “It was her pacemaker,” he mumbled.

His eyes avoided mine as they shot around, his words catching me off guard. “What?”

“Her pacemaker. In her heart,” he said. James had always been a man of few words, but right then was a time when I needed him to explain to me his thoughts in grave detail. 

“Yes, James, but what do you mean? How do you know that?” I pressed, trying not to upset him.

“Think about it,” he said, grabbing my arm and twisting me away from earshot of the family. “My hands… All I’ve done my entire adult life is touch technology. Hold it, work with it… hell, I build computers, sis. I held my phone day in and day out. My laptop… My entire life was spent on them. And Gran, her pacemaker, right at the skin above her heart…” 

His words didn’t make sense to me at first, and they honestly confused me even more for a few seconds, until he turned his hands over to me again. The rashes had begun to centralize over his fingertips, the places on his hands that made direct contact with the technology he worked with. 

“James, you don’t think…?” I breathed, my heart suddenly falling. He maneuvered his hands to mimic holding a cell phone and how his fingers would hit the screen, the rashes sitting exactly where the phone would have touched his hands most. Then again, he moved them as if he was typing on a keyboard.

“Radioactivity?” I asked, still shocked and confused. 

He shrugged. “I dunno, maybe. But, does it not kind of make sense?” he asked, leaving me unable to answer. “If I had to bet, I would say that Mom and Dad will be next.”

My heart had gone from swimming in my stomach to sitting in my throat, making my breathing chopped and anxious. My father had climbed cell phone towers and repaired them, and my mother was an x-ray technician. 

“Fuck, James,” I said, crossing my arms. “It can’t be, what about me? Why haven’t I gotten any rashes, I’m around technology, too,” I argued.

He shrugged again. “Not really, though. Not as much as we are. Hell, Y/N, you spend more time in your garden and with a book in your hands than you do anything else. You lose your phone fifty times a day, you never even watch TV for Christ’s sake,” he blubbered, his voice also becoming pained. 

I was left stunned, unable to disagree with him. But still, shouldn’t my parents and I be showing signs of the rash, if James’ suspicion was true? He pushed past me, grabbing his winter jacket from the hook on the wall as he carefully slipped his arms through the sleeves. 

“We’re going into town. Stay here with Mom and Gran. We’ll be back tonight. Don’t come looking for us if we don’t make it back by dark,” James said. 

“James, no! I will go! It’s too dangerous! Paps needs to stay here, plus your hands–”

“Fuck my hands, sis,” he growled, his face close to mine again as his jaw clenched. I could tell he was in pain. He rounded the corner and plucked his shotgun from its place against the wall. “We’ll be fine. Take care of them.”

JAKE

I’d never seen my twin look at me that way, before. We’d shared everything… every first, every win, loss, every new experience and every happy moment, we shared them all, together. Feeling the exact same emotions at the exact same time because our shared DNA told us that we had to. In our 33 years, I’d never seen his eyes so full of fear, so full of uncertainty that I was sure if I didn’t act, my chest was going to collapse. 

And he’d only glanced at me for a second, maybe two.

We’d been preparing to wrap up the tour of our fifth album when the world shut down. Yeah, we’d all been through the whole Covid thing, but that was no match for this. A drop in the bucket compared to the entire earth as we know it ceasing to work alongside us anymore. It’d begun giving up on us, pushing us out as if it didn’t even know we inhabited it. Mother nature was fucking us, and there was nothing we could do about it.

Just those short ten-odd years ago, the four of us had gathered in that cabin out in the mountains to write what would come to be The Battle at Garden's Gate… running away from the infected world and hiding away from the virus to drown ourselves in our instruments and sound. The uncertainty was wild then, but now, fuck. This… this is something more wicked than any of us could have ever anticipated. 

Josh’s eyes bored into mine, speaking a thousand words before he downcast them, then looked back onto the hands and arms of our sound engineer. Completely covered in purple bruises and blisters, his fingers swollen to the point that they looked like they may explode. He was the first one we saw with the rash. 

We’d canceled the last half of our tour as shit went south, not like we’d have been able to do anything anyway, as all the technology falling to shit would have held us to strictly little acoustic sets. But we were stupid to even think about doing that. We were naive to think we could even go on. That anyone would even show up for the shows. There wasn’t even any point.

We’d heard the rumors about the rash, but we hadn’t seen one first-hand yet, until that day. It was the same day that our mother called and said our aunt and uncle’s home had been swallowed by one of the sinkholes. We were all terrified, no one even had any clue what to do. Where do we go? Back home? Do we stay together? Do we run?

I knew why Josh’s eyes were so cripplingly fearful that day. Not because of what was happening around us, not because of the bewilderment of being faced with a thousand situations at once, but because he was scared I would be next. I knew that, because after his eyes left mine, they shot directly to my hands. 

Our sound engineer had only gotten on board with us less than a year ago, but he’d been in the business longer than any of us had been alive. Our hearts broke for him, as he explained his pain to us and how he wished he could stay along with us, helping to play around with our sound as we distracted ourselves from the world falling apart. 

But we knew it was all for nothing. Things were only getting worse.

+++

“Tell me you don’t have any rashes. Tell me right the fuck now that none of you have anything on your hands…” Josh barked at Sam, Danny and I as we shut the van doors behind us, enclosing the four of us. We’d decided on doing the same thing we’d done a decade ago- retreating to the wilderness to write. Or, whatever the fuck. There was hardly any electricity… how I thought I could finalize anything without an electric guitar was beyond me. Shit was so fucked.

Sam and I glanced at one another from the two backseats, shaking our heads quickly as we both understood we’d be the ones most likely to show signs first, our instruments being ones with the most electricity pulsing through them. “No,” we both muttered, holding our hands up. “Nothing.”

“Good. Daniel?”

Danny mirrored our actions, holding his hands up after buckling his seatbelt. “No, I’m clean so far,” he said quietly from the passenger seat. 

Josh put the old van in reverse, taking a deep breath as he backed from the space of the parking lot. Our decision to retreat like this was a quick one, none of us really knowing what the best route of action was. Everyone around us had dissipated, gone back to their homes and families, and apparently the outside world had truly begun to crumble. We’d been a little hidden away from it all, having just returned from a leg of touring in Greece where things hadn't hit too hard, yet. Things in the US were apparently much, much worse. And when we returned home, we found it to be absolutely true.

Luckily, our families had all decided to meet us there, and hunker down together as a unit. We were all we had left, at this point.

“The first sign of any of it, we tell each other. Got it? I don’t care if you think it’s nothing. If you see it, share it,” he commanded of us. We all nodded and agreed, knowing that if the rumors were true, the three of us would most likely be the ones to see it first thanks to our constant use of our instruments.

It was quiet in the van as we drove through the looted and abandoned city we once loved, people roaming the streets aimlessly as the pure confusion began to set in. There were no stop lights, no heavy traffic, hell, there weren't even any storefronts open. Luckily we’d filled up fuel tanks at one of the last remaining gas stations before the electricity had shut down, and hit the road running North, back home to Michigan to gather our families and go to Yankee Springs. Anything was better than nothing, and where better to be than away from the looting and rioting and hide in a secluded few cabins, able to fend for ourselves and worry about nothing more than taking care of one another. 

+++

Naive, naive. 

Little did we know that our rations would run out quickly. Little did we know that we’d quite literally have to live off the land. Fish for food. Mom had to re-teach herself to can. Dad and Sam caught fish and killed squirrels with his old BB gun. 

There was no time to write. Fuck, there was no time to even play. We spent our time surviving. We’d had almost no contact with the outside world in almost a month. It was then that a few other families had gotten the same idea as us and joined us there, breaking into cabins and preparing winter camps.

We warmed ourselves with the fireplace, and we boiled our water to drink. We collected tools and stashed them away, and we hid every bit of food we brought deep in the basement of the cabin. Many nights were spent gathered around the fire talking and telling stories, trying our best to keep some type of normalcy about ourselves. But most nights we were all too exhausted to even care, crashing into our beds that we considered ourselves fortunate to still have.

I was scared. Of course I was scared. Things had happened so fast that three months felt like the blink of an eye. I hardly even kept up with what day it was. We'd gone from traveling the world and playing shows for thousands to hiding away in unmarked cabins in the woods, praying that we'd survive into the next day. I remember my mind being in a constant state of buzzing awareness, while at the same time feeling so numb and unable to grasp the fact that the world was ending that I could hardly see straight. 

Ending? No, maybe not. I’d read enough books and was educated enough to know that the Earth goes through her changes. She doesn’t care for the fact that we’re here. She’s going to go through it whether we are here, or not. Her job isn’t to protect us. Her job is to stabilize herself through her ages, making sure she doesn’t implode from the inside out and return to stardust to join the other millions of stars of our universe as she’s simply unable to keep the life that lives on her, alive.

The Ice Age, the Pleistocene, Quarternary… all of it happened, and is happening. We’re just here to witness this one it as it does, and record it in history books. 

“Holy fucking shit, man,” Danny exclaimed as we all had reclined on a hillside that night, passing around a bottle of Irish whisky. The wind was absolutely freezing, but luckily, we’d all become acclimated to it again. “Wait, are you saying… wait.” Danny sat up, his curls a mess as he’d long forgotten about his hair routine. “Josh, did you write…?”

I’d been drunkenly sharing my wise words and hypotheses about this supposed ‘end of the world’ with them all evening, accentuating my tales with my grandiose words to make them seem more intriguing. Just like I always did. Just to fit the bit.

“Did I write Age of Machine to go along with the literal historical changes that the earth makes? Yes, I did,” Josh replied matter-of-factly. “Though I wrote it to be inflicted by humans and not the Earth itself, but…”

“...Did you not know that, Daniel? Really?” Sam butted in with a slur.

Danny leaned back on his elbows. “I mean, yeah, I guess I kinda remember you explaining it as you wrote it, but god, that was ten years ago. And if I remember correctly, Sam and Jake were the ones that put in the work for that one because I had smoked a bit too much that night. But yeah, I guess I never really put two and two together…”

I smiled at Danny’s realization, and the fact that it took him nearly a decade to understand what Josh’s lyrics to that song had meant. And how eerily terrifying and ominous they were even still. I would have explained my hypotheses more in-depth had I known that Danny hadn’t ever put everything together.

A silence had fallen over us again as we watched the only constant in our lives these days– the moon gliding and rolling on her backdrop of stars. Without the filter of light pollution, every single one was visible, now. 

“How did you know, Josh?” Danny finally whispered.

“How did I know what?” Josh replied, and I could tell there was a lump in his throat. He didn’t want to talk about this. 

“That song… everything literally fucking happened, is happening… how did you…?”

“I didn’t, Daniel. Of course I didn’t fucking know this was going to happen,” Josh argued with venom in his voice. “Not in our lifetimes, at least.”

I heard Sam swallow hard. Finally, it was out on the table. The one thing we’d all been thinking, all too scared to bring it into the light. Except Danny, I guess. That damned haunting song we wrote ten years ago, somehow predicting the near future almost to a tee.

“Wait,” Danny rolled to his stomach to look at us. “This is insane… man, we… we wrote a song about this, about this exact shit happening… how in the fuck did we do that?”

Just then, a bright white and purple light lit up the dark night sky, a giant ball of exploding flashes so close it made us all jump to our feet in fear. It made no sound, of course, but the streaks of light burned bright as the sun for just a few seconds before fading away, the light burning down into blackness again.

“What the fuck was that?!” I yelled, looking to my brothers for confirmation. 

“Satellite,” Sam said. “It exploded…”

We all stood for a few seconds and watched to see if anything else was going to happen, and I remember my heart was beating so hard that I swore everyone could hear it. There’s no time to fall into fear, Jake. Embers of burning metal fell into the atmosphere, floating in space to maybe one day hit the earth. A contraption created by man and thrust out into the universe to give us knowledge of things we couldn’t see, exploded and died right in front of our eyes.

Just then I watched as Danny lowered his head, turning toward Josh to shove the bottle into his hand. “God machine… really malfunctioned and blew, hm?”

Y/N

My mother’s rashes came next. Deep purple bruises and red blisters began covering her entire body, centralizing over her hands mostly, too. They ate away at her, sending her into an almost comatose state as her body shook and vibrated in pain. We tried to keep her in a cold bath, and it brought some relief, but the rashes spread so quickly that we were nearly unable to keep up with them. We found that basic Ibuprofen did help with their pain control, but as the rashes worsened, the drug was little help. 

My father and grandfather and I were beginning to reach a point of helplessness as we were caring for my mother round the clock, my Gran and James doing whatever they could to help us, while still suffering with their own pain, too. 

We talked to the neighbors, and they all had begun to experience the same thing. Some had even made contact with health care professionals in their families, all reporting the exact same things, with no care plan in sight. The government apparently was still silent about it all, causing riots in the streets and parades onto our public law buildings. People looking for answers, guidance. Anything to help us. There was no such thing as seeing police patrolling the streets anymore. No ambulance wails heard in the distance. Nothing. We were helpless. Confused, lost, and utterly at our wit’s end. 

The day my mother finally succumbed to her rash was quite literally the worst day of my life. We all sat gathered in the bathroom, letting her body try and be soothed by the freezing cold water we’d submerged her in. We held her hands as gently as we could as she cried out in pain, my father nearly inconsolable as he crouched in the floor beside her. 

“I’m so sorry, my love. I’m so sorry… If I could take this pain away from you, I would. I’d take it in a heartbeat,” he’d cried as his head fell onto the side of the tub. 

I’d gone numb. I was unable to maintain and regulate my emotions as life had begun happening so fast. I cried into my pillow the day she finally passed, trying not to let my screams be heard by the rest of the family. I could do nothing. My father, my grandfather… none of us. The house sat silent for hours.

James had sat on the back porch steps as he was unable to grip a shovel handle, watching as Paps and I dug a hole in the frost-dusted ground of the back yard. None of us spoke. Hell, none of us really even breathed. Dad carried out the body of his beloved, his face straight and emotionless as he dropped her lifeless body into the cold ground. I tried not to think too much about the action I was performing, knowing if I did I would surely lose what little food I'd eaten the past few days. 

The loss of my mother sat heavily on us as a few neighbors brought over what rations that they had barely been able to prepare, themselves. We allowed ourselves a few days to mourn her as the weather grew colder, and James’ rash spread to his arms. 

It was a week later that James had become unable to care for himself any more, and a week after that that a rash appeared on my father’s chest and hands. Both of them, being eaten alive by the ravishing blisters, leaving my grandparents and I in a mental state so disconnected from reality that we were hardly surviving. No longer did we care for ourselves. No longer did we enjoy the simplicities that came with life. Round the clock care, constantly. Ice baths, unending doses of pain killers, preparing scrap meals, and trying to get them to eat and drink while they all were being blinded with pain. 

Most of our neighbors had left. The street was nearly empty. Packs of wild dogs rummaged through homes that had been deserted, and what few people had stayed behind hid away in their homes in fear. Our plan of retreating back to the country had been put on the backburner when my Mother passed. And by some act of god, or maybe of sheer luck, my grandfather and I showed no signs of the rash, at all. My grandmother’s was spreading, of course, but at a much slower pace as everyone else’s, and her pain wasn’t nearly as horrific. James and I knew it was because she wasn’t exposed to technology, as much. His prediction had come true. 

First we buried James, and then we buried my father. Right there in the backyard, next to the garden that was now a pile of old, dead weeds that we hadn’t bothered to clear from the soil as Autumn turned to Winter. 

My grandfather cared for my grandmother as best he could, and I in turn cared for them both. Somehow, some way, I was able to compartmentalize it all, my brain going into overdrive as a trauma response, I guessed. I was the protector, now. The young and able one, stepping into the role of caretaker of my elderly grandparents. Truly, I had no other choice. 

I packed up my hiking bag with everything that I could, and convinced my grandparents to do the same. Paps agreed, it was time to retreat. There wasn’t anything here for us, anymore. 

There, we’d at least have a wood stove and firewood. Gran’s cellar full of canned vegetables, and a fenced-in yard with a barn where we could capture chickens and goats that were most likely still roaming the countryside of neighboring farms. Why we had ever agreed to come to the city in the first place was beyond me. Thought it would be easier, I guessed. Bigger house, close to the city and resources. Never did we think that things would get this bad. Never did we think that my grandparents’ homestead would have been the better option. But then again, never did we think we would lose three of our family in a matter of a month.

But now, as a cold and blistering wind blew across the shutters and creaked the house on its foundation, I made the executive decision to move my grandparents back to Cheatham County. Back to their farm, back to what they knew, in the house that they’d built. 

At dawn that next morning, the three of us stashed as much as we could into my Paps’ old pickup truck, and filled the tank to the brim with the diesel fuel my dad had stowed away in the garage. We prayed that their house wasn’t eaten by a sinkhole, and we prayed that everything would be just as we had left it. The three of us bundled up and clambered into the bench seat of the truck, and I mentally prepared myself to see the city I once knew and loved in a state that was going to be no less than jarring. 

I stuck the key into the ignition, hearing the old gears roaring to life. The sound was truly like music to my ears, a noise that none of us had heard in what felt like years. I pressed my foot to the gas pedal, revving the cold engine to come to life even more. We can do this… We can run away…

The sound of the engine ignited something deep in my chest, giving me an urge that I hadn’t felt in so long. It was the feeling of freeing myself, running away from all of the horrific scenes that my parent’s house had just been witness to. It was time to run. 

“You ready for this?” I asked my Gran as my fingers sat on the gear shift, ready to thrust it into drive.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” she replied, her gaze downcast on the street ahead of us. 

“Paps?” I asked. 

“Hit the gas, sweetheart.”

He rolled the crank window down and let a cold gust of air fill the cab as he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting one up as I pulled out onto the street, completely unknowing of what we were about to encounter. The smell of his smoke lit a new fire inside me, filling me with a newfound encouragement. And for the first time in months, I saw a glimmer of hope in my grandfather’s eyes. 

JAKE

Josh hadn’t spoken to us in days. Only the necessary words needed to get us through the motions of preparing meals, cutting firewood, and the like. Danny had questioned him about it again, the same conversation that had happened a few nights ago, when we watched the satellite explode. Danny didn’t intend to piss him off or whatever, but he had just had time to sit and think back on it, and dig a little deeper into the caves of Josh’s mind while we wrote that damn record. 

“This is the fucking New Age Crisis, isn’t it?! The one you wrote about?” Danny had said as mom cleaned up the dinner table one night. “You wrote about the fucking age of machine way back when we were writing Black Smoke, man!”

“Why in the fuck are you just putting all of this together, Daniel? Huh? Those words have been written for over a fucking decade, and you’re just now figuring all this out?!” Josh had retaliated, leaning his body across the table.

“No, I fucking knew it all, Josh! But don’t you think the fact that it’s kind of all coming true isn’t a little fucking weird?!” Danny replied, raising his voice. In the days since that first conversation, Danny had done nothing but appear to be in a constant state of thought. Deep thought. “It’s like you told the fucking future! And that’s just the tip of the iceberg!”

“God damnit Daniel,” Josh said as he shoved his chair under the table. “I’m not going on about this anymore, you don’t see anybody else caring about it.”

Danny looked my way. “Do you not think this is fucking weird, Jake? Seriously.”

I opened my mouth to speak, not wanting to further their argument. “I–I don’t think it’s that serious, I mean, there are similarities but…” I said calmly, running my nervous hand through my hair that hadn’t seen a wash in days. “Josh isn’t like, psychic or some shit…”

Danny slammed a fist onto the table, startling us all. “Why the fuck did you tell the video directors to make the whole Age of Machine video spin, hm? Did you want it to look like the viewer was being hypnotized? Just like you wrote about in Brave New World fucking years before? We fucking did what the literal lyrics said the other night, Josh. Outside, looking at the dark night sky and watching a satellite or a power of lies fucking die, just like you said. Kill fear. It all happened!”

“Daniel! Calm it the fuck down,” Sam said. “You’ve known this, we’ve all known this… he intertwines all his lyrics, he always has… why is this such news to you?”

Danny lurched himself to Sam’s face. “Because it’s coming fucking true Sam!” he spat, yelling in his best friend’s face. I raised my hand up between them, hoping to calm them before anything got out of hand. This was way out of character for Danny. 

Danny stood quickly from his chair, shoving it backward as the rest of our families came storming into the dark, candle-lit room to see what all the fuss was about. “I’m not fucking stupid, Josh. I know you know what the hell is going on. And I want nothing to fucking do with it,” Danny grit his teeth as he spoke, pointing his finger into Josh’s face before turning and retreating up the stairs of the cabin. 

“What in the hell is going on here?!” my mom asked, coming to Josh’s side.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Danny’s mom followed him up the stairs. 

“I don’t think there’s any getting through to him,” I stopped her. I hadn’t said anything, but I wholeheartedly had picked up on Danny’s strange, obsessive behavior lately. “I think he’s…” I swallowed. 

“He’s what, Jake?” she asked.

I slowly brought my finger to my temple, poking at it. “Getting in his head, a little,” I said gently. She gave me a sideways glare before her lips turned into a half-smile, and she finished rushing up the stairs. 

Yeah, Josh hadn’t talked to any of us since then. And neither had Danny, really. He spent his days locked away in his room, practically freezing himself to death and ignoring all our knocks as he sat at his desk with a notepad and pen. It was so strange of him. Completely out of character and it honestly started to worry us. 

One morning I woke and walked out onto the porch that faced the lake, looking out as a few random folks checked their fish nets and began their treks toward the woods to hunt. It had gotten significantly colder, and I could see my breath in the air. As I gazed out, something on the lake caught my eye. 

It was Josh, out on the John boat, paddling further out around the bend of the water. 

“Josh!” I yelled, signaling for him to turn around and come and pick me up. I needed to talk to him; Sam and I were going crazy without the two of them speaking to us. I bounded down the porch steps, rickety and soft from their old weathered age. “Josh!” I yelled again. Finally, I caught his ear. “Come here! Come get me!”

His shoulders dropped but he listened, paddling slowly back to the shore until the side of his boat tapped the grass. “What?” he asked. 

“I wanna go too,” I said, kicking my leg around to step into the boat. The misty fog was just settling over the calm water as Josh huffed a breath. 

“Why?” he asked as I made myself comfortable. 

“Because, you won’t talk to me, and I don’t like it. Figured I gotta resort to forcing you,” I replied with a smirk. I could feel the tip of my nose getting cold. 

Josh stayed silent but began paddling again, pushing us back out into the open water. We faced one another in the boat, my fingers interlaced as I watched him go stroke for stroke. Once we got to the middle of the water, he finally stopped, resting the paddle across his knees. I would wait for him to speak. No one could hear us out here. Just him and me. 

“It was all based on a dream, you know,” he said solemnly, his eyes cast out across the water. 

“What was?” I asked, already knowing the answer but wanting him to tell me more. 

“All of that shit, all the stupid fucking lyrics. I had a dream when I was like, what, 15? A nightmare, actually. A bunch of them. It was like I had… built this world in my sleep-state, like once a month I would have another one that built on top of the last. I wrote them all down, as soon as I woke up. I’d go to these other worlds that felt real in my head, as I dreamed them. I created so much while I was asleep. And the fucking weed and booze didn’t help the matter,” he went on, using his hands to talk, now. 

I was having trouble understanding. “...But, we all kinda helped write that stuff, Josh. Like, a lot of it…”

“Yeah but how do you think I was able to expand on that weird fucking world we built? You guys putting your two cents in, making me think so hard about it all, then going to sleep that night and having the most realistic dreams about it. Then waking up, and turning it into music,” he explained, biting his cheeks in as he gave me a devious smile. “Danny’s fucking right. All of it is happening. Maybe not really in the same context, or the same order, but. It’s happening. We’re watching it. I dreamed about the video we made for that fucking song. The setting, the context, all the weird props and shit…” 

“The drugging?” I asked, remembering jumping from my skin as we filmed those scenes of saline being dropped into our eyes.

“Yeah. The fucking drugging. The big white building. The cots, us being held hostage there by someone… it’s exactly how it all happened in my dream. I made sure of it. And I’m fucking scared, Jake…” he said, leaning across the boat and pulling on the collar of my coat. 

I looked into his eyes and swallowed. I knew why he was scared. If things kept going the way they were, the only thing that would come next would be an entity coming in and taking us… using us for some experimental bullshit like we’d had them do in the video. 

“Starcatcher was a little bit of a break from the norm of my nightmare worlds… I tied it all in, but I really based it off of one of those side-story ideas that you and Sam got that one night. Cults and blind faith and all that shit,” he whispered, rocking the boat a little. “But this last album…”

This last album. 

The one we didn’t even get to finish touring. We’d managed to fit one in right after Starcatcher had wrapped, continuing on with the world we’d built all those years ago. The world that I guess, now, came straight from Josh’s dreams. That one concentrated a little more heavily on love and romance and the freeing of oneself through intimacy, but this latest one, it was some of our darkest work, yet.

“Danny wasn’t kidding when he said that was only the tip of the iceberg. Shit got a little fucking dark with this last one, didn’t it?” he muttered, reminding me of all the lyrics we’d stayed up late writing just a couple of years ago. 

Lies, deception, control, death… we really did get a little heavy with it. We wound lyrics into symbolism with governmental control and all that. We really tapped back in to lyrically beating around the bush. And unfortunately, things seemed to be moving right on par with life as we fucking knew it, right then. 

“Yeah, it really did,” I agreed. “But listen, you don’t need to put that on yourself. Danny’s just… going through something I think. Getting in his mind too much. We’re isolated out here, Josh. Our lives just fucking stopped, now we’re out hunting to feed ourselves?! I think we all deserve to give ourselves a little grace right now, don’t you think?” I tried to reason with him as I felt my toes freezing in my boots. 

He sat almost emotionless, staring at the water beside us as he tapped the oar in his hands. “I wish you could see into my mind,” he breathed, almost soundless. “My nightmares… Danny’s right." He sighed heavily. "It's only going to get worse."

"How the fuck do you know that, huh? How do you know that shit won't go back to completely normal tomorrow?" I pressed, trying to fight an unending battle.

Josh's face turned green. "Did you not hear me just now? I said I wished you could see into my mind...see those dreams that I had." His voice was raising, chopping up with enraged tears. "It's like I'm fucking watching it all come to life. Every bit of it."

He leaned in closer to me on the bench of the boat. "Remember those damned symbols we put on Garden's Gate? I'd stayed up late one night reading through old symbology books and finding runes and shit just because I thought they looked cool... I picked out the ones I thought might go along with what we had for the album. Hell, I didn't think it would ever end up like this..."

"Like what?!" I squealed, raising my hands into the air.

"I don't know, Jake. I swear, it feels like I knew this was going to happen before it ever even did. And that sounds crazy, but I swear on everything, I thought I was just writing about my nightmares. Using them as fuel for lyricism. Never did I think I'd watch it all play out in real time..."

My heart hurt for him. I could tell he was truly internally struggling. He looked like he hadn't slept or eaten in weeks. But this notion that he had seen all of this happen before? No. It made absolutely no sense.

"You can't feel responsible for this..." I muttered.

"No. I don't. But I do feel like I had a hand in perpetuating it. Like I could have stopped it or--"

"Stopped the fucking apocalypse? Yeah..."

He dropped his head into his hands. "Shit, this is all so fucked up."

I watched his shoulders rise and fall as he shuddered through deep breaths, trying to calm himself, trying to make sense of what was happening in his mind.

"So you know more?"

He lifted his head, his eyes swollen and dripping with tears that weren't there for sadness. He was terrified.

"Yeah. I know more."

+++

It was three nights later that all hell broke loose. I was awoken in the middle of the night to the sound of the front door crashing open, and loud, heavy footsteps barging across the hardwood floor. In my half-asleep state, I thought it was maybe Sam trudging back inside after a late-night smoke, knocking the snow off of his boots, but when my gut felt that feeling of uneasiness, I shot up from my bed. I threw my sweatpants and a sweatshirt on, shoving my door open to rush down the stairs of the cabin. 

I was met with Josh already at my side as he had heard the commotion, too, and then we were met with the sound of my dad’s voice yelling and echoing off the wood walls. 

My dad’s voice had always carried, and he tended to be a very lighthearted man, but we all knew the way his voice sounded when he was serious. Scared. 

It was pitch black, but luckily I knew that cabin like the back of my hand, and Josh and I undoubtedly could navigate it even with our eyes closed. My shoulder was touching his as we finally hit the landing, my stomach churning with nerves to see what the hell was going on. 

I was met with a scene that I was sure I had seen in a movie before– silhouettes of tall men in dark clothing, black masks covering their faces as the weapons they held illuminated the space with tiny red laser lights. One had his boot across my father’s chest as he lied on his back on the floor. My mom was shrieking, pushing against one of the men as they held her back from getting to my dad.

“What in the fuck is going on?! Who are you? Get the hell out of here!” I yelled as I pushed my way through in the darkness, tripping over chairs and rugs and Josh’s feet as I moved to shove myself into the man holding my father down. All I remember was chaos. Fists, yelling, darkness… my mind wanting to protect my family and Danny’s family but also wanting to protect myself. It felt as if there were six other people in the cabin with us. And looking back, I think my count was about right, though I could hardly see a thing. 

I heard the sound of breaking glass, or maybe a plate or something as I caught a shadowed visual of Danny breaking a heavy ashtray across one of the men’s heads, but Danny was promptly thrown onto the floor, himself.

I felt the butt of a gun smack across the back of my head, knocking me forward to land in what I learned to be Sam’s arms, stumbling back as he caught my weight. It hurt, and I instantly felt a rush of blood to my skull and a metallic taste in my mouth. The red laser lights flitted around the room, only illuminating objects and people here and there. My vision was blurred and I felt like I could vomit; I saw quick flashes of Danny and my mom… Josh and Danny’s dad… But I couldn’t tell you a damn thing that happened from then on. The rush of confusion was blinding, my body on auto-pilot.

Some time thereafter, I woke up in the back of what felt like a truck, the walls high and metal around me. My arms were bound at my back, and my mouth was taped shut. I could hardly breathe, my head was pounding, and I could feel dried blood resting at the crook of my neck. The vehicle roared beneath me and I could hear the tires screeching around every turn. 

Yes, definitely in a vehicle.

When I had finally gotten my wits about me again, I tried my best to look around and get my bearings, and all I saw were the painted black walls of the truck, and the rugged rusty metal of the bed of it below me. I was enclosed. I screamed from behind my taped lips, unable to make hardly a sound as my chest and lungs felt deprived of air. I looked, I searched- nothing. No one. I was by myself. My mind raced back to what had happened at the cabin, and my memory only gave me that same blurred chaos. Six men. Weapons. No words, violence. 

And then, for the next hour, I was alone.

•

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[literallyjusttoa]

My top 7 Apollo exes from Ancient Greece

DISCLAIMER: Though I have done a lot of research of mythology for this, it is based off of the riordanverse version of Apollo. I won't be acknowledging any awful implications in versions of these myths, not because I don't think they're important, but because it simply isn't a part of riordanverse Apollo's characterization in the books. Also I'm not going to mention Copollo. I love Copollo like the rest of you, but sadly that is a Rick Riordan exclusive, and also technically Commodus is an ex from Ancient Rome, not Ancient Greece :3

Ok with that out of the way lets talk obscure and non-obscure Apollo relationships

7. Apollo & Thyia

This one clocks in at number 7 because I love the idea behind it, but it is the most bare bones relationship myth wise. All we really know is Thyia is a priestess of Dionysus and she and Apollo maybe had a kid once. But like, the idea of Apollo dating his brother's priest? Hilarious, A+ stuff. Also, Thyia isn't just one of Dionysus' priests, she is THE priest of Dionysus. She runs his temple in central greece, is thought to have offered the first sacrifice to him, and might have been the first Maenad? Either way this relationship must have been insane. Also she's a nymph so she's definitely still kicking out there, would love for these two to meet again.

6. Apollo & Hyacinthus

Ok ok I know what y'all are thinking. Number 6?? This is like Apollo's number 1 most tragic relationship of all time!!! And yes as an angst lover I do enjoy the pain this relationship brings our boy, but I just feel like there's not many places to go with this relationship besides what we already have. Like Apollo and Hyacinthus were kind of the perfect couple. Which, like, great for them, but it doesn't give me much space to add anything? I guess, great ship, no notes.

5. Apollo & Hypermnestra (& Oikles)

Ok, half the reason this is here is because her name is Hypermnestra. Slay. But also this is a great place to bring up my favorite little headcanon. In a lot of Apollo's relationships, there will be a child, and myths will have different versions with different fathers. Some say it's Apollo, while other's say it's whoever he dated's husband. In this case, myths disagree on whether Amphiaraus was Apollo's son or the son of Hypermnestra's husband, king Oikles (Oikles??? I love these names). The implication here is infidelity, but I disagree. No, I think every time there's confusion over who parentage it's because Apollo was dating both the woman he's said to be with and her husband, and therefore no one knows who ended up, y'know, fathering the child. Anyways Apollo dated both Hypermnestra and Oikles and you can't convince me otherwise.

4. Apollo & Branchus

I like this relationship because in my mind, I always thought it was Apollo's first. In one version of their myth, it is said that Apollo met Branchus after leaving Delos as a dolphin, which I always thought implied this was soon after he established Delphi, which was really early on. Idk something about a young Apollo accidentally revealing his godliness to this boy he really likes is just so sweet to me. And he makes Branchus into a prophet, which is so cool! These two are cutie-patooties is what I'm saying.

3. Apollo & Kyparissos

C'mon, the man died of grief because his deer died. Throughout ToA we learn that deep down Apollo is a mushy ball of emotions and compassion, and that convinced me that these two spent 75% of their relationship crying over baby animals and pretty people. I love the idea of Apollo dating someone who's honestly just as much of a loser as he is. And while it is sad that Kyparissos is another lover Apollo had to turn into a plant, I have to emphasize again that he died of heartbreak, because his pet deer died.

2. Apollo & Cyrene

Listen, these two are boss bitches and you cannot convince me otherwise. In the same way I like Kyparissos bc I feel like he and Apollo are so similar, I like Cyrene bc I feel like, in a lot of ways, these two are very different. Like, don't get me wrong, Apollo can be strong and wild when he wants to be, but Cyrene wrestles lions. I like to think the time these two spent together really helped each of them grow in their own way, which makes for a really fun and interesting relationship. Also, just like Thyia, Cyrene is sometimes referred to as a nymph, so she could still be out there!

1. Apollo & Admetus

The more I think about these two, the more I love them. Admetus meeting Apollo at his lowest and helping him through it. Apollo falling head over heels as a result and doing everything in his power to repay the man. The two of them still holding such strong affection for each other even decades after the time they had together, to the point that Apollo would mess with fate to extend Admetus' life. Apollo's life is full of turmoil, and this period of it was probably the worst, but despite that, his relationship with Admetus seems so steady. The other gods are said to be embarrassed of Apollo's love of Admetus, and I think it's because Apollo loved him in a way that went directly against the values of the gods. Apollo and Admetus' relationship was defined by service and care, filled with selfless intent and genuine love. While many gods give their lovers gifts and special favors, the idea of actually going into servitude for someone you love is as ungodly as you can get. Apollo spent time with Admetus, and he wasn't possessive of him, helping him to find a wife after their time together was through. I think this relationship is a great example of how Apollo, even in his lowest moments, is a genuine and caring person, and how that often separates him from the rest of his family. Also these two are just cute and they both love cows and they're cows in love.