#in the context of the writing.

[orcelito]

ok im looking back at the WIP for libero a due chapter 3 and. god. i still fucking love this SO much.

posting a scene excerpt of it here (under the cut) bc im really proud of this actually. and i want people to see it.

Check Out my violinist akechi band au excerpt, HERE:

Only after the water was off and Goro was grabbing a paper towel did Kurusu speak. "Akechi, what happened back there?" 

Goro took his time blotting at his mouth so he could think. He didn't know how much he should say, nor how much Kurusu would be willing to hear. He still wasn't certain he wouldn't just break down crying if he thought about it too much. 

… But Kurusu was here. As promised, he came to his concert. After all of his help this week, maybe he deserved a bit of an explanation. 

With a sigh, Goro wadded up the paper towel and threw it into the trash can. "That was a producer and his executives. They want to recruit me." 

Kurusu's voice was confused as he replied, "That's… good, isn't it? I thought that was what you wanted."

What he wanted, huh? 

Goro shook his head, still not looking up at him. "What I want doesn't matter here. It's what needs to happen, but I…" He thought back to the way the marketing officer looked at him and bared his teeth in a grimace. "Everything about this is fucking awful." 

"… 'What needs to happen'? What do you mean?"

Goro huffed a bitter laugh. "Exactly what I said. I need to sign onto someone before I graduate. I don't have any other options." 

There was a pause, and then Kurusu let out a soft sigh. "Can you explain it in a way that makes sense? Why are you talking like you don't have a choice here?" 

Goro thinned his lips, clenching his hands in and out of fists as he thought. "It's… It's just my circumstances. I don't have a choice." 

Kurusu took a step closer, though he didn't try to touch him again. "Please, Akechi. Tell me what's going on." 

Tentatively, Goro looked up at him… and found him staring back in that painfully caring way he always did. 

Goro fucking hated him. 

Clenching his fingernails into his palms, Goro answered, "I'm under contract. I mentioned that I have a sponsor. This is the stipulation. I have to sign onto a producer by the time I graduate, or else I am going to have to pay all his monetary assistance back in full." 

Kurusu blinked in surprise. "You… what? Why would he…?" 

Goro snarled, "Because he's an opportunistic piece of shit that knew I didn't have any other choice." He began clenching and unclenching his fists again. "It was this or starving, and he knew that. I figured it'd be worth it, figured it wouldn't be this hard to get into the industry, but it's fucking difficult." He let out a bitter laugh. "And he doesn't care. I bet he wouldn't care even if I had to suck dick to make it happen."

"You- wait, what?" 

Goro began angrily pacing back and forth across the small space. He continued clenching and unclenching his fists. "That's the standard, of course. You don't make it far in show business unless you're well-connected, extremely talented, or great at sucking dick. I'm a dirty fucking orphan, so of course I'm not well-connected. I've refused to let any of them touch me, so sex isn't an option. This just leaves talent, which isn't nearly as important as you'd expect it to be." He breathed another bitter laugh. "I've leaned hard into talent, practicing until my fingers have nearly fallen off, but even then, it's not enough. It always comes back to my stupid- fucking- looks-" 

In anger, he kicked the wall- then again, this time even harder- 

"Akechi," Kurusu called. "Slow down. Please."

Goro's breaths were coming in labored little huffs. His palms stung from how deep his fingernails dug, and his foot ached… kind of a lot, actually. 

Fuck. What a display he was making to the man he was falling in love with. 

Goro made a frustrated noise at the back of his throat. "I'm just- for all the fucking work I put into this, thousands upon thousands of hours, they're still only considering me because of my looks. They don't care about how skilled I am. They just want a pretty face they can sell." He laughed, loud and bitter. "I bet they're hoping they can wear me down, in time. Because in the end, all anyone ever fucking wants is to use me." 

To his bitter dismay, his eyes were starting to burn. It caused one more flare of anger, spurring him to kick the wall as hard as he could- 

Fuck. Involuntarily, he let out a wounded noise at how much it hurt-

"Akechi." A hand wrapped around Goro's bicep, pulling him from the wall. "Please. Stop hurting yourself." 

Surprisingly, the touch didn't make him want to tear off his own skin this time. Instead, he kind of just wanted to cry. 

Fuck it. Deciding he was too upset to care, Goro turned with the movement to crumple against Kurusu's chest. He fought against his tears even as he rested his forehead to Kurusu's shoulder. In a harsh whisper, he told him, "I'm just so fucking tired of this, Kurusu." 

Kurusu froze. Then ever so slowly, he released Goro's bicep, only to wrap his arms around Goro's shoulders in a hug. 

Ah. That was the final straw. 

In horrid, choked sobs, Goro began to cry. All of his anger and despair washed over him, leaving him wondering for the millionth time how the world could be so cruel. 

Kurusu let out a slow breath, then tightened his hold around Goro's shoulders to squeeze him in a firm, steady hug. 

It was comforting in a way Goro hadn't experienced in a long, long time.

[bamsara]

I love blocking people I've never interacted with based off their replies on some random popular post. Wow random user on a post with 50k notes with the worst take ever, I hope I never meet you and will make sure we never do

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Phonecall

[A cut-out scene from a fic I may never write]

Tim watches Cass tilt her head to the side. It's not an alarmed gesture, more of an indicator that she's seeing something interesting but has not decided what exactly. Meanwhile, John takes the phone away from his ear and points it, screen forward, to the empty space between him and the Bats.

What happens next, Tim can only describe as squeezing an elephant through the eye of a needle, only, somehow, literally. Constantine's phone lights up in toxic green, the same color most Bats know intimately, and Tim hears Jason's sharp gasp. Then, the green spills over the edge of the screen, slowly forming a hand, then a shoulder and a head, then another hand, chest, stomach, and, before any of them can ask what is going on, a boy steps on the stone floor of the Cave.

At first, he looks green and kind of gooey, a semi-transparent body made of Lazarus Waters with something akin to a snowball resting in the middle of his chest. But then, the colors start bleeding into him from inside, making his skin a pale, whitish gray, and his hair snow white. The clothes he wears are also monochrome, with a black cropped hoodie over a turtleneck, black pants, and white gloves and boots.

The boy opens his eyes. Those are still entirely green, like two swirling vortexes of Lazarus inside his eyesockets.

"Ew, I hate traveling through tech," the boy grimaces and shakes his hands out, like getting rid of an unpleasant feeling. His voice sounds a little off, like there's an additional echo to it, but, as he turns to the Bats, a white ring forms over his waist and separates in two, traveling up and down his body. When the light of them fades, in front of them stands the very same boy, only now he looks a lot more human. Black messy hair, icy blue eyes, red oversized hoodie and black cargo pants, a slightly slouched posture, and a dazzling smile.

[quadrantadvisor]

Thinking about DP x DC Jason Todd being a revenant again. Here's my scenario. Jason gets called that by some ghost. He's like "what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" He's heard the term before but he doesn't know any actual lore. He googles it. He scrolls past the Leonardo DiCaprio bear movie. He opens the wiki. Sees the words "animated corpse" and gets a chill diwn his spine. He starts reading the first section.

He closes Wikipedia.

That night he has a nightmare that his family buried him, again, this time with precautions. He wakes up in his own grave, full of stones, too heavy to move, to scream.

[secretagentspydetectiveninja]

posting this with absolutely no context

[shesnake]

hello here's my little Armand essay. spoilers for season 2 and content warnings for discussions of racism, csa, intimate partner violence.

[starry-songs-canvas]

Take Care of Him

The boy, who had Damian’s face, couldn’t be more different than Dick’s (alive?) baby brother.

Aside from his Snow White hair, he smiled and laughed freely, making puns on top of his embarrassing story about his supposed twin brother.  

(“Clones don’t have childhood memories right?  So if I have an embarrassing story or two, that’ll give you a way to check that I’m not a clone AND give you ammunition for teasing!”)

“—And that’s how his face—and his pride—was forever wounded by Sparta the warrior cat!”  Danny finished his story with a flourish, cracking up immediately after.

“Huh, and to think he left it at “training”, obviously he didn’t think anyone would let the cat out of the bag.”  Dick said, laughing even as he eyed the lookalike.

Danny snorted.  “Yeah, I doubt he thought anything as Cat-astropic as that would happen.”

They sat in silence for a moment, overlooking the buildings below, with the Dalv. Co. Labs smoking in the distance and the breeze blowing past the two, yet only seeming to affect Nightwing and not the phantom beside him.

“Is he safe?  Is he happy?” Danny murmurs as he looks up at the stars, looking every bit the forlorn ghost he claimed to be.

“…We keep each other safe.  And I’d say once he got past the stabbing faze, he’s pretty happy in Gotham.”

“But I’m sure it’d make him happy to see you again.”  Dick thought back to the comments the vampire-ghost they’d fought earlier.  It didn’t sound exactly, “happy” or “safe” for Danny.  Or anyone else involved.

Danny shook his head.  “Nah.  He’s… moved on.  And with how crazy my after-life is?  I’m already dealing with ghosts, ghost-hunters, and my—err—that frootloop from earlier.  I do not need to add furries and murder-ninjas to the mix.”

Danny sighed as he floated into a standing position.  “Speaking of which, if you could just, maybe not tell him you saw me?  Better to let dead dogs lie.”

Danny’s piercing Lazarus green eyes looked at Dick and he saw the exact same expression B had on whenever he “had to do it alone”.

“Just, take care of him, Kay?  Or I’ll haunt you to the ends of the universe!”  He said, throwing up a peace sign as he turned invisible.

Dick snorted, “Yeah, sure kid.”

Dick got up and started off toward the bat-plane.  He had a brother to interrogate, and another brother/clone of his brother to find.

[zedif-y]

HELP

[baconkath]

to all non spanish speaking content creators out there, I beg you:

do not use the term “mija”

“Mija“ is a term your mom uses

“Mija“ is a term your grandma probably uses 

why? because it is “mi hija” shortened, as in “my daughter”. It is not really a term your romantic partner would use when referring to you. In my opinion, it´s kinda cringy and a turn off

remember, just because you saw an endearment in another language it doesn’t mean it can be applied to all situations

it’s a little deppressing when there are a lot of prettier endearments out there:

amor, mi amor = love, my love

cielo, mi cielo = heaven, my heaven (?) or a placeholder for darling

corazón = heart

tesoro = treasure

vida, mi vida = life, my life

[smallpwbbles]

You shouldn't be seeing the girl you let die watched die?

[originalartblog]

Happy Valentine's day! 💖

(comic continues below) ⤵

Dazai proceeded to almost pass out while trying to tell Chuuya to take that thing off before it kills him.

Bonus 👀

[eloquent-edits]

🗡️ “Do not stray far from me.”

I don’t want you to get hurt 🗡️ protective dialogue prompts

“What in the gods’ holy names was that?! I–We could’ve lost you.”

“At the party C sort of kept cornering me…” “What? Are you okay? Did they do anything to you?”

“Stay back.”

“Who did this to you? I just want to talk to them.” (that’s a LIE AND THEY KNOW IT)

“The idea of you getting hurt doesn’t sit well with me.”

“I don’t like the things they said about you. You’re nothing like what they think you are.”

“I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re okay.”

“My duty is to ensure your safety at all times, no matter the cost to my life.”

“If you dare lay a finger on their head, I will have yours served on a silver platter.”

“These walls are meant to protect you, the world out there is far too dangerous for someone like you.” (villain arc??? 👀)

“I’m right here. You’re safe.”

“Say my name and I will be there. I promise.” (thank you daredevil for inspiring this one)

“I’ll take a sword through the heart before they ever reach you.”

“I should’ve been there. This shouldn’t have happened to you.”

“Will you let me know when you’re back safely?”

“I will kill you and everyone you love if it’s the last thing I do.” “It’ll be the last thing you try.”

“You’re worth saving.”

“My house is a safe haven. Go there if you’re ever in danger and we will take care of you.”

“Get away from them!”

“You don’t need to protect me.” “I want to.”

[bamsara]

Lambert when the follower they were talking to suddenly gets scared and they haven't checked on Narinder in a while

[psychotic-nonsense]

In October of 1967, Steve Harrington is born in Hawkins, Indiana.

He's raised there, forced to live under the strict expectations of his parents, Richard and Samantha. Barely escapes their clutches, freedom fueled by the kids and adults that take the role of guardian and family when the time is right. Keeps himself in check with the always impending apocalypses that arise beneath his feet.

In June of 1985 - when Steve Harrington is 18, while Richard and Samantha Harrington are visiting New York for an extended work trip - Veronica Harrington is born.

She was carried and raised in secret from their hometown. They take care of her between their business hours, dropping her in the hands of nannies and babysitters galore. They don't even think of Indiana during Veronica's early childhood, too focused on work and making sure their daughter starts up right.

In October of 1986 - when Steve Harrington is 19, aged further by ending the Vecna War, yet tamed by his newfound love in Eddie Munson - Richard and Samantha Harrington return to Hawkins.

They don't ask about what happened to their son. They don't ask about the town. They don't ask questions, just give responses to them. Sneering at Steve's friends, complaining about the state of the house, commenting at the disfunctional chaos their home has become.

In November of 1986, Richard and Samantha Harrington disown Steve.

They just let him go. They at least give him a folder of his legal documents, but otherwise just tell him to get out of their house and never use their name again. Claiming Steve doesn't need anything from the room because the Harrington's own everything in it. They don't call him son, they don't say goodbye, they don't acknowledge who's actually taken care of the house, they don't admit most of Steve's former room has changed with money Steve earned himself, they don't dare to give him any money or care where he goes. They just say they're sick of dealing with an unworthy mistake of a child, and force him out of their house.

In November of 1986, the Party's adults adopt Steve.

He runs to them first after everything happens. Held himself together at the start, but broke down the second the words were out. While everyone was trying to comfort Steve, Wayne Munson and Jim Hopper were the first to succeed. They know firsthand that this family would never be the same as blood, no matter how much that blood has boiled and burned before, but the love will be stronger and it will be here. When everyone seconds it, Steve finally accepts it. He becomes a child of the Party - he's everyone's son and everyone's brother, taking whatever surname he sees fit.

In November of 1986, Steve Henderson and Eddie Munson leave Hawkins.

Despite all this good, Steve can't bear to stay in this damned town a second longer, where everyone knows who he is and will soon know everything he isn't. And it's not like Eddie was looking forward to sticking around Hawkins either, especially without his Steve. The kids are the first to agree, surprisingly, and the adults promise to find a way for the boys to get out. Later that week, when Richard and Samantha leave the house to prepare for Veronica, Steve and Eddie break in to take everything that's rightfully theirs. While they're there, not sure what prompts him, Steve makes a bag of his clothes with shoes and his wallet tucked within it, shoving it into his closet. Dustin's mom uses an old favor to get the boys an apartment in Chicago, the Party has one last farewell, and the two boys are gone.

From 1986 onward, Veronica Harrington is raised in Hawkins, Indiana.

Richard and Samantha are adamant in their daughter coming out exactly how she should. They steadily convince the town to forget the Harringtons ever had a son and lock the room on the second floor next to the stairs without ever touching the inside. They raise her with formality and pride at the top of their expectations, wanting at least one child to come out right.

But Veronica is the spitting image of Steve's honesty and care. She puts on a facade when needed, but even at a young age, she wants nothing more than to be someone's light in the darkness. She plays with every lonely kid at school, and tries to make people laugh at the business parties she's dragged to. It's not received well by her parents, but Veronica is much too strong willed and stubborn to let it phase her.

In April of 1991 - when she's 6 and they're so much stronger around their hearts - Veronica Harrington meets Steve and Eddie Munson for the first time.

It's the year Erica is set to graduate high school. Steve and Eddie have been making the drive for every holiday this year, ordered determined to give her the best senior year she could have. It's Easter Sunday, and Wayne somehow managed to drag his boys away to church - a Munson custom, as even Eddie insisted they go.

While at the snack table post sermon, a little girl comes up to Steve, mistaking him for her father. He and Eddie gently comfort the girl, introducing themselves and offering to help the girl find her parents. That's when Veronica introduces herself, striking Steve deep in his heart. Still, he keeps quiet, even gifting her a little origami crane made from napkins at the table. He calls her "chickpea" for the color of her dress, tells her to keep the crane secret and safe, "If ever you need to find your way back home, you hold that close, and it'll tell you."

Meanwhile, Wayne has come across Richard and Samantha in the crowd opposite the kids. Exchanging formalities, Wayne mentions his son and nephew are in town, news the Harrington's are surprised at, as Wayne didn't seem like the father type. However, trying to keep face, they remain civil and insist on introducing their daughter.

Cue Veronica running to her parents with Steve and Eddie in tow. Cue Steve calling Wayne dad right to Richard's face. Cue the Harrington's immediate leave from the church, Veronica waving behind her with a crane placed carefully in her pocket.

From then on, Veronica Harrington's life changes indefinitely.

Her parents' expectations grow tenfold. She finds out she's horribly allergic to chickpeas. All of her friends must be approved by her parents, and any that don't fit their image are ordered to leave her.

Veronica takes these changes in stride - is her class's top student, captain of the softball and volleyball teams in junior high, keeps the friends she wants in secret from her parents - but she can't help but keep the crane in a little box in her room. Gets a necklace with a little origami crane pendant, holds it whenever she needs to make a hard choice. Can't help but expand herself in secret, learn things her parents would never approve of - lock picking, other languages, sleight of hand, a clothing style that's nothing like the dark blues of her family, all warmth and light. She explores every room in her house, yet is unable to find her way into that room upstairs next to the steps.

In May of 1998, Veronica Harrington discovers the truth about her brother.

She's about to be a freshman. Her class was touring the high school in preparation, and while passing the athletics hall, her eyes hit the swimming trophies. Each row stuffed with trophies, and each one with a name that stabbed her right in the stomach: Steve Harrington.

After that, she couldn't bear all the secrecy anymore. Late that same night, she finally uses her lock picking skills to break into that room. And though it's devoid of life, it is a bedroom, so evidently lived in. It's frozen in time, twisted sheets covered in dust, old papers crinkled from being stepped on but not picked up, old clean clothes still sitting in the hamper. It's a boy's room, clearly, and Veronica is careful walking around this place of memories.

She does still explore, quietly clicking on lights around the room, too cautious to touch the overhead lights. She looks under the bed, finding a bat and a trash can lid, both embedded with rusty nails. A shirt that still smells like fresh laundry yet has a back stained permanently with long red lines down the shoulders. Dozens of stapled documents labeled NON-DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT, detailing horrific events that each have that same name signed at the bottom.

With shaking hands she checks the closet, and finds it mostly empty. All except for a deep green graduation robe and cap, a cream Hawkins High letterman, and a duffel bag hidden in the back corner. The cap has a 1985 tassel, and the letterman has Harrington branded on the back with basketball and swimming patches galore. And the bag, when she checks it, looks like a survivalist pack someone would make in an apocalypse. At the top sits a wallet, and inside is an ID for a Steve Harrington, who has the same face as the one in her origami memories.

And Veronica is done. She wakes up the next morning and throws Steve's jacket on the kitchen table, startling both her parents mid sip of coffee. She finds herself in a screaming match with her father, demanding them to quit lying to her, begging to know who her brother is.

In a fit of rage, Richard tells her. Tells her everything Richard and Samantha never saw in Steve, about Veronica's secret birth, the disownment, Steve's disappearance from the Harrington house and Hawkins. She's reminded of that one Easter Sunday, and is told how Richard and Samantha faked Veronica's allergy to keep her mind from being tainted by whatever curse befell their bloodline before. Orders her to never say that name again.

In a fit of rage, Veronica bites back. Calls her parents cruel and overly expectant. Comes clean about her secret freedom. Says she'd rather be nothing than ever carry the burden of the Harrington name ever again.

She hides away in her room after the fight. Cries in her closet with her origami box cradled tightly to her chest, begging it to take her home because this place isn't anymore, maybe never was. Cries for the brother she never even got to meet, who went through so many horrible things yet still got put through this same punishment. Cries for the future she won't get to have, losing her hope for a new beginning that will now never be.

At the start of June, 1998, Veronica runs away.

She makes it through the rest of May in near silence. She writes notes for all of her friends at the end of the school year, and one for her parents to inevitably find. Finds 75 dollars in Steve's old wallet, stuffs the duffel bag the rest of the way with her belongings, and says goodbye to Hawkins.

She takes the first bus she can find out of town. Doesn't care that it's going to Chicago, doesn't really care where she's going now. She befriends an old homeless man riding the bus as well, becomes another interesting name in his "Book of Wanders (Pronounced as Wonders)." As Veronica's telling the story about unknowingly meeting her brother, she remembers the crane in her bag. She reaches in to retrieve the little box, then the crane, nearly crying seeing how disheveled and unfolded it is. Broken and doomed, just like her. But looking at it now after so long, she thinks she sees something written inside it. Despite it shattering her heart pieces, she carefully unfolds the little crane.

At its center, in old, bleeding blue text, reads, "Find the Swooping Bat if you've lost your way."

The old man laughs then, taking Veronica's hand and placing it onto her chest, over her heart. "It's fate," he whispers in the dark bus. "There's a place called that in Chicago."

Veronica uses her money to rent them both a hotel for the night, giving the old man a warm bath for the first time in weeks. She gifts him the clothes as well, saying it's, "an honorary thanks from my brother, for helping me get here." They bid each other farewell in the morning, the old man telling her to keep hold of fate.

She finds her way to the Swooping Bat easily, hand on her necklace guiding her way. It's a quaint little diner, popular enough to be comfortably warm when she walks in. A young lady in a wheelchair - Max, says her nametag, with pins saying things like, "Summer work blows" and "USC grad or bust!" resting on her collar - guides her to a booth next to the sunrise.

"Anything I can get you today?" Max asks when Veronica's seated.

Veronica's fully ready to order everything on the menu, what with how delicious this place smells, but then she remembers her funds. 5 bucks, if she's lucky. "Just a chocolate milk, for now. Biggest one you have, please." She somehow plays off Max's skeptical look, her eyes sweeping over Veronica's no doubt disheveled and no-food-in-36-hours appearance.

It somehow works out, and Max is wheeling away. Veronica allows herself a moment to collapse, stomach growling in pain and eyes burning with the realization she has no idea what she's going to do now. She just has this last bit of hope to hold onto, and without it, she'll be nothing but a husk.

She's not sure how long she sits there, staring at the sunrise and letting sound and AC whisk her mind away, but there's suddenly a little knock on her table. Her head snaps up, and there's Max again, setting down a giant glass of chocolate milk... alongside a loaded breakfast plate.

"It's on the house," Max rushes to explain, all fondness when Veronica scrambles to get her wallet. "Courtesy of the owner. And between you and me," she whispers with a wink, "just take the damn food, kid."

Veronica stumbles over herself for a moment, rendered near speechless, before she finally comes back. She begs Max to thank the owner profusely, before rushing to dig into the pancakes before her. She's halfway done dousing the stack in syrup by the time Max wheels away, when there's suddenly someone laughing.

"Of course," says a choked-up voice behind her. "Can't have any chickpeas starving in my booths."

Veronica nearly drops her fork. She turns so sharply she gets dizzy. Seven years can't change a person that much, surely, because though he's bigger in the torso and he has glasses on the bridge of his nose and his hair is cut so close, he still has the same softness in his voice and the same slouch in his stance and the same moles around his eyes and his smile is so bright despite the tears in his eyes, and though Veronica can barely see through tears herself, it's not like she needs them anyway to know it's-

"Steve!" she cries, scrambling out of the booth to meet her brother halfway. The relief of it all working out has the rest of her restraint collapsing, forcing harsh sobs out of her and into Steve's shoulder. The siblings hold each other in the middle of a restaurant, a voice in the background asking everyone to leave them be. Steve doesn't stop whispering, even as his chest heaves with broken gasps between tears, "You're save, Veronica, I got you, I got you, it's gonna be okay, you're safe here, it's okay, sis, it's okay..."

"That you, lil' chickpea?" whispers a different voice once they've calmed down. Veronica reluctantly pulls away and finds a man kneeling beside them, a hand on Steve's shoulder and similar tears in his eyes. His hair and tattoos remind her of the tamed wild from seven years ago, covered in black in the middle of church yet glowing brighter than the stained glass, the one that Steve looks at in past and present with a glowing love Veronica never saw between her parents.

"Yeah," she whispers, wiping her tears away before placing a hand atop her necklace. It catches Eddie and Steve's eyes and make them beam with pride and relief. "Yeah, it's... it's me...."

[taddymason]

Face to Face

[ohbo-ohno]

idk if any of you have peacock/have seen ads for their show "teacup" but i can't stop thinking of smth similar with ghost (entirely unedited)

like, you buy a house out in the middle of nowhere - maybe a cabin, just to get away from society a bit. and you say you won't stay for long, but then you get used to things, start enjoying the peace and quiet you get away from all other human life, and you just... stay.

and then one day you go outside, and there's a giant spray painted ring around your house - enough for you to walk a bit but not so much that you can reach your garden. and there's a man standing maybe fifteen feet past the line, wearing a mask that covers his face, but clearly just staring at you. he's massive, casts a shadow that crosses over the line, but almost unnaturally still.

he tells you that he won't cross the line, that everything past it is still yours and safe. but if you cross the line in any way, you're his. the fact that you won't last long without food from your garden isn't something that needs to be said, you're already taking stock of the food inside your pantry.

you'd gotten comfortable out here in the wilderness, with your garden producing everything you could want. you never got into canning - bought a book on it, but never even cracked the spine. it's so much work, and you were perfectly happy with going to the garden before dinner and throwing something together with what you could get.

but now you're stuck. you see the man outside your window sometimes, walking around and around and around the circle, never passing it. every room in your house has a window, and there are days where you feel like he's following you, every time you glance outside he's just there.

you don't see him at night. you have no idea where he goes - god knows if he ever sleeps, you're not sure if he's even human - but you can't see him in the dark. the light from your windows doesn't stretch to the line, and the moon isn't enough to make him visible. once the sun goes down, he's just gone.

that's what gives you the nerve to step outside one night, long after it's gotten dark. you're hardly breathing as you tip-toe towards the line, eyes trained on your poor neglected garden - it's been several days since he first arrived, and no one has tended to your poor food. you're not even sure what you'll be able to get, if he's really gone.

he seems to be, or at the very least you certainly can't see him when you stop right at the edge of the line and look around. your flashlight illuminates the edge of the forest as you scan the trees, the circle of light smaller than you'd like. there's nothing.

you stand there for several more minutes, just staring at the food only a few feet out of reach. there's plenty of food that you know has already gone to waste, but you're hoping, praying there's enough to fight off your hunger just a bit, just long enough that you can think past the ache in your stomach long enough to attempt a plan.

(you'd been unable to think the first 24 hours, a creature of panic and nothing more. by the time you'd calmed even a bit, you'd been so hungry you could hardly breathe, then gotten sucked back into your panic after one look at your barren pantry. why had you never bothered to save food?)

your first step over the line feels like a crime. you almost squeeze your eyes shut just to wait for something to happen, but you force yourself to keep your flashlight active, not letting your eyes settle as you scan the forest again and again.

each step feels like you're stepping on glass, heart in your throat. it's dead silent in a way you've come to know the forest never is. the only thing keeping you from darting back inside is the desperate, animal need to eat.

you fall to your knees at the edge of your garden, plucking as many cherry tomatoes from the vine as you can, shoveling them in your mouth without even checking for bugs. there's nothing here but you and then man in the forest.

they burst on your tongue, cold and juicy and tangy and delicious. you feel delirious, having gone more than three days without eating by this point. the tomatoes could be spoiling on the vine, dotted with rot, and you'd still savor them like they're nectar.

you drop your flashlight after the first mouthful, desperate to use two hands and grab as many of the fruits as possible. the light illuminate just a small section of the trees ahead of you, blades of grass casting high shadows.

you only notice how much you've lost focus when the flashlight flickers off next to you. you can't move for a moment, juice dripping down your chin, paralyzed at the thought that he's somehow snuck up on you, made it to your side and taken your only light.

but he's not by you, you're still alone. you can feel it acutely, some instinct at the back of your head saying predator near, hide but not screaming in the way it had on that first day, when you'd been closest to him.

still, you're on your feet in the next moment, fruit abandoned in the dirt as you sprint back to your cottage. your not far from the circle, just mere feet, but it feels like an insurmountable distance.

you can feel him, he's right there you know it. the forest is quiet, the only sound the crunch of grass beneath your feet and your heavy breaths, but you swear you can hear his voice echoing in your head. not an inch past that line, love. then you're mine.

it's not a surprise when you're tackled to the ground, not really. still, you scream, tomatoes already churning in your gut and bile gathering in your mouth. your nails claw desperately at the colored grass, so fucking close to your safe haven, your cage.

"got you," he hisses over your shoulder, so heavy over you that you can hardly get in a breath. you scream soundlessly, face contorted in tear as you break your nails in your desperate digging. "you're mine."

the lights from your cottage seem like hardly more than the flame at the end of a matchstick as you're dragged away, your strength nothing compared to his as you're taken further and further from the safe haven he'd allowed you. by the time you hit the tree line, you don't have the energy to even try to scream.