#this is pretty mid but i also only spent like. 4 hours on it

[24bughours]

I need these last two episodes to hurt

AND THE WAY THAT HALF OF EPISODE 8 WAS JUST NICE PETRIGROF MOMENTS I WAS ABT TO CRY IM SO EXCITED FOR EPISODE 9

[badgers-and-cats]

hello love i recently read your sirius fic and it was really great^-^ and now i would like go ask (if you’re comfortable with it) older remus lupin x younger reader ,who are secretly invloded with each other, and they’re at an order meeting and she keeps teasing him subtly and he can only take so much 🤭 and then after the order he grabs her and he pulls her into a room and then you know smut ensues

would be great but if you can’t right that’s alright too thanks anyway🤭🤭

Pretty Dove (Remus Lupin x reader)

Masterlist

AFAB reader

Warnings: age gap (everyone is of age - reader is in early to mid 20’s). Unprotected PIV. Blowjob. Feminine pet names MDNI!!! (Let me know if I forgot anything!!)

A/N: Aaa thank you my lovely, I’m glad you enjoyed the Sirius fic!!! Hope you like this one just as much❤️ sending lots and lots of love❤️

Also wasn’t really sure how to end this! So apologies if the ending isn’t great

No matter how hard you tried to get his attention, he just wouldn’t look at you. The entire meeting, which had reached the half hour mark now, you had received a maximum of 2 looks from him, and one of those times was because he was talking to the group.

You understood your relationship with the older man was a secret. The past 4 months had been spent sneaking about, only getting to spend time together when nobody else was around. Only being about to touch him and to be touched when you were 100% certain you wouldn’t be disturbed or caught.

But the last time you had a moment alone was a whole 12 days ago, (but who’s counting, right?) and you were getting desperate. Especially when he wouldn’t even look at you. From the outside, it was like you were just acquaintances, colleagues even.

You were fed up of being ignored. So, you acted on an idea you had thought of. It was risky, but you were confident you wouldn’t get caught.

His demeanour changed, when he feels your fingers running up his thigh. Still, he doesn’t look at you. But it’s obvious your small action is affecting him. What else could you get away with, you wonder.

With no warning, your hand touches his hardening cock through his pants. He snaps his head at you, gaining himself a few funny looks from other members of the order. You smile softly at him, an innocent, friendly, act in the eyes of everybody else; but you and he know differently.

He knew that he couldn’t do much, even if your relationship was knowledgeable to the order; this was still a risky move. Instead, he gives you a stern look as he looks the other way.

The meeting lasts another 15 minutes. Remus leaves almost instantly, looking at you as to say ‘follow me.’ You leave a moment later, following him into an empty drawing room upstairs.

The second the door is closed, your back is pushed up against it.

“What is the matter with you today?” He asks, one hand on your hip and the other placed on the door at the side of your head.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Remus,” you smirk, running your hands down his chest, smiling up at him softly.

“You know exactly what I mean, dove,” he whispers, kissing the corner of your mouth, pulling away before you could respond,

“Remus, please,” you’re starting to beg. But you cannot ignore your heat begging for his touch any more. He just smiles at you softly, tucking your hair behind your ear. Luckily for you, he had been longing for your touch - his hand just didn’t compare to you.

“I need you to be quiet for me, pretty dove. Can’t have anyone catching us, can we?” He asks. You don’t even have the chance to fully process what he had said, but that doesn’t matter anymore. His soft lips are a contrast to the bruising force of the kiss.

He runs his tongue over your lips, before sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, earning a soft moan from your swollen lips.

“I love you so much, pretty girl. Missed you so much,” he groans, kissing you before you could answer - swirling his tongue around yours as he pushes you further against the door.

“Mhm Rem,” his name rolls off of your tongue effortlessly, almost as effortlessly as his hand made its way to the top of your head as you make your way to your knees, palming his bulge when you get there.

“Go on, pretty dove. Show me how much you missed me,” he says, gently and lovingly moving your hair out of your face as you undo his belt - taking down his pants and boxers.

Usually, you would tease. But after so long with no touches, you elect to get straight to it - Remus is delighted for this decision, you knew from his satisfied sigh when his member enters your warm mouth.

You bobbed your head along his length, it hitting the back of your throat with every bob. His hand has made a made shift ponytail, helping you to move along his length, as well with the occasional thrust of his hips.

You’d be lying if you said you wasn’t enjoying this as much as he was - the wetness between your legs proving that. Like he read your mind, he gently pulled your mouth off his member, your lips darkened and wet with saliva.

“Need to feel you. Wanna be inside you,” he begs. He helps you strip quickly - lining himself up with your heat. Rubbing his head through your slick, he pushes just his head into your wetness.

He groans at the sensation of finally being inside you after almost 2 weeks, resting his head in the crook of your neck - kissing it gently.

“Please, wanna feel you all,” you whine, hands playing with the hair on the back of his neck, as you kiss the top of his head. Pushing into you more until he bottoms out, now balls deep inside you, it takes him a moment to ground himself after feeling your warmth and wetness around his aching member.

After a few moments, he starts moving his hips - every one coming in faster and harder than the last. You’re holding onto his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. He has one hand caressing your face, thumb running up and down your cheek lovingly, the other against the door behind you.

“Oh fuck, oh, yes, fuck yes, there, just like that, fuck,” you moan, attempting to not be too loud, as his thrusts somehow becomes rougher as he bites your neck lovingly.

“Ssh, quiet dove, don’t want anyone catching us do we? Not after all this time,” he whispers - unable to keep his own moans down.

You knew you wouldn’t last long, “can I- fuck,” you couldn’t even finish your question - feeling his dick hit your cervix with every thrust.

“Yes, I’m close too, cum for me gorgeous girl,” he says, before stilling his hips, filling you up with his cum, as you soak his dick in your juices.

He pulls out after a minute, you while slightly at the loss of contact. With a gentle kiss on the lips, he says “I love you. I’m so sorry for not giving you the attention you deserve.”

“That’s okay, handsome. You can ignore me more often if that’s how I’ll get fucked afterwards,” you smirk, holding his face in your hands, kissing him again, “and I love you too,” you smile.

After getting dressed again, and a handful of more stolen kisses, you both leave the drawing room, hoping to remain undetected. That is, until you come to face to face with Fred and George Weasley.

“Afternoon,” they both smirk, before walking away.

“I wonder what they’ll want in return for them to not tell everyone,” you joke.

[sister-hawk]

HEY LOOK AT WHAT I MADE!!! I whittled this elephant out of a block of basswood, and then painted it by hand, as a gift for my lovely girlfriend, @potsiefaerie 😘♥️💖🩵 When we were still getting to know each other, she mentioned that she collects white elephant figures with her mother (after they found one at a white elephant sale), and I was like, "Wait, I've done a bit of whittling before. Surely I could make one, right???" And then it became my mission all through the spring, summer, and fall. And after a bit of a mad dash to the end, I was finally able to give it to her the first time we met in person 🥰

While it was in no way easy, crafting this elephant was an absolute joy, and it really (re)awakened in me a love for the art of whittling. I had only done some very basic whittling before, close to a decade and a half ago. So with very little experience, none of which was recent, I really impressed myself with how well this thing turned out. And while I'm no stranger to painting, I've never done detail like this before. That is just natural talent babey. I have definitely found my calling in this craft.

It's roughly 2 and 3/4 inches tall, and probably around 4 and 1/2 inches long. I have absolutely no idea how many hours it took start-to-finish. But it was a lot lol.

Process:

The first step was to find reference images of elephants online, from various angles. I used those to create basic drawings of an elephant mid-stride from 5 different angles (left, right, top, front, and back). I printed and cut those out of paper to create a simple stencil to trace the shape onto the block of wood (that's what you see in the first image.

The second step was to actually cut the rough shape of it out of the wood with a coping saw. Then I divided the bottom (where the legs are) in half, and used the drawing as a guide for removing the halves of the legs that weren't needed (since it is not symmetrical in its stance.) That gave me an extremely rough and blocky elephant shape.

Next came the whittling, and that was by far the majority of the work. Months were spent slowly shaving away little bits of wood, occasionally glancing at my reference images, until finally the final shape was achieved. Then it was sanded down so as to smooth out the facets created by the carving process, and to refine the shape a little more.

I also must mention that I did drop it at one point on a cement porch and snap one of the legs off at the knee. But! A bit of wood glue and a rubber band fixed that fairly easily.

Then came the painting process. First I used a glaze to help seal the wood. Wood is a very absorbent material. I knew that, in order to ensure that this piece would last as long as possible, it needed to be sealed so that the wood did not absorb moisture from the air, which could eventually lead to cracking as it expanded and shrank. But paint itself also poses some risk in this way, and the wood really wants to soak it up. So the glaze ensured that that wouldn't happen.

Then I put down three coats of white paint (with another touch-up coat), and then sealed that with another coat of the glaze. This was to protect the white underneath when I started painting with the blue, so that if I messed it up, I would have the chance to remove the blue without totally stripping the white.

Next was the detail work with the blue paint. The designs were first drawn on using a 4h graphite in a mechanical pencil (4h is pretty hard, so it wouldn't leave much behind. That made it easier to erase mistakes and cover with the paint). I did reference a couple mandalas that I found online for the ones on the forehead and back, but all of it was painted by hand with an extremely tiny brush and an enormous amount of patience. It requires very steady hands.

And the final step was two part. First, another coat of glaze to protect the blue paint so that it would not get smeared (not after I did all that hard work!!!). And finally, four coats of varnish to completely seal everything off. My hope is this thing will still be sitting on someone's shelf at least a few generations from now, so I did everything I could to protect it as much as possible.

Materials and tools:

3x3x6in block of basswood, from some website idk lol.

Coping saw from Lowe's.

Whittling tools from Beaver Craft.

120, 220, and 400 grit sandpaper from Lowe's.

Glaze, paints, and varnish from Jo Sonja's.

[panvani]

Tokyo districts we've visited RANKED:

14. Akibahara: inhospitable for human life. only place in Tokyo where they not only spelled out why they specifically had 24hr surveillance on escalators but they felt the need to put signs reminding you on every available surface. so many signs telling you to Speak Up if you think someone has been molested. genuinely felt like an insane person there but at least my girlfriend found a Transformer there (we did discover that Akibahara is vastly more approachable when you get off the main roads)

13. Harajuku: this one also felt inhospitable for human life but in like an extreme gentrification way instead of like Literally Not Made For Humans way. very weird walking through THe Clothes District and finding no clothes I wanted. almost all of the food vendors were selling extreme overpriced meme foods but we did find a surprisingly good katsudon place

12. Shibuya: the Scramble ! nowhere else in Tokyo played as much Western music. clothes were either Y4k for some shit that looked like it would disintegrate in 5 days or Y20k for like. some canvas with stains on it. a robot served me a mid as fuck highball

11: Asakusa: It was insanely fucking hot the day we happened to be in Asakusa so maybe I'm not judging it entirely on its own merits but kind of an insane area in which to exist. Very touristy (largely towards people natively from Japan/Tokyo) ergo very expensive. Maybe if we had spent longer there I would have liked it more but for now my most vivid memory is of the rickshaws which my girlfriend pointed out were almost exclusively used by Japanese people

10. Ginza: This was not unexpected in any capacity but everything is so expensive here. Ginza was the only location we visited in urban Japan where we could walk for an hour and not encounter either a vending machine or a convenience store. "Do rich people not need to drink" - my girlfriend

9. Kichijoji: We bought Blue Ham Ham here and then ate at one of those restaurants that lets you pick from a selection of raw eggs to eat with rice which was good as fuck

8. Akasaka: kind of nothing here but bars, office buildings, and an entire block dedicated to Harry Potter so we didn't do anything of note here. Yu Gi Oh Curry !

7. Nagano: Pretty unremarkable except for having a mall full of old stuff but we went to some shitty hole in the wall where we were served by someone my girlfriend described as "definitely transgender" the moment we left the restaurant

6. Shimokitazawa: We saw some cool clothes here and like 15 seconds of an indie band playing in a building. Kind of the most insanely hipstery area in Tokyo by a huge margin like astonishingly so. Only time I saw anything be specifically marketed as vegan in Japan

5. Shinjuku: Shinjuku, or at least my personal experience with Shinjuku, is sort of hard to describe. It was the first district in Tokyo that I'd seen after leaving the airport and it imposes this vision of a city that is incomprehensibly vast and dense. I don't think other districts dispelled this image but Shinjuku is by far the most successful at affirming it

4. Ikebukuro: Kinda like Akibahara lite which makes it a lot more tolerable. I could not stop saying "are you inspired with lust for Irish women yet" any time we encountered a location that was even slightly notable. I don't think either myself or my girlfriend ended up buying anything here but we went to a nice restaurant so it all worked out. There's something charming about the police outposts that seem to be present on every 2 blocks and the number of cameras randomly scattered about

3. Ueno: We rly only saw the zoo here (it was mid) but upon stepping out into Ueno park we discovered a Pakistan-Japan Friendship Festival where we watched some women dance and bought some good as fuck sweets

2. Sumida: Quite cutes :) we spent a lot of time wandering around residential areas which always make me feel way more amiable towards an area. Skytree was cool though I probably wouldn't pay for it again. Katsushika Hokusai museum was very cool.

1. Jimbocho/Ochanomizu: We went to the Museum of Modern Art in Tokyo and walked around for 1 million years looking at books and posters and various other items and got some lovely coffee. Wonderful place

SPECIAL MENTION: Chiba: I got a really bad sunburn here

[youaintnothinbuta]

“Feelin' brave today, aren't ya?” - racetrack higgins x reader

Summary: you and Race cannot STAND each other. Always arguing and at each other’s throats, that is, until one day, you kiss him mid-argument.

Pairing: fem!reader x Racetrack Higgins

Word count: 640

Warnings: fluff, kinda angsty? Arguing, fighting, insulting, little bit of sexism, threatening each other lowkey, also u know me; probably typos!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Another day of hawking papes in Brooklyn, just keeping out of trouble as best as you could. Among the Brooklyn newsies, Spot was your best friend- the only person you could hang around 27/4 without getting sick of them. Spot was good mates with the Manhattan boys, which meant you were too. For the most part. You loved Jack and Davey, and absolutely adored Les. You loved all of them, really, except Race. Eugh. Couldn’t stand the sight of him, or worse, the sound of him. You and Race were always bickering whenever the Brooklyn and Manhattan newsies converged. If there was a way to push each other's buttons, you two had it mastered.

Spot and you spent the afternoon in lower Manhattan, and maybe it was because it was a bit hotter than usual, but you and Race were even more irritated at each other’s presence than ever. Everyone was gathered near the docks, and you and Race had been trading barbs for the better part of an hour. They all did their best either separate the two of you, or as like this time, just ignore your arguing and continue their own conversations.

“If you weren't a girl, you'd be feelin' a fist at your throat right now.” Race challenged you.

You shot back, “Don’t let that stop you, huh?”

“I can’t. You’s a girl.”

“Yeah right. You’re just scared’a losin’ to a girl.” You scoffed.

Race leaned in closer, challenging your patience further, “What a shame that pretty little head of yours don’t know nothin’ but nonsense.”

"You're insufferable!" you inched closer to his face, your hands wanting to just cling onto his neck and squeeze the life out of him.

“Feelin' brave today, aren't ya?” His voice was low this time. Almost, intimate? Something changed. The intensity of your argument, the proximity of your faces, the adrenaline coursing through your veins—it was all too much. Without thinking, without warning, your lips crashed into his in a passionate kiss.

Race's eyes widened in shock, before closing them into the kiss. It was as if the entire world had frozen, and there was nothing but the sensation of his lips on yours, the taste of his defiance and your anger mingling in a way you'd never imagined.

You both quickly realised what was happening and pulled away just as abruptly as the kiss occurred. Your eyes and his locked in a mixture of confusion, surprise, and undeniable attraction. You felt your cheeks flush as your eyes left his gaze, unable to hold eye contact any longer. You stammered incoherently, your cheeks aflame. Race ran a hand through his hair, equally as flustered. The awkwardness hung in the air like a heavy fog. You glanced around, realizing that everyone else’s conversations had faded and their (dumbfounded) eyes were on the pair of you.

“I gotta go.” you mumbled before practically fleeing the scene, not even waiting for Spot, leaving behind a stunned Racetrack Higgins and a an oncoming chorus of teasing from the newsies.

In the days that followed, you and Race avoided each other like the plague. Well, more than you already did.

Spot noticed the change in your demeanour and couldn't resist a sly grin. “Seems like you and Race finally found a way to shut each other up,” he remarked one day.

You scowled at him. “Don't even start, Spot.”

He chuckled, clearly enjoying the discomfort of the situation. “Just remember, if you ever decide to make up, I won't be placing any bets on who wins the next argument.”

You rolled your eyes and walked away, determined to put the bizarre kiss behind you. But deep down, you couldn't deny that it had sparked something in both you and Race, something neither of you had expected, and something that neither of you could quite forget.

Request something here !

[electricsoren]

Gonna kick the official start of this account with a personal read more post.

That way I know it's real.

You want to hear my screeching? Cool.

I'm mainly wanting to talk about how wild my life is now that I'm poly. And also coming to terms with my disabilities.

Right now I have 3 partners and I met each of them at completely different times in my life. I won't use names since I haven't asked if they are all ok with me mentioning them by name online, and I don't know if I'm comfortable with that either. Friends know and that's all that really matters, you know?

Anyways, there's my I guess primary life partner, and it's more of a queer platonic partner than anything else? But I adore them and we've known each other for about a year and a half now? (Holy shit time is fake has it really been that long?) So the whole disabled thing is something they're more used to, I've just been declining pretty quick this year.

Then there's one of my girlfriends who I used to actually briefly be roommates with. It was back when I was living with my abusers. Disability was getting a bit annoying, I was more aware of it but I could still push through it and I still worked my physically demanding jobs with little issues.

And lastly there's my other girlfriend, who is also my ex from before either of us came out. She's long distance right now but we dated when we were both young and I was able to push through and work through anything. Peak of my theme park time, working in attractions, monorails and other jobs. End of the relationship I had JUST started working in hotels.

I wasn't quiet aware of the differences in my health from back then until this week. Like I said I used to work physically demanding jobs and yeah it may take a little out of me but I was able to push through it. Hell last job I had in attractions I was becoming aware of my issues, but could just power through post of them.

Then November 2019 happened.

And now I'm working at a job I love, that LISTENS to me. I work 4 days a week, have a chair to sit at, and a team that is understanding of my heart conditions and will tell me to lay down in the back to feel better so I can either figure out if I need to leave or just need 30 minutes to an hour to reset. Thursday that happened, my boss had to come in and talk to me, we're short staffed right now, but he told me who to contact and that my coworker said I can take as long as I needed (well until her out time as she was a mid that day) get my coworker who works overnights to try to come as early as she can, which because of her other job was only a few minutes, and I still left at the regular time. But at least she still got there a little early so I could just focus on getting all my stuff finished.

Then yesterday, on Sunday I woke up with a migraine, like normal, popped some painkillers and immediately started feeling even shittier. Migraine was gone, but I was SO aware of my muscle fatigue and my heart was already going in overdrive. I thought I would get better when I get to work and I'm able to slow down, cause a lot of the time it's just I'm doing too much too fast to get ready and once I get to work, sit down and get in my groove I'm fine. That fine never came, I started apologizing to my coworker that I can't fake it today, went to the storage room to cry for a bit. I realized I was BAD and needed to go to the hospital. I spent a good hour or so trying to reach out to management. One of my bosses was out of state for a work conference and the other was also out of state, but for filming (at least I'm guessing that's why. Dude is both very secretive about his acting and very loud about it. I had no idea he was gone until he responded after I solved the problem and got coverage lol) one of my coworkers suggested to call our sister property to send someone over. So I did and waited the hour for her to get here. While I was waiting some regulars asked me if I was ok today. I was real with them and said no and that I was waiting for coverage to get here so I can go to the hospital down the road.

I don't want to get into my experience at the ER, but I'll just say as a disabled, fat AFAB person by myself it wasn't good. :) I got a note for work, which I didn't look at until I was heading to work. I figured since they just brushed me off at the ER for my blood work coming back fine it would tell me to return the next day, and it was just a "hey this person came by today." but it said 2 days. I knew I needed the two days, but I also knew I fucking needed to work. So I asked my boss if it was ok and he said as long as I was comfortable with it he was ok. I lasted MAYBE 20 minutes before I apologized to my coworker and looked for my boss to tell him I couldn't today. Everyone understood, told me to get better and I went home. Then an hour or so later my boss tells me to take the week off. And...I could tell it was a genuine, "we can see you're not doing well, please take care of yourself." type message and not a test? I still asked if he was sure because we're already down an agent. But he told me to rest and get better.

I'm...not used to being cared about in a workplace. When I hit this wall normally it's tough shit, brush yourself off and get right back on.

I even texted one of the group chats and let them know and they all are just telling me to rest and that my health is more important.

SORRY WOW THIS BECAME A RAMBLE. I REALLY DO BE BACK BABEY. But fr, I'm looking forward to posting again. I'm not going to be posting names or anything stupid like I used to. But I still want to share parts of my personal life.

I'm also wanting to get back into writing fan fic. But I'll have a separate blog for that, so it's all nice and together. But I'll reblog it on here.

[blackbackedjackal]

I hope this isn’t a weird question, but how did you get into the practice of studying coyotes subspecies etc? Do you have to collect to be able to do so, or can online resources help? And where do you submit your findings. I’d love to get into something similar but I’m broke and unsure where to start

Not weird at all! It's just like, sort of a domino effect more than anything and a lot of really lucky interactions. It was like I had some major pieces of a big puzzle some but was missing other major parts that I eventually found by thinking outside the box.

I am not a researcher in the professional sense. I already had an interest in canids before I focused on coyotes, but it was an artistic interest. Color morphs and anatomy were interesting to me because at the time I wanted to improve on my art. So as I was going down different rabbit holes and collecting physical references (pelts, skulls, soft mounts, etc.) I noticed the one canid that had very little scientific research on them at the time were coyotes.

I couldn't find the answers I wanted online because the work hadn't been done. It was only in the mid 2010s this research finally started to surface in very random pockets online. But nothing as detailed or cohesive as the research done on ranched foxes, domestic dogs, and wolves. They were pretty much ignored by scientists because the stereotypes about them I believe kept people being scientifically interested in them at the time. The only information outside of Wikipedia were basically random studies published online, or old books I had to buy because the info had never been archived online.

So I figured, if I collected a bunch of them, I would have a library of information yet to be deciphered. I knew that genetic material would be needed at the bare minimum, and what better places than the roots of their teeth or the hair follicles to get the info from. I collected to archive any strange ones I came across and over time just got more detailed about my collection and data collection process the more I learned about how museums archived their collections. That's why I became a taxidermist, as it allowed me to collect things like tissue samples and work on the entire animal to get more information that I couldn't get from just buying skulls and the odd colored pelt.

I also attracted the right people interested in similar work through my blog. The three main researchers I work with I met through tumblr. We just all had the "we love coyotes bug" but in different ways. We started off chatting very casually and professionally (or about Steven Universe lmao) but they're some of my closest and dearest friends now. They were the missing pieces of my puzzle because the independent studies they had done about coyotes or other canids covered the gaps in my knowledge. We were able to teach each other and help each other.

Everything I've learned has come from independent study or group collaboration. I've spent thousands of hours just looking through all sorts of archives, online stores, libraries, forums, anywhere I thought may have some nuggets of information. I archived everything I could as any information was better than no information. I had to piece together various timelines, and corroborate that information with my friends who were more genetics or anatomical focused. We'd ask each other questions and were almost guarantee one of the 4 of us had an answer, had saved a book or article that may have the answer, or knew another researcher we could contact that had the answer.

So after years of this, the information became second nature. I went from not knowing anything about the subspecies, to being able to ID them form photos online or pelts and skulls in our collection. I went from having very little information, to an entire archive of scientific and historical data I collected on coyotes. We built our library and our community together. And even after all that STILL have not completed the puzzle, but we've gotten far closer by working together.

So to answer your questions, I got into the practice by practicing. To this day I'm still learning and archiving and updating my notes as I learn and improve. Nothing is set in stone but we have many hypotheses we've been muddling with and lining up things to aid in us to get actual funding and more definitive research done. We have plenty of questions, and some soft answers or plausible and likely theories, but we haven't shared any data because we either need to get the funding to run the tests we need, need to find other researchers who can help us add to our collective data, and in general just need the time to collaborate together in person (some of us are planning to move in together in the next few years though, so that's when things will really kick into high gear lol). Yes, online resources can help if the species you're interested in already have plenty of researchers who have published their findings, coyotes just aren't one of those species. Collecting physical specimens helps only if that's part of your research (like pathologies) AND if it's ethical to even collect those species to begin with. Coyotes are so numerous that we'd be able to have hundreds or thousands of specimens between the 4 of us and not effect their numbers (hopefully we won't need that many but like defiantly several hundred). Other species well, better get ready to jump into field research or working at conservation centers. Collecting information is (usually) free can often proves to be more valuable than many specimens you could collect. Like I can only decipher what's going on with my coyotes because of the books and articles and information I've read an gathered, especially when it's good information done by previous researchers.

We haven't shared much online aside from some specimen info/photos and things we can definitively say because a lot of our hypotheses either haven't been tested or proven/disproven. We don't want to spread any misinformation as that could ruin our reputation within the STEM community before we even begin, so until we have some tested and peer-reviewed info ready to publish (which is years down the line) and a couple of us get some more college/professional degrees under out belts, we've kept our research to ourselves for the integrity of the project. But we will be publishing any and all information when ready as a free online resource for other researchers. We want more people working in the field of coyote research and we're trying to help streamline the process so it's easier for people with no experience to get involved so they don't have to spend 5 years just researching HOW to research coyotes like we all have.

It's essentially self-led independent study. You have to just want to do it to do it. There's really no wrong way to do some general looking-up-things research. The hard part is learning how to do it ethically, scientifically, AND accepting you will make mistakes over and over that you have to be willing to self-correct. And trust me, it's far easier to do all of this if you find other people that you can work well with. You ain't gotta be besties (I just got very lucky in that regard), but you do need to be willing to corroborate your findings to check your work and ensure what you're doing is accurate.

tl;dr

[dawn-moths]

“The Final Nail in the Coffin” (PART 2)

CHAPTER 7

Undertaker x Female Reader / Ron x Female Reader

word count: 13,000+

part 1 * part 2 * part 3 * part 4 * part 5 * part 6 * part 7

(Ron returns from hiding out in the Irish countryside and prepares to face the Black Reaper for the final time. You take matters into your own hands for once. With only a bullet to decide who loves you more, Ron and Undertaker settle things once and for all. In the end, a new deal is made. The only question you can ask yourself now is, was what you had to trade worth the final outcome?)

disclaimer/content warning: 18+ content! minors DNI! a little bit of smut (overall this chapter is also pretty plot heavy), descriptions of violence, abusive/controlling behavior, daddy kink, jealousy, cheating, welcome to the big finale everyone.

*ao3 mirror*

***

Ireland’s rolling green hills had turned white with snow, dark cracks forming in the fields where some of it had melted to reveal the dark earth beneath.

Even in the winter, Ron’s home country was beautiful, the land looking like one endless expanse of black and white marble, the only indicator that it was finite being where the clear sky met the edge of the horizon.

He’d found his way back home on a local fishing boat, the kind Scotsman who’d agreed to take him the short distance to the Emerald Isle turning down Ron’s attempt to pay him for his trouble by having the young man help with some menial tasks while aboard instead.

A few hours later, when those mammoth cliffs cast shadows over the crashing waves and both men had to crane their necks to view the sky, Ron was stepping foot back in a place that he never thought he’d ever return to. As he waved goodbye to the generous fisherman and began on his way through the slush covered land in his scuffed up oxfords, a strange thought occurred to him…

Who was I before leaving this place?

What made me so desperate to go?

Ron had spent a long time wandering, only remembering he had to actually survive out here for a while once his stomach began to growl.

He fished out what little funds remained from the inside of his blazer pocket, (his suit looking less than professional at this point, but what did he care?) counted the coins and the crumpled bills, and then headed into the nearest pub.

For the duration of his first pint, Ron simply observed. He listened in on the grumbling conversations of the older, much more rugged patrons, choosing a target to rob by the time his second round was halfway down. But then, as he tipped the glass back and swallowed the final drops of his watered down beer, the outlook of Ron’s risky fortunes seemed to shift.

“… Need to hire some help ever since the last farmhand had to head back to Edinburgh. S’shame. H’was a good lad… Hard worker too,” One of the men muttered to the friend beside him, both of their steins only a few more gulps away from matching Ron’s.

“This time ‘o year, chances are few to none,” his companion remarked with a hint of a scoff. “Kids these days’re too delicate. They don’ want to work hard. I mean, why would they when they can get some comfy desk job for the same pay? Hell. Double what you can afford, I bet.”

Ron perked up, glancing over his shoulder to try and get a better look at the faces the conversation belonged to. They were older men, perhaps in their mid sixties, and despite the thinning hair and deep wrinkles etched into their rough, liver spotted skin, they were in decent shape, all things considered.

“I can barely afford my own wages,” groaned the man, who Ron was beginning to assume was the owner of the farm, the more he surveyed his attire— dirt smudged overalls and worn work boots, a tattered denim jacket fraying at the seams sagging over his slightly hunched back. “Just barely keepin’ the boat afloat after last year’s medical expenses. If I get pneumonia again I’ll probably be done for. My wife’d never forgive me for makin’ her a widow…”

The farmer’s friend clapped him on the shoulder, casting a look of sympathetic encouragement upon him. He was just about to open his mouth to speak, when a younger, much more chipper voice chimed in.

“Sorry to interrupt…” Ron began, putting on his most charming smile as he slid into the empty wooden stool across from the two older gentlemen. “But I couldn’t help but overhear you’re looking for a farmhand?”

The two men exchanged skeptical glances before looking back to Ron. Then the farmer admitted, “I am. But I won’t be able to pay very much.”

“You got lodgings at this farm of yours?” Ron asked next, one eyebrow quirking up as he shifted into a slightly more comfortable and relaxed position.

“Out in the barn,” the farmer half shrugged. “Though, this time ‘o year I’m afraid it’s not too cozy.”

“Is it livable?” Ron inquired, leaning in a little closer to them. “I mean, would I technically freeze to death if I slept out there or…?”

The farmer explained there were a couple of quilts and a small fire pit that could be lit, so yes, it was technically livable, even if it was by a low standard. Ron asked if there would be meals and the farmer gave him a similar answer. Yes, but don’t expect anything fancy.

“Well then,” Ron concluded, flashing one of those boyish, bright smiles he was so good at making look authentic. Though, the kind he liked to host around you actually were real. This time, it was merely a mask, a way to put his targets at ease to ensure he ended up with what he wanted. Just a simple skill of a once-retired-but-now-due-to-unfortunate-circumstances-presently-active con. “If that’s the case, consider me your new farmhand!”

The three of them sat huddled at that bar table for a little while longer, the buzzing warmth of the alcohol coursing through their systems beginning to dull a bit and then seeming to fizzle out entirely the moment they set foot back into the cold winter air, before Ron and the farmer— who’d introduced himself as Shamus— parted ways from the third member of the trio and headed towards the farm.

Ron was available to start work immediately, conveniently for the both of them.

So, as the first night back in his home country blanketed itself over the land, having everything in order to begin “work” early the next morning, Ron found himself wrapped up in the hand stitched quilts on the upper level of Shamus’s barn, the embers of the dying fire glowing from the iron coal stove a few feet away.

He lay there, curled into a ball, and wondered how long he’d have to play this part until he’d formed a good enough plan to return and face what he’d run from.

There was a brief moment where Ron figured he could just stay here, start a new life, and perhaps live long enough to die an old man like Shamus seemed so convinced was going to happen to him someday in the not so distant future.

He could lay down his gun, wipe the blood from the lenses of his glasses, and burn that stuffy suit he’d had to wear while working for Undertaker over the coals currently keeping him warm.

He could start a new life, if only he could let go of you.

And it was you— your sweet smile and angelic laughter and naive innocence to the true horrors that writhed below a shallow grave, clawing to get free and poison your fairy tale world— that pulled him back to reality.

Ron spent a majority of the night tossing and turning, cursing himself for casting his phone into the sea. Although it had been an extremely necessary precaution, he’d give almost anything right now to be able to hear your sweet little voice, even if it were through the trembling, anxious voicemails he’d never had the heart to delete.

He wanted to be able to reread your texts, at least, his heart fluttering every time you punctuated one of your messages with cute heart emojis or sparkles or stars.

He wanted to feel the warmth of your body on his again— under his again.

He wanted you to be his— only his— and for him to be yours.

He wanted Undertaker to pay for what he’d done, to suffer, to perish.

And he would make it so, whether with the echoing shot fired from a silver pistol or with his own two fists closed around the scar that the Black Reaper wore with pride like a piece of priceless jewelry around his pale neck.

Whatever the means, Ron was going to fight.

He wasn’t ever going to start a new life, not until you had the chance to start over with him.

Then, and only then, could you both wake up from this day-dream-turned-nightmare.

And after three weeks, six days, and nine hours since Ron had made up his mind curled up under those quilts— three weeks, six days, and nine hours shivering out in the cold and breaking his back with the workload of practically running Shamus’s entire farm on his own— he changed out of the oversized overalls and denim jacket that had been lent to him and back into the blazer and slacks that he’d arrived in.

He checked the ammo left in the gun he’d kept hidden under his pillow every night, never putting it past Undertaker to have him tracked down even out in the middle of nowhere, and reloaded the silver pistol.

Ron left in the night, disappearing like a ghost, the only trace left to prove he’d ever been there at all being a few strands of ginger hair still stuck to the lumpy pillow up on the second level of the barn, and by the following afternoon, he’d landed back in London.

***

The mattress dipped to cradle your spine, Undertaker’s looming shadow casting over from where you lay beneath him.

Things had been tense since Othello’s funeral.

Different.

Unfamiliar.

Not just in Undertaker, but also within you.

Undertaker had sensed this. He’d sniffed out your dissatisfaction with him like a prized hunting hound and sought to eradicate it, tear through the flesh and the bones, devour it down to its very soul.

And you, ever the obedient little prey, had bared your neck to him and smiled as he’d sunk his fangs into your trembling pulse.

The only difference between now and before was, when he told you he loved you afterwards, you didn’t believe him.

And when you told him you loved him back, it was a lie.

Still, you both had needs you couldn’t quite deny. Needs that, when tended to, at least helped you forget, even if only for as long as the act lasted.

“You’re still my princess, aren’t you?” Undertaker would ask in a whisper, his hands caressing the soft curves of your body, his lips leaving gentle kisses down the line of your throat. “You’re still my good girl?”

“Yes…” you’d gasp when his fingertips ghosted over your ribs, cold touch trailing down to your hips, your thighs. “Yes, Daddy…” You’d lace your manicured little fingers through his long, silvery hair and close your eyes as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your expensive lace panties, slowly pulling them down. “Always… Always…”

The winter’s chill seeped in through the latticed windows this time of year, giving the house even more of a draft than usual, the frigid air causing fresh waves of gooseflesh to raise all over your body, your sensitive nipples furling tight until Undertaker took them into his warm mouth— just about the only thing warm about him most days.

You’d keen, arching your back to push further into the heat of his mouth, the feel of his wet tongue leaving sloppy, languid kisses to your breast almost making you wish these physical acts still held any semblance of real romantic intimacy.

Even when he’d lower his head between your thighs, hitching your legs over his broad shoulders and spreading you wider for him, marveling in the taste of you like you were made of the sweetest nectar, sugar-ripe fruit so tender it was ready to burst, you still felt you were merely going through the motions.

Sure, the way you’d throw your head back and one of those delectable little moans would pitch high in your throat was real. The ecstasy your lover granted you again and again until you were sore and spent and defiled to his satisfaction, even that was real, in the moment.

But in the moments that came after, once you’d been cleaned up and cuddled into his side, the fantasy that you’d once lived had faded to a pulsing ache of uncertainty and regret.

How long had it been since you’d felt like things were perfect? Like things were too good to be true?

How long had it been since an “I love you” was said and received as sincerely as a vow?

How long were you going to pretend?

How long had you been pretending before you’d noticed?

When you realized it had probably been forever, as far as Undertaker was concerned, that was when that hairline fracture that had nearly healed in your heart split itself all the way back open, cracking down to its core, shattering, the pieces bleeding out all the love and adoration you had left until all that remained was an empty, withered husk in your chest.

But, if there was one thing Undertaker knew how to do— even better than buying back your affections with lavish gifts and extravagant vacations— it was how to revive what had once decayed, breathe it back to life with any means necessary.

With every drag of his hips that hit that sweet spot deep inside of you. With every sharp line that your nails carved into his back. With every single utterance of “Daddy” and “angel” or “princess”, you two were slowly but surely stitching yourselves back to each other like a patchwork of love and lies and longing for something you might never really make whole again because, you’d come to realize, it had been made of shattered fragments from the start.

Undertaker had scars on the outside, sure. But just because yours weren’t as deep or as visible as his didn’t mean you were without.

If he ever found you a corpse laid out on one of those cold, metal tables, a razor sharp scalpel in his hand to cut you open with, he’d peel back your layers and retract in horror, your insides embedded in a careful quilting of scar tissue, every insecurity and lie and bit of spiteful resentment criss-crossing your cadavernous state like the intricate embroidery of the imported curtains of the master bedroom, marbled into your marrow and impossible to be carved out.

But Undertaker would never allow your corpse to become cold, much less cut open.

He hadn’t worked this hard for this long to just give everything up now.

Othello or no Othello, the Black Reaper wasn’t going to quit.

It was something he and a certain loose end had in common.

***

Grell stood at the docks that night, hugging his red trench coat tighter around his body as an icy breeze blew by, and stared out at the blackened sea sloshing against the harbor in a tired, dazed state.

Whether Grell was pacing the streets or speeding down the empty back roads or hacking up some poor bastard in the basement of headquarters, there hadn’t been a day that had gone by since the incident without Othello popping into his mind.

The skittery little scientist had been more of an influence among the Aurora Society’s ranks than any of them had realized, and that wasn’t even coming from a standpoint of professional contribution.

Othello had been a friend to each and every one of them, in his own strange and twisted way.

He’d been a friend, and now he was just a corpse.

Not even.

There hadn’t even been enough left to consider him a corpse.

Now, he was just some charred fragments placed into a coffin and buried six feet deep out of respect. 

And Grell knew Ron had done it— had something to do with it at the very least— but still…

Even after spinning the story every which way over these past few weeks, Grell still couldn’t find it in himself to truly hate Ron.

And that, perhaps, was the most disturbing part about what had happened.

Grell tipped his head back to the sky, the moon nearly full and looking big enough to swallow up the few flickering stars that poked through the fog. He sighed, hung his head, and then turned on his heel to stroll back down the docks and head home.

Not two strides later, he stopped dead in his tracks.

At the opposite end of the salt-rotted planks was none other than the traitor, the escapee, the murderer.

Ron gave a timid wave, a hesitant smile, and simply greeted his old colleague with a weary, “Hey…”

For a moment, Grell felt relieved, his next exhale catching halfway in his throat when he remembered what his former friend had done, and a deep, frightening scowl etched itself onto his face. He marched towards Ron, each step gaining more speed, more ferocity, and just when he was on him, he drew his ruby dagger and went to drive the blade down.

Ron caught his wrist, the two of them putting up a brief struggle, but Ron knew that there wasn’t any real fight behind Grell’s action. Tears began to mist in Grell’s green eyes, and slowly but surely, his attack began to lose its strength.

“Why…?” Grell hissed through tightly clenched teeth, blinking away his emotions the best he could, giving one last try and thrusting the knife down before going limp in Ron’s grasp. Ron simply shook his head, and then Grell was lowering the knife and sliding it back into its home on the back of his belt.

Neither of them said anything for what felt like an eternity, just stared each other down, one emerald gaze trying to apologize while the other was hoping to intimidate.

“Undertaker is gonna kill you, y’know,” Grell then stated with only a hint of malice, trying to hide a sniffle in his sleeve before adjusting his coat and smoothing down his windswept hair. “You’ll die before you see her again.” Ron’s stare didn’t relent, merely shifted from sympathy into steel, wishing that Grell would just make this easy for him. Not that he deserved it. “I figure that’s why you even bothered coming back,” Grell went on in the prolonged silence, looking Ron up and down with a distasteful scrunch of his nose. “Either that, or you really do have a death wish.”

“Maybe,” shrugged Ron, his voice sharp. Resentful. “But before he can kill me, he’ll have to find me.”

Grell scowled at Ron, incredulous, mouth hanging open with several sentences on the tip of his tongue— pleads to beg him to just forget this and disappear, warnings that he’d never be able to outrun the Black Reaper forever, words to challenge him to see what would happen if he dared try whatever it was he was planning— but he couldn’t seem to pick a place to start.

The redhead then straightened his posture, cleared his throat, and spoke with an air of superiority as he responded, “This was never going to be a hunt, Ron. It’s a delivery. You’re going to walk right into Undertaker’s trap and make it easy for him.”

Ron paced past Grell, stopped at the very edge of the docks, and said with his back facing the man who’d just tried to kill him a few minutes ago, “We’ll see about that…”

Grell let out an exasperated sigh, trying to act like he didn’t care one way or the other if Ron threw his life away like this, but deep down, a small piece of him was on his side.

They’d been friends at one point in the not so distant past too, after all. And, for Grell, losing one friend to a sudden, violent end was enough.

“So, I’m assuming you don’t want me to mention that I even thought I saw you around here then?” Grell asked, holding back not even an ounce of attitude.

Ron hesitated, taking in the salty scent of the sea, savoring the way the air felt a little thicker down by the docks. Then he turned, faced Grell, and replied with an almost chipper tone, “Actually, if he asks, tell him I’ll be waiting where our first deal was made.” He nodded to himself, as if only realizing that was a good idea the moment it left his mouth. “Yeah…” he pondered, turning back towards the rolling waves. “I think that’ll work just fine.”

Grell shifted his stance, one hand on his hip as he used the other to swish a curtain of his crimson hair over his shoulder from where the wind had blown it forward. He clicked his tongue and gave a curt response of, “Anything else, your majesty?”

Ron took in another deep breath of the ocean air, wishing he could’ve seen the water during the daylight one last time, preferably at sunset when the waves looked like liquid gold as they touched the peach tinted sky on the horizon and rocked against the cargo ships, his entire world a pale shade of serenity for just those few fleeting moments.

“No,” he told Grell. “That’ll be all.” And when Ron glanced over his shoulder to meet his friend’s gaze that time, he looked an awful lot like he was saying goodbye.

***

“And then what did he say?” Undertaker pressed, an uncharacteristic sense of urgency in his tone.

Panic.

Rage.

Vengeance.

“Nothing,” Grell replied from the other end of the call, sounding a little worried himself upon hearing the boss so uneasy. “He just said he’d be waiting where you two did your first deal. Said that was all.”

Undertaker absentmindedly chewed on his lip as he rolled that information over in his mind a few times. The place where him and Ron had made their first “deal” had been Undertaker’s section of the supply docks— the very place Grell had just run into him. What angle was he pulling?

Unless…

Normally, that wouldn’t have posed such an issue. But tonight, obviously unbeknownst to Ron, Undertaker wasn’t at the estate with you or sitting in his private office at headquarters, staring out at the city he was soon to control, soon to own. Or so he thought.

No, tonight, Undertaker and you were enjoying some winter holiday festivities in a quaint little tourist town a couple of hours away. He’d promised to take you shopping and treat you to whatever you wanted, allowing you to pick out an extra dessert at the renowned bakery located in the central square to bring home with you if you acted on your best behavior.

You two had been out all day, only planning on heading back home once the shops closed around nine. And, seeing as it was only currently six, you were pretty disappointed when Undertaker informed you after his tense phone call that you two would have to end your outing early.

“I’m going to be dropping you off at headquarters, sweetheart,” he explained, opening the car’s passenger side door for you, trying to keep a lightness to his tone even as you pouted and whined. “It’ll just be for a little while. Daddy just has some business to attend to and then he’ll take you home and let you pick out a movie for us to watch, alright?”

It wasn’t a question or a suggestion, no matter how hard he tried to trick you into thinking it was.

But that was alright. You wouldn’t mind seeing Grell, if he was there. Plus, you just might be able to guilt Undertaker into letting you have an extra treat during the movie.

And Undertaker didn’t think this would take long. He just planned on walking right up to Ron, shooting him in the head, dropping his body into the harbor, and then heading back to his baby.

About halfway to headquarters, the car ride especially silent, you muttered out a timid, “So… what’s going on? Is everything ok?”

You saw Undertaker’s jaw clench, heard the slight squeak of his black leather gloves gripping the steering wheel harder. “It’s nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about, princess,” he replied, the forced pleasantry in his tone a little strained, like a glass on the verge of shattering from a high-pitched vibration.

After another extended beat of quiet between you two, you asked, “Is this about Ron?”

The silence that haunted the car the rest of the way to headquarters was answer enough.

***

It only took about five minutes after being dropped off at headquarters for your anxiety to build.

It began like a slow drip of ice in your veins, the familiar inkling that something wasn’t right repeating in your mind with every increasingly frantic beat of your stuttering heart.

After ten minutes had gone by, you were starting to spiral into a bottomless pit of worry, all the what if’s clawing at your insides and beginning to draw blood.

Twenty minutes later, having found that pacing the upper halls where it was mostly quiet wasn’t doing much to help, you returned to the meeting room where Will was working on completing some paperwork— Undertaker had hand delivered you to his supervision before leaving in a hurry— the stoic man barely looking up as you reentered, fidgeting and clearly upset.

“When will Grell be back?” you asked, voice breaking a little as you felt the panic swell, breaths growing shallow and beginning to make you lightheaded.

William sighed, the scratching of his pen making your skin crawl as he signed over another dotted line and placed the sheet on top of the pile of completed assignments. Then he replied in that bored, somewhat irked drone of his, “I don’t know.”

You swallowed, shuffled on your feet, then opted to pull out one of the chairs at the far end of the long boardroom table and sit down. The ticking of the wall clock suddenly sounded too loud, a constant, even click without a beginning or an end. How long had it been now, you wondered, since Undertaker had dropped you here and sped off? How long would it be until he returned, possibly covered in blood— Ron’s blood, presumably— with his green eyes dark with the cruelty of a fresh kill?

“Do you— Can you tell me what’s going on?” you blurted out next, wringing your hands together under the table and bouncing your leg, staring urgently at Will, who now shifted his downcast gaze to meet yours, his action of signing the next line frozen as he answered, “No, I cannot.” He held your stare for only a moment more, then resumed his work.

“Well—” you persisted, Will letting out an agitated sigh and slumping slightly in his chair, very clearly frustrated with your constant interruptions. “Is Un— Is Daddy gonna be ok? He seemed really worried about whatever it was and I just—”

“Alright! I’m back—” Grell spoke as he entered the room, stopping short once he saw you, the look of exhaustion on his face quickly replaced with a comforting kind of fondness as he changed his tone and said, “Ah! There you are! Why don’t you and I leave Will alone and go take a walk down to the breakroom?” He winked at you, lowering his voice as if trying to keep a secret from his colleague who was only a few feet away, and bribed, “I’ll even split the red velvet cupcake I’ve been saving with you, if you want?”

Under any other circumstances, you would’ve giggled and gone without any hesitation, Grell playfully reminding you that it would be our little secret. But now, all of that adorable defiance was gone. All that was left in its wake was the pinched brow and slight frown that painted your worry.

“Before you go,” William addressed Grell, standing from his chair and carefully adjusting his pen so it lay perfectly parallel to the remaining papers, “I need a word.”

There was a pause then, and when you looked back to Will and saw him giving you that silently patronizing glare that said that this conversation wasn’t for your ears, your shoulders slumped.

“We’ll only be a minute, darling,” Grell assured you, placing a hand on your back and beginning to guide you out of the room with a sharp toothed grin. Right before he closed the doors, Grell said, “I’ll give you the bigger half if you’re patient, m’kay?” and then they were both gone from your view, the confidential discussion probably holding the answers to all your questions yet locked away behind the heavy, elegantly carved mahogany.

For a minute, you’d shifted back into compliance, leaning against the opposite wall and waiting for them to conclude like a good girl. But then, your curiosity always getting the better of you, you crept up to the doors and pressed your ear to the crack, hoping that maybe, if you stayed as still as you could and focused, you’d be able to make out some of what they were saying.

“… Said something… their deal,” you could just barely make out Grell speaking in a hushed tone, catching the confusion that was woven into his annoyance. “… Offered him backup… didn’t want it.”

There was a long pause, and you slowly put a little distance between yourself and the doorway. If they’d seen your shadow moving from under the door, you didn’t want to be caught with your ear pressed to it when they swung it open to double check they weren’t being overheard. After a little while with no sign of their suspicion, you continued to listen.

“… Settle it alone?” Will murmured, his low voice a little easier to make out.

“Something like…” Grell responded slightly louder. “But he should… Guy’s got a death wish.”

All you could think about was Ron, the memory of his carefree, boyish smile and soft, strawberry blonde hair flashing through your mind one second, then the image of his glasses smeared with blood, his charming emerald eyes drained of their sparkling light as his corpse lay crumpled at the bottom of a shallow grave the next.

You winced at the thought, praying to a god you probably didn’t even believe in for him to be spared, whether by retreat or nonlethal retribution.

“… Meeting him?” You cued back into Will’s voice, closing your eyes and holding your breath as you desperately tried to gain as much detail in their whispered words as you could.

“As far as I know… Told me a long time ago…” Grell replied, his attempt at secrecy loosening as his voice lost some of its hush. “First place they met were the docks.”

The docks.

Ever so carefully, you backed away from the door, tip-toeing down to the end of the hall before taking off running.

You had all the information you needed to know how to stop this.

And you would stop this, somehow, someway, so long as you weren’t already too late.

***

The clouds moved fast overhead, thick and dark and swallowing the glowing moon.

Ron had been waiting here— at the abandoned yard just off the edge of the supply docks— for what felt like an eternity, every single sound that wasn’t the sloshing of the waves or the whistling of the chilly breeze setting him on edge.

But he had to remain calm, reclaim his composure, and be ready when the time came.

Because Undertaker would show up eventually.

Ron knew he wouldn’t be able to resist, so long as Grell had passed on the message like he’d told him to.

So he waited.

He waited and he thought of you.

“Well, I’ll admit…” Ron whirled around as he heard the familiar rasp of Undertaker’s low, dangerous voice, drawing his gun immediately and taking a defensive stance. “When Grell first told me the news, I didn’t believe it.” Undertaker strolled closer with an eerie amount of nonchalance, though not with his guard completely down. “I thought, ‘well, I just have to see this for myself.’” He felt the weight of his gun in his coat pocket, casually slipped his hand over it and rested his gloved finger on the trigger.

A gust of strong, frigid wind howled through the docks, sending the silver ribbons of Undertaker’s hair flaring out wildly around him, the rumbling that drummed in the distance warning of the downpour that was on its way.

Undertaker’s smirk dropped, only a dark, vicious malice shining in his narrowed eyes. “But here you are… Ever the persistent little rat, aren’t you, Knox?”

Ron steadied his aim, swallowing hard and lining up the barrel with the Black Reaper’s forehead. “Better a rat than a snake,” he spit, applying a little more pressure to the trigger. He wished there was more daylight left to see how beautiful it would look once all that silver and black was stained with bright, deadly red. “Or a fucking psycho trying to play his hand at being God. Tell me, did you always plan on killing her or was that a more recent development?”

Undertaker’s smile returned as he pulled the pistol from his pocket, the weapon recently polished and craving fresh blood.

He let out a cold, cruel chuckle in response to Ron’s question.

“I bet you even know exactly how you’re gonna do it, too,” Ron went on, growing more enraged and impatient by the second, thunder growling louder as it echoed across the waves. “I know you’re not gonna cut ‘er up. No, that would be too gruesome… So which is it?” He took a lurching half step forward, the gun shaking in his hand. “Poison? Pills? Or maybe you’ll just wrap your hands around her throat and squeeze till she stops movin’, is that it?”

Still, Undertaker offered no clarity on the matter, merely continued to stare self-righteous and unblinking at his adversary across the graveyard of the docks.

“Yeah… Bet you wouldn’t mind leavin’ those kinds of marks on ‘er. Ones that’ll never let anyone forget who she belongs to! You sick—!”

“Are you done?” Undertaker called over, the baritone of his voice cutting through the shrill desperation of Ron’s.

Ron gripped the gun in both hands again, letting out a shuddering exhale as he prepared himself to do it— prepared himself to kill an unkillable man, to kill a god.

“Yeah,” he answered, barely loud enough for anyone besides himself to hear. “I’m done.”

Undertaker raised his arm, taking aim.

“Finally,” he scoffed, a sinister smirk carving itself across his scarred face. “Something we can agree on.”

***

Having faith in yourself had never been an easy thing for you.

It was always, “No, don’t do that, do this instead,” or “Aw, you look like you’re having a hard time. Here, why don’t you let me do it for you?” or “Are you really sure that’s what you want?” and any other number of condescending coos that carefully concealed the attempts to make you feel like you needed to rely on others, whether for decision making or taking care of yourself or any other matter of things you’d long lost track of keeping count of.

But as the Uber you’d hastily ordered on your phone sped down the twisting highways, each turn lending a narrower road than the last the closer you got to the coast, you clutched your determination with a death grip, knowing it wasn’t just your future at stake if you let it slip from your grasp.

Undertaker had demanded you delete all of your ride-sharing apps once he, along with any of his most trusted men, became your personal chauffeur, saying he didn’t trust complete strangers with his precious baby. But, lucky for you, you’d redownloaded them out of spite one day and your mom’s credit card was still connected to the account you’d long lost use for.

Until tonight.

Right now.

When it was just the stroke of luck you needed to escape.

“We’re getting close,” you informed the driver, constantly glancing from out your window to where the little pulsing blue dot that marked your current location inched closer to the sea.

It had just begun to rain, little drizzle drops misting the windshield, the stuttering rubber sound on one of the broken wipers only making you more anxious.

“There!” you pointed towards the shoulder of the road right up ahead, the driver upping the speed of his wipers as the rain began to hit the windshield a little harder. He gave you a skeptical glance from the rearview mirror, passing the spot you’d just directed him towards. You clicked your tongue and rolled your eyes, scoffing out an agitated, “Here, just stop here.”

“But…” the driver— some guy in his early thirties by the looks of him— began hesitantly, only starting to slow to a stop once he caught the scowl forming on your face from the back seat. “It’s the middle of the road. There’s nothing even out here. And it’s—”

You exited the car and slammed the door, taking off down the steep slope of the hill that ran down the other side of the highway barrier, hearing the tires squeal as they momentarily hydroplaned over the slick pavement.

You could see the docks from here, just past a makeshift lot littered with abandoned or broken supply crates— the big, steel kind that get packed onto freight ships— even through the darkness and the fog and the rain that was slowly but surely morphing into a downpour, the harsh winds whipping up your skirt in a jittery frenzy and raising painful goosebumps over the skin of your bare legs.

You could see the docks, but no Undertaker or Ron.

Panic struck you like an arrow, sudden and razor sharp, your breath quickening faster than you could keep up with.

Because maybe you’d been too late after all.

Maybe Ron was already dead.

Maybe you were next.

As tears welled in your eyes, mixing with the rain that soaked your hair and streaked down your face in fast drops, you felt your chest heaving. Felt the tightness that twisted in your heart like a knife being turned in an already open wound. You clutched your fists to your stomach and doubled over, opened your mouth, and let out a sound that you’d never heard yourself make before.

The echo of your scream may have been drowned out by the thrumming of the storm, but you’d heard it loud and clear— the sound of your heart breaking. The sound of not being enough. Never being enough, no matter how hard you tried.

But still, you hadn’t come this far not to see it with your own eyes.

So you took off running down the hill, nearly stumbling with every step over the soggy earth, your shoes and socks drenched and stained with dark mud, and you didn’t stop until the hill tapered off onto flat land again, the old, rusted shipment containers that probably held any number of nefarious and ghastly goods at one point or another haunting the graveyard of the docks like eerie, rectangular guardians.

So close, you thought as you slowly staggered to a stop, feet sinking further into the mud. So close, but always too far.

But that’s when you heard it.

A single gunshot, ringing out through the hissing of the rain.

You froze, a gasp caught halfway in your throat.

And then, as if possessed by the past self you’d nearly lost— given up willingly, all for the sake of this life— you took off sprinting.

You wouldn’t be too late this time.

You’d make it or die trying.

***

Blood seeped through Ron’s fingers as he clutched his shoulder, his breath fogging before him as he panted out short, stuttering exhales, the rain washing away the tiny clouds along with the red that it dragged further down his sleeve, dripping off the end of his shivering fingertips.

He’d tried to fire off a few shots after he threw himself behind the cover of one of the shipment containers but Undertaker had been too fast, too swift as he sought refuge behind an adjacent crate. His triumphant chuckle bounced off the confines of the metal husk, the faint echoes taunting Ron out of his hiding place and back into action.

“Undertaker!” he bellowed, sharp and growling like the warning bark of a dog on the end of its chain. He tried to take aim from around the corner of his cover but saw no clear pathway for a successful shot. “Fuck it!” Ron spitefully snarled to himself, counting his ammunition before sliding the clip back into the pistol.

He had two shots left.

The next words he spit under his breath were, “Better to die fighting than a fucking coward.”

And Undertaker could sense Ron drawing closer, could picture him moving ever so cautiously until he figured he’d have nothing left to lose and then waste his last two bullets firing in blind rage. So, as this dance with death they’d both been partners in for so long was nearing its end, the Black Reaper figured he’d give his underling some parting words.

“I just find it all amusing,” Undertaker began, “that you ever gained any sense that you could win. The very notion of you even standing a single chance to begin with makes me laugh.” The end of his taunt was peppered with a forced snicker, which gained the exact result Undertaker was hoping for.

It stirred Ron’s rage.

Much more, and he would become reckless. That was all Undertaker needed to make himself more deadly. And so he went on, “I know this makes no difference to someone like you, but I love her. I loved her long before you and I’ll love her long after. And she knows it.” Then, just to himself he muttered, “Despite it all, she knows it…”

“You’re going to get her killed!” When Ron’s voice called back, he was closer now, putting Undertaker on higher alert as he readied his gun. “And, whatever your fucked up definition of love is, it’s sick and twisted and she deserves something better! Something without all your conditions and punishments and lies!”

Ron was coming up on the corner of the crate then, keeping quiet to better focus and trying to steady his breathing and shaking hands, biting back a wince as his shoulder throbbed in pain. When he rounded to face the opening of the hollow metal tunnel, gun raised and ready to fire off his last two shots the moment his vision caught silver, he froze.

“Shit—” he swore through clenched teeth, quickly taking cover in the now empty space and trying to apply a little pressure on his weeping wound. It was hard not to visualize his own death when he pulled his hand away and saw it completely stained with red.

Undertaker had slinked away at the last second, so now Ron had no idea where he could be. Every crate would be like pulling the trigger in a game of Russian roulette, each time he turned to aim down another tunnel possibly being the last step he took before being forced to his knees by a bullet or blood loss.

Undertaker moved about the abandoned yard like a specter, gracefully waltzing from one cover to the next despite all the soggy earth beneath his feet, the rain only picking up its incessant drumming, tapping out an anxious beat that reverberated through the metal tunnels every time he slipped into another one of the crates.

A shiver wracked through him, bones and all, as the cold rain trickled down the back of his neck, his pale silver hair now turned a sleek shade of steel as it stuck to his forehead and the back of his long black coat, also soaked through.

This place was an obstacle course, even on the best of days. But now, with the relentless storm drenching everything in sight and dulling the most vital of senses, each step held potential danger, every decision, no matter how simple, became a grave one.

But even so, this did not deter Undertaker from exposing his location.

“Everything I do is because I love her!” he shouted, having a vague idea of Ron’s current whereabouts. “Can’t you see? It’s because I love her that I’m willing to go so far, to do every single thing I’ve done that you’ve deemed wrong or evil!”

Ron tried to pick out his voice through the rain, trying to focus on the rough edges that frayed from Undertaker’s silken baritone. Was there perhaps a tremble of trepidation woven within his words? Perhaps if this were anyone other than the Black Reaper. Ron knew it was most likely the cold that was causing his tone to shiver, but tried to convince himself otherwise for his own sake.

“We’ll be together forever, her and I,” Undertaker continued, speaking lower this time, not necessarily caring if Ron heard him but wanting to recite his fantasy out loud nonetheless. “I’ll fulfill Othello’s dying wish to see the reanimation technology brought to fruition and with that her and I will be preserved for the rest of time.”

He’d release it to the world too, eventually. At least, to anyone able and willing to pay the outrageous price for eternity.

“I burned it all down, remember!?” Ron called out. Undertaker stiffened from his hiding spot. How had Ron managed to close in so fast? As Ron crept closer to the next shipment crate, he spit under his breath, “Good luck swallowing all that ash for immortality.”

Ron turned and took aim down the tunnel, the one he was sure his enemy would be standing in the center of, but flinched when once again the area rendered itself empty. Then, from behind him, that low, sinister confidence spoke.

“Not everything,” Undertaker said, that cruel smirk curved up on one side of his face. Ron whirled to face him, his finger on the trigger. 

And so two more gunshots mingled with the hiss of the pouring rain.

***

Even when your chest began to burn, lungs constricting as you sucked down gulp after gulp of the frigid air…

Even as your legs ached, running as fast and as hard as you could, the rain pelting your skin as wave after wave of the freezing drops hit your body like hundreds of tiny needles…

Even as the mud drenched and ruined your expensive, designer clothes— as mascara ran down your cheeks in splattered black streaks— as you kicked off your shoes entirely because, although they were one of your favorite pairs, they were only slowing you down and your feet went numb as the drowned ground soaked through your socks…

Even then, you wouldn’t slow down.

The gunshots rang out through the graveyard of the docks, splicing through the downpour and making you gasp, your next step staggering, before you took off in yet another painful sprint. But it wasn’t long before the hazy silhouette of two familiar figures came into sight through the darkness.

You stopped short, tried to call out in between your panting breaths, but no one heard you over the storm.

If they couldn’t hear you, they’d have to see you.

So you kept running.

Sure enough, it was Undertaker and Ron. You knew it all along— knew it months and months ago when you’d first started to mess around, long before the flirtatious texts and the secret sex and all the other interactions that had betrayed and challenged Undertaker— that things might end up this way. With Ron lying on the ground with a bullet through his shoulder and a gash across his temple, blood pouring from both wounds as Undertaker stood over him, aiming his gun down at the boy you might’ve been able to love in a different life.

They were still a ways away, but close enough to recognize your sopping wet shape the same as you did theirs if only they looked over. You tried shouting again, shrieking for them to stop, your throat going raw as new claws of desperation raked their hooked talons through your vocal chords.

But still no one heard you. And, if they did, they deemed you unimportant. An issue to be dealt with once the matter at hand was settled.

You were tired of being a side character in your own god forsaken life. So, as absolutely terrified as you were, you marched forward, each step nearly sending you slipping or sliding or sinking, yet each step was more sure and strong than the last.

You locked your gaze on Undertaker, praying to some invisible force to spare you just a few more seconds before the reaper claimed Ron’s life, and saw Undertaker’s mouth move. Only then did you freeze for a brief moment, trying to read his lips but to no avail.

The look on his face told he was saying something vital— something about the deep pinch of his sparse, silvery brow, his emerald eyes squinting and nose scrunched as a bitter snarl pulled up one corner of his mouth, teeth bared and glinting like he was ready to sink them into the nearest jugular and tear with all his might— something meant only for the ears of a dying man and his executioner.

When Undertaker put both hands around his gun, raising it to fire the final shot, you snapped out of it, kicked back into action and not stopping until the Black Reaper— the love of your life, the worst man you knew, the warden who’d clipped your wings only to keep you locked away in a pretty cage— finally noticed your presence and dared to look your way.

“Stop! Stop—! Wait!” You came stumbling forward, Undertaker’s formerly vicious and terrifying gaze melting to something cold and stoic before softening to an emotion caught between concern and rage upon landing his sight on your severely disheveled state.

You practically skid to a halt, standing before the barrel of Undertaker’s gun and holding out your hands as if that had the power to stop a bullet from exiting the chamber the moment his finger pulled the trigger. You didn’t even know if Ron was still alive or if you’d been too late, but still, you had to try.

“Please— Please! Please don’t! Please don’t kill him!” You begged, your eyes flicking back and forth between Undertaker and the gun, part of you wondering if this might be how you met your end after all. Because Undertaker wasn’t lowering his weapon. He was hearing you, yes. But was he really listening?

“Sweetheart, please,” Undertaker growled, low and menacing, his stare narrowing at you like he was trying to decipher whether you were an ally or an adversary. “Step out of the way.”

“You can’t!” you continued desperately, your heart hammering in your throat and making every syllable quiver with fear and adrenaline. “You can’t kill him! Please! I’m begging you!”

Undertaker clicked his tongue, stepped forward and swatted you out of the way as if you were nothing more than a pesky little fly, but you grabbed his arm with every ounce of strength you had left. It wasn’t much. Even on a day you hadn’t just sprinted through the freezing, pouring rain you could’ve never hoped to have faced him and won. But Undertaker must’ve felt your desperation, because again he hesitated.

He hesitated and heard you out.

Besides, it wasn’t like Ron was going anywhere.

“Remember—!” You began, already choking on your words, a powerful sob wracking through your chest, hollowing you out, perhaps never to be whole again. “Remember the first time we met! Do you remember who you were then? How you were?” You were searching his eyes for any hint of understanding, any shred of hope that he would heed your words, that he’d remember any sliver of himself that wasn’t this— that wasn’t vengeful and vicious and violent.

“You were so kind…” Your voice cracked, shoulders beginning to shudder as tears filled your eyes, unable to hold them back as the rain pulled them down your face. “You were so gentle… You— You were the first person in a long time to show me any kind of consideration!” Undertaker lowered the gun, though still kept his finger loosely on the trigger. “And I thought it was all too good to be true!” You sniffled, the end of your sentence garbled from all the tears and rain running into your mouth. “Sometimes I still think it is, but—” You took a chance, let go of his arm, and slowly reached for his pale face. As you touched his chilled skin, the downpour turning him clammy, you looked deep into his eyes— the same eyes you’d seen gaze upon you with all the love in the world one minute only to glower at a man he was soon to execute the next— and said, “I love you. God, I love you…”

You closed your eyes for a moment, wanting nothing more than to touch your forehead to his. To be in some place warm and familiar and safe in his arms. To go back to a time before all of this, before you’d known you loved a monster and would still choose to love a monster even after you learned its darkest, most ugly parts…

But all you had was now. And, now, you had to save not just Ron, but yourself and Undertaker as well.

Because you would lose more than just Ron if Undertaker pulled that trigger.

You’d lose everything— your mind, your home, the man you really did love, despite it all…

“But if you do this—” You began again as your eyes snapped open, and while they were still bloodshot with tears, your stare cut deeper than daggers, deadly. “If you do this I will never love you again. Do you hear me?” You curled your grip around his jaw a little tighter. Sort of like how he did to you when you were being an insolent little brat in bed, warning you that, if you didn’t listen to Daddy and behave, an ample punishment would be soon on its way.

Undertaker didn’t respond, but by the way his throat bobbed with a nervous swallow, you knew the message was sinking in, no matter how reluctantly.

“But if you let him live…” You softened, slowly removing your trembling little hands from his face to hug around his waist, pressing your cheek to his soaked coat, pretending you could hear a human heart beating underneath and not the eerie humming of a hollow corpse. “If you let him live, I’ll love you forever and ever… For the rest of my life and whatever comes after…” You looked up at him, the rain finally beginning to die down a bit as you blinked drops from your eyes, and held your breath as you hoped even a fraction of what you’d said was being taken seriously by him.

When Undertaker placed his non-lethal hand on the small of your back, pressing you a little closer to his chest, you gulped, the breath you’d been holding in forced to exhale shakily through your nose.

“You don’t have to be a bad man,” you told him, a small, soft smile quivering up on your lips, all the color drained from them on account of how cold you were. “I’ll forgive you for everything you’ve ever done, to me or anyone else… Every last thing…” You returned to his embrace, cold as it was, and tried to trick yourself into believing the words leaving your mouth. “I’ll forget all of it… Just spare him, please.”

And then, just as quickly as the storm had rolled in and wreaked its havoc, it was reduced to a misty drizzle, a ghostly fog forming in its wake across the land, floating over the surface of the waves in swirling tendrils rimmed with silver by the moon.

Headlights cut through the gloom, Grell’s cherry red Lamborghini speeding towards the three of you and stopping with a skid, him and Will jumping out and rushing towards all the commotion, both looking dire, though neither had their guns drawn.

Everything after that was mostly a blur.

Undertaker told you to go with Grell, and when you refused, he told you that if you went with Grell he’d spare Ron. You knew he was lying, so you stubbornly insisted on staying right where you were.

Undertaker then ordered his men to take you by force, and even as you kicked and screamed and fought with everything you had, you were no match.

You were afraid all of it had been for nothing.

But as you sat in the car, Grell in charge of keeping you from escaping and running right back towards the scene, you watched the rest unfold, the world beyond the car silent and uncertain.

Undertaker and Will talked back and forth in a rapidfire fashion, though you could only really see Undertaker’s face. He looked more than furious. He looked wrathful. But a gasp hitched in your chest when you saw William kneel down and help Ron up, who, though bloody and battered, seemed to still be breathing.

With Ron half slung over Will’s shoulder, the two of them began to stagger away, disappearing further into the mist. Meanwhile, Undertaker stood in the center of it all, as still as a statue, the gun clutched loosely in his hand as it hung by his side and he watched them go. He could still shoot. He could still win. But he must’ve believed you, for all he did was wait until they were completely out of sight. Then he came back to retrieve you from Grell’s car.

“Come, my love,” he beckoned, extending a hand to you, which you took more out of fearful necessity than trusting relief. “Let’s go home.”

***

By the time Ron came to, he was sitting with his hands bound in the backseat of a car in the middle of a runway, a small jet parked and ready for takeoff just across the way.

His head was pounding, his shoulder was bandaged, his heart was broken, but he was still alive.

He was still alive…

“So he was really serious…?” Ron asked, his voice gravelly and defeated, as he met Will’s steely gaze in the rearview mirror. “He’s really gonna let me go, after all that…?”

Will remained silent, just continued to stare, his expression unreadable.

Ron let his head loll back against the headrest, a sickened smirk lifting one side of his lips. “Or is he just flying me somewhere far away to do the deed…? Y’know, so I can’t haunt his territory…” He breathed out a weak chuckle. If he were talking about anyone else, he probably would’ve been joking. But with Undertaker… who knew what someone like that man really believed.

Will turned the key in the ignition, the car humming back to life. “This is a kindness, you know,” he finally spoke, not even bothering to glance over his shoulder into the backseat. Not that he had to. Ron had no strength or weapons to fight him with, let alone the intention. Still though… They had worked together all this time. By some people’s standards, that might’ve made them friends, to some degree. Though, in this line of work, Ron supposed, loyalty only lied with oneself.

Will let out a troubled sigh, quietly cleared his throat, and said, “Undertaker wasn’t sure how coherent you were during the initial discussion and asked me to repeat the stipulations of this deal to you before sending you on your way.” Only then did William turn halfway to gaze into the backseat, though the look he gave Ron wasn’t a comforting one. It was almost pleading, as if to say, don’t waste this chance you’ve been given.

Don’t waste this gift.

“Yeah, whatever, go ahead…” Ron droned, as if he were merely bored during a long drawn out meeting and not about to have his entire life unwillingly changed forever.

William faced forward again and began to recite the terms and conditions Ron, like most deals made with the Black Reaper, had no choice but to follow or face certain death. And so the rules of Ron’s newfound freedom were as such…

If he ever showed his face in England ever again—

If he ever tried to contact you in any way, shape, or form—

If Ron tried to exist anywhere near the sphere of you and Undertaker��s world—

Then Undertaker would— with God and the Devil and every other holy or haunting higher power in between as his witness— finish what he’d started that night between the abandoned shipment crates that lined the graveyard of the docks.

“I get it…” Ron scoffed. “So I’m banished…” He slumped forward and rolled his neck, a few popping sounds filling the bleak silence of the car along with his stifled groan. “Well…” he sighed, forcing one of those charming grins despite it all. “Where ya takin’ me, Captain? New York? L.A.?” His playful attitude took a hit as a new realization occurred to him. “Or is he droppin’ me in the middle of the sticks somewhere I don’t even speak the language?” He leaned back in his seat, scoffed a little as he mumbled, “Though, if it were somewhere in the tropics, I don’t think I’d mind…”

“First of all,” William corrected, placing one hand on the wheel while the other adjusted his glasses, “I’m not taking you anywhere. You’ll be going with some of the others. Up and comers who have something to prove about loyalty and responsibility…” He almost rolled his eyes just then, the closest thing to sarcasm he might’ve even shown in someone else’s presence. “But they will not harm you, rest assured. And second…” he paused, trying not to grin as he confirmed with a hint of satisfaction, “You’re being sent to New York.”

Ron perked up, unable not to feel a little relief that at least, as much as he hated every facet of his current situation, he’d have more than one kind of entertainment to distract him from the misery that was sure to settle over him like dust over a forgotten antique the longer he had to be away from you.

He asked, eyes wide and shining, “As in, New York, the city, New York?”

Will nodded, turned up his radio a few notches just to drown out the silence. “New York, as in, the city, New York,” he repeated.

Ron had to stifle a chuckle when he recognized the song quietly playing was, “Moving to New York” by the Wombats. How long had it been since he’d listened to music? I mean, really listened to music? Like nodding along to his favorite songs and letting himself get lost in the beat, clumsily singing to the melody of which all the words he did not know?

“So… what?” Ron quirked up an eyebrow, skeptical. “He’s flyin’ me to New York City free of charge and then…?” He let what remained of his vague question linger in the air, the final chorus playing out as Ron imagined all kinds of horrors and hardships— like being dropped off and left to figure the rest out on his own with no money or contacts or phone and a bloody suit and cracked glasses to wander the streets and commit who knew what kinds of crimes just to survive.

He’d done it before, he supposed, and back then he hadn’t even had a suit. So, perhaps, by those standards, things wouldn’t be too bad after all.

“And then,” Will explained, “it’s up to you. So long as you abide by the terms and conditions—”

“Then I’m really free…” Ron sighed out in reverence, unable to fully accept it as truth, though the way his hands shook and he couldn’t wipe the wide, borderline maniacal smile from his face spoke to just how much he wanted to believe it. His voice nearly cracked when he hung his head and repeated in a whisper, “I’m free…”

“Oh, and I suppose I should also mention,” added William, “that there is a rather modest apartment waiting for you.” Ron’s head shot up, meeting his colleague’s— former colleague’s— gaze with an unamused expression.

“Very funny,” Ron said, monotone.

But Will wasn’t joking.

Ron wondered what the catch was, then remembered that his freedom and the housing that came with it were all being paid for with the ultimate price— never being able to see or hear from you again.

So Ron got on that plane.

He sat with his hands bound for the entire eight hour flight and stared out the tiny oval window at the ocean below until land finally returned to view.

He let four unknown, bespectacled faces escort him into an unmarked car and drive him through all the glittering lights and blinking signs that decorated Times Square.

He gazed upon the streets he would learn to call home with a childlike wonder, taking in all the whimsey and mystery and debauchery the foreign city could offer at merely a glance.

And, the moment he was delivered downtown to his small, albeit nicer than he’d expected, apartment complex, the bindings on his wrists were cut, and his door clicked shut and locked behind him…

Ron began to scheme.

Because he still wanted to kill Undertaker. And he would. But he could only do that if he was alive. So, for now, Ron would respect this so-called deal that Undertaker had conjured up. He’d respect it just until he had a working plan in order and could retaliate accordingly.

Ron walked further into the apartment— his apartment— and stood in the middle of the living room. It was sparsely furnished, but at least there was a couch, so he plopped down on it and let out a sigh as he sunk into the cushion, flinching when he leaned too far onto his injured shoulder.

He remembered all the afternoons and evenings spent next to you on the couch in Undertaker’s mansion, how sometimes you’d let your thigh rest against his, allow your body heat to bleed through the fabric of his trousers while you read your book or scrolled on your phone or watched a movie. How, sometimes, when you got tired waiting for Undertaker to return if he was working later than expected, you’d rest your head on his shoulder, curl into him for warmth and comfort.

Ron closed his eyes, let his head lean back, his hand lightly brushing against the vacant spot next to him. The spot he imagined you’d one day be sitting by his side after he’d won this battle once and for all.

Ron smirked. It was but a tired twitch of an ill-intentioned smile, but it held all the disdain he needed at the moment.

In the empty, quiet apartment, thousands of miles away from the man he so wished could hear this decree, Ron muttered, “You should’ve killed me when you’d had the chance…”

He saw your smiling face flash through his mind, no longer even having a photo on his phone to remember it by.

But, amidst his sorrow, his mourning, Ron found it in himself to laugh.

He then understood why Undertaker always cackled after a kill. How the low, menacing chuckle soon grew into an uncontrollable chorus of insatiable laughter.

He didn’t know how long he went on like that— head thrown back and mouth stretched impossibly wide as a stitch formed in his side— but once his crazed hilarity died down to sporadic giggling, everything soon returned to silence.

“Yeah…” Ron said, going into the kitchen with the intention to retrieve a glass of water, but instead found an unopened bottle of Undertaker’s favorite, expensive whiskey, a black satin bow tied perfectly around the neck under the guise of being a gift, but what Ron really knew was a reminder, a warning, a threat.

He twisted the top and poured himself a generous glass, some of it sloshing out onto the counter before he threw the whole thing back and swallowed it all in one go. He slammed the glass— one of three that he’d found in the otherwise empty cabinets— on the countertop and let out a long, hissing sigh as the alcohol burned through his system.

He dug his fingers tighter around the crystal glass.

“You really, really should’ve killed me.”

***

You and Undertaker sat inside the black 1953 Rolls-Royce Dawn Drophead for a long time after he’d retrieved you from Grell’s car, the silence that hung between you two heavy enough to sink you to the bottom of the sea.

You were still trembling, still in shock from the whole ordeal, but half of your shaking was probably due to how cold you were, Undertaker’s thick black coat draped over your shoulders but doing nothing to quell your violent shivering.

“Look at you…” he finally cooed, seeming to snap out of his own shock, gently reaching over to brush some soggy strands of hair away from your forehead and trying not to feel too guilty when you first flinched away from him. “You’re a fright. You must be freezing…” He started the car, the heat kicking on at full force now that Undertaker had decided to grant you that small mercy. 

As he began to pull away from the docks, he said in that same sweet, caring tone, as if he hadn’t just traumatized you beyond belief, “I’ll draw us a bath as soon as we get home. And you haven’t even eaten yet, you must be starving. Just say the word and I’ll make you whatever you want.”

You remained silent, your jaw locked as your teeth clattered, though even if it were easy for you to speak right now, you still don’t think you could’ve.

What more was there to say?

You’d signed your life away, agreed to become the perfect, pretty little prisoner that Undertaker had always wanted you to be so Ron could have his own life spared and gain his freedom.

What higher form of love was there than such a sacrifice?

As the fog that floated near the water gave way to a dark stretch of road, you wished that you could’ve looked into Ron’s green eyes one last time, felt his calloused thumb stroking gently along the top of your hand, heard his boyish laugh, seen that charming smile, been able to express to him even a fraction of what he’d meant to you.

But now he was gone from your world forever, so all you could do was hope he knew— across lands and oceans and time— that what you’d felt for him was the real thing. No matter how brief the love you’d shared was, no matter how reluctant, every last bit of it had all been real.

And so you’d send a silent prayer in your mind every night to him, a wish that maybe one day you’d see him again, whether from far off in the distance or passing on the street. A part of you even hoped you’d see him with his arm slung around another girl, that he’d be smiling and gazing at her the same way he used to smile and gaze at you. At least then you’d know he was happy, that he’d found a way to love someone he could actually have.

That’s what you hoped for him. You hoped he got to have what you never would get to. And that was a love as pure and as free as what you’d spend the rest of your days skillfully pretending you and Undertaker shared.

As you pulled up to the gates of the estate grounds— the iron wrought bars surrounding your beautiful cage— you said to Undertaker, no sweetness or innocence or any of those other disgustingly fabricated sugar-coated tones you’d adapted to take around him present in your voice, “If you don’t honor the promise you made to me and let Ron live, wherever you’re taking him…” Undertaker stopped the car halfway up the driveway, caught completely off guard by your own low, dangerous tone. “I can promise you that you will lose me.”

You looked over at him with a menacing gaze, one you’d learned to imitate directly from him, and felt a sick satisfaction when you caught just a flicker of fear behind his otherwise blank stare, concluding with, “So you better not think you can just kill him when I’m not looking. I will find out.”

You held each other’s stares for what felt like an eternity and an instant all at the same time. Then Undertaker looked back out the windshield, continued to creep up the horseshoe driveway to the front steps, and put the car in park.

“Don’t worry, my dear,” he smirked, turning the key in the ignition and killing the lights on the dash. “I can assure you, if Ron were to be killed, it would be by my hand and my hand alone.”

He stepped out of the car and came around to open your door for you, offering said hand to help you out which, for possibly the first time in your life, you didn’t take. You stood there and watched as he closed your door behind you, pulling his damp coat further around your shoulders as a new chill began to slither up your spine.

“Now, I do believe a bath and a hot meal is in order.” Undertaker extended his hand to you once more and, that time, you gave him the courtesy of taking it, allowing him to guide you back inside.

From then on, that night was never spoken of again. Slowly but surely, things returned to normal and you fell back into your role as Daddy’s perfect little princess. But, unlike how things were in the past, you were no longer a pawn. You’d become the queen opposite Undertaker’s king, always making the right moves and ready to put him in checkmate if he ever betrayed his word.

And, yes, sometimes the act ceased to be false and slipped back into something more natural. But every night, as your heart sang its silent prayer from the other side of the world, you reminded yourself of the life, and love, that you could’ve had.

I hope that you’re happy, you’d wish for Ron. I hope that you’re free.

And, sometimes, if you got lucky, you’d be able to meet with him in your dreams.

***

Snow blanketed the gardens beyond the mansion windows, all the wilted flowers and bare hedges made beautiful by the fresh layer of shimmering white as more fluffy tufts of gossamer flurries swirled around the winter wonderland.

It was almost Christmas. Just a few more days before Undertaker showered you with diamonds and Chanel and maybe, if you were really lucky, the kitten you’d seen in a petshop window in passing a few weeks ago that you’d practically begged him for.

It had been an entire year since the downpour by the docks changed all your lives forever. An entire year since Othello’s funeral. An entire year since the basement of headquarters had been burned to a demolished char, and since rebuilt, the tragedy paved over with shiny new linoleum.

The mansion was adorned with all kinds of special, sparkling decorations per your usual request since you’d started living with Undertaker a few years back, and tonight Grell and Will had been invited over for dinner.

Still though, the grand dining table was so much emptier without Ron and Othello. So much lonelier.

Even though you hadn’t known Othello that well, you could tell what he’d meant to Undertaker, could hear the sadness and the loss that laced its way into the toast he made that night about how, despite their differences, the scientist had been the closest friend he’d ever had. They’d known each other since their university days, after all. They’d shared the same impossible dream, nevermind the diverging intentions.

The hardest part for you though was, of course, Ron’s absence. But as you stared out the window at the snow falling like magic, enjoying the rare, merry and peaceful atmosphere that had filled the house over these past few weeks in preparation for the holidays, you couldn’t help but smile and hope that, wherever he was, it was snowing there too.

You hoped that he’d taken care of himself, that he’d found a path that brought him happiness. You hoped that he’d found love and been able to be loved in return. But even if he hadn’t, you still hadn’t given up on loving him from afar.

It was during occasions like this, where everyone— everyone who was left, anyway— came together that were the hardest for you. The urge to send him a text or leave a voicemail was always resurfacing, but there was no way for you to do something even as simple as that anymore. Undertaker had replaced your phone with the latest model soon after the whole ordeal, and while all of your other contacts had remained, it was like a gaping hole in the list of alphabetical names where Ron’s used to be with a cute little ice cream emoji next to it.

For a long time, you thought maybe Ron would try and contact you somewhere down the line, perhaps using the sneakier method of reaching out to you through social media or somewhere untraceable by Undertaker that wouldn’t show up on phone records, but so far you’d heard nothing. Though, the naively optimistic piece of you that was left, no matter how small, still held out hope.

For now, perhaps the silence was for the best. It didn’t help with how much you missed him, but it did make it easier for you to maintain your persona. So when Undertaker noticed you staring off into space, a melancholy look on your face as you lounged on the couch after dinner, taking some alone time while the other men talked, and he asked you, “What’s wrong, darling? Is everything alright?” it was easy for you to snap out of it and give an adorable smile, crafting the honey-glazed excuse of, “Sorry! I just felt like I forgot something but I think I remember it now,” as you reached up to him, motioning for him to either lift you into his arms or join you on the couch where you could better cuddle up to him.

He chose the second option, feeling a sense of relief when you migrated closer to him, snuggling into his chest and seeking comfort in his familiar scent, his expensive but subtle cologne lulling you. “What did you remember?” he asked you, gently combing his long fingers through your hair like he tended to do.

You smiled— a precious, vicious little grin— and climbed into his lap, intertwining your fingers behind his neck and humming out a lilting note before giving him a peck on the cheek. “I just remembered to tell you I love you, is all!” you lied.

Though, today, it wasn’t so much a lie as it was a cover up. Because, today, you did love him. You’d started loving him again a few months back. You’d made him work hard enough for it what with all his lavish gifts and luxury vacations and the fact that he’d become far more lenient when it came to punishing you for any bad behavior or rule breaking.

You were probably going to love him for many months to come, too— many years. That, you realized, was much more complicated to control than your cute little persona. Your head could be fickle as often as it wanted, but your heart…

Your heart could never lie.

And while your mask would crack one day and completely fall away, perhaps never to be worn again, that day wasn’t today. And whenever Undertaker spoke of this love lasting forever, in life and death and anything that came after, you wondered if that were true.

If there really was a way to make it last forever, would you even want it?

You were broken from your conflicting thoughts when Undertaker invited you to join him and the boys downstairs where you’d been denied so many times before. You knew all they did down there was play pool and drink and talk business more often than not— things that would bore you, no doubt— but you were just happy to be included rather than sent away, so you eagerly agreed as Undertaker stood and guided you by the hand to your least visited part of the house you’d come to call home.

And that night, as you watched all of them joke and laugh and drink like they were merely old friends and not killers or cons or conniving criminals, you thought that, at least for moments like these, the act you had to put up was worth it.

For this— to feel like you belonged somewhere, belonged to and with someone who loved you more than life itself— you could play your part. You could live this life and maybe even enjoy it without having to pretend. And, whatever was to follow, be it next week or next year or decades from now, even after death came to claim you, you could deal with that when it arrived.

Because you were happy.

However fleeting, right now, you were happy.

***

The snow in New York was less serene than how he remembered it in London, but no less picturesque. The way the colorful lights glowed through the frost and made the hustle and bustle of the city a little quieter, a little slower paced as the usually packed streets thinned out the more white that covered the ground…

Ron wished that you could have seen it.

As he gazed out his apartment window, delicate ice lining the edges of the pane like elegant froths of lace, he fantasized that one day you would. 

He’d found a bartending job not long after his abrupt arrival last year. He’d been a fast learner, put his free time, of which then he’d had an abundance of, into honing his new craft. It had helped take his mind off of you when the regret started gnawing on his heart. That, and it ensured he’d get better tips at the end of the night to continue paying for the apartment he’d learned hadn’t come completely free past the first month.

But on nights like tonight, when he had off from the usual face-paced, high energy and social setting of his job, Ron liked to be alone. He liked to sit near the dim lamplight, a quiet playlist filling the space from the small speaker on the kitchen counter, and think about you. He liked to imagine what kind of dress you’d be wearing, thought of you giving a graceful twirl and letting out one of those adorable, angelic giggles as you did so. He also sometimes thought of undressing you, devouring the sight of your matching lingerie that, one day, would be for his eyes only.

He imagined just holding you, letting you fall asleep safe and sound in his arms, of himself dozing off as his head rested atop yours.

He imagined going through mundane, daily life with you— of cooking dinner together and folding laundry, making the bed and going for walks down your favorite market streets on sunny days, of people watching in Central Park while you pointed out all the dogs you thought were cute.

But, as he’d become accustomed to during his daydreams and fantasies, the good images and memories would soon become replaced by betrayal and bloodshed. Because, just like Undertaker, Ron intended to finish what he’d started.

There had scarcely been a day when Undertaker’s final words to him hadn’t rung out though his mind, the promise of a man who was so sure he’d been victorious only to have that promise rescinded into a threat.

“You have given me more than one cause to start a vendetta,” Undertaker had scorned. “So I’ll make sure to repay you for all the trouble in your afterlife tenfold.”

At the time, it had all sounded like a bunch of jumbled nonsense to Ron’s hazy brain, between the bleeding and the rain he wasn’t even sure he’d heard him right. But now Ron recognized those words for what they were, or rather, what he’d reforged them to be.

They were the driving force for his own revenge, the teeth gnashing at his heels and reminded him to run, run, run.

But not away from the danger. Oh no, not away.

Ron would throw himself to the wolves he’d once hunted with and reemerge as the hunter carrying their pelts. He would make them wonder if they’d ever had teeth at all the next time he flashed them a smile. And he’d make sure that you— lovely, lonely, lost little lamb that you were in their world— would never have to bow down to their tyranny again.

Because Ron had a vendetta of his own to settle. But for now, he allowed himself to watch the snow fall and imagine you already safe by his side.

***

(Wow. So that’s the end everybody. I don’t know what else to say besides I really hope you enjoyed it and are at least somewhat satisfied with the way things ended up.

Back when I was writing the first chapters over a year ago, I asked for some feedback on who people thought the reader should end up with— Undertaker or Ron?

I got sort of mixed reviews, but honestly back then even I wasn’t quite sure how this all would end. I guess you could call this ending “ambiguous”, but I’m satisfied with not strictly choosing one side or the other.

I do have one last prologue chapter that I’m going to be releasing sometime in the future of how Undertaker and Reader met, but after that, I’d say this series is probably done. Though maybe I’ll release short little tidbits of additional scenes/ideas if I get the inspiration.

Anyway, I just wanted to give one last big thank you for reading this series! It’s been quite the roller coaster for me in many ways, as well as oddly therapeutic in others. I already have my next Undertaker x Reader project in order too, so don’t worry, I’ll be writing for him again very soon.

Thank you so much again <3 See you next time!)

[detailtilted]

Hi there! I've belatedly seen your question about coloring, and I'm someone who likes to tweak color, so in case it helps, I thought I'd write up some things I might do. I don't know if you have the same tools I have, but I saw you use Color Balance, so I've used that for an example below. I usually start by adjusting lighting levels so that the lightest and darkest points are where I hope them to end up. Then I'd adjust color hues which in your case was using the Color Balance tool. I might also adjust the saturation or vibrance because too much can cause colors to get extreme quickly. Here are some quick settings I did in Photoshop.

Levels: dark point=19, mid point=1.37, light point=249, output levels=18 to 255

Color Balance: shadows red+13, green+5, blue-4; midtones red-8, green-9, blue+3; highlights red-60, green-28, blue-25

Saturation: reds-8, master-4

Here's the result:

I know it can be hard to translate setting between different apps, so I wonder if this will be helpful at all, but feel free to ask me questions if you're so inclined 😊

~ Dani

WOW, your results are incredible! Thank you so much for taking the time to play with this and to offer some tips! Adjusting lighting before trying to adjust colors hadn't occurred to me at all.

I'm using Adobe Premiere for the video editing, so same software company at least, but I couldn't find any lighting level settings like what you described. Through Googling, it looks like a setting called "Lumetri Color" is typically used for lighting corrections and it's broken out differently.

I have to go to work pretty soon, so I haven't had sufficient time to really dig into it and play with it, but I did mess around with it a tiny bit. I'll play more this weekend and see if I can get closer to what you were able to accomplish.

For reference, my original adjusted version (which I can see now looks soooo horribly orangey compared to yours!):

As a starting point, I just clicked the friendly "Auto" button on the Lumetri Color tab to see what it would do. A little better, still pretty orangey.

Then I tried to make some of the color adjustments that worked for you. It looked like your adjustments had been based on my adjusted version, so I'm not sure if my attempt at making it a direct mathematical adjustment was the right way to go, but I tried to add your adjustment #'s on top of my adjustments. So for example, I'd had Shadow Red set to -10 and since you said you added 13, I changed it to 3. When I changed all 9 settings it didn't improve too much, definitely nothing like yours:

But while applying those changes, I noticed that before I applied the last two (highlight green and blue), it looked closer to what you had. Still not there yet, but closer.

Once I have time, I'll play with some of the Lumetri sliders and stuff a bit more. It may also help just to have your beautiful image as a reference point. Thanks so much!

Addendum: Additional Efforts

I spent some more time playing with this. I present two versions for your judgment.

The first version isn't exactly like yours, but it looked pretty close to my eyes. So I was happy for a minute or two. Then when I started watching the video instead of just staring at the still frame, I felt like it looked a little too green. Maybe that's because I've spent so many hours staring at my previous orangey version that my idea of what looks normal is skewed.

So in version two I adjusted the Tint setting. I feel like this looks a little better, especially when I watch the video, but I don't trust my judgment at all. My color judgment was bad before, and now I think my eyes are permanently warped from staring at different shades for so long.

I'm including both versions below. For each version I'm including a side-by-side comparison with your example vs mine. I wanted to include a video clip for both, but it looks like tumblr limits it to 1 video, so I only included the video for version 2.

Please don't be afraid to tell me they both look horrible! I feel sort of like the proverbial monkey hitting a bunch of random keys and hoping I might hit upon Shakespeare by pure random chance. 😅

Version 1

Version 2

[azzydoesstuff]

ultrakill update review!!!!

SPOILERS AHEAD SPOILERS AHEAD SPOILERS AHEAD SPOILERS AHEAD

IF YOU HAVEN'T PLAYED THE UPDATE YET FUCKIN' DO THAT NOW

okey now for the review:

7-1: GARDEN OF FORKING PATHS

i mean, it was fine. pretty good i guess. the atmosphere was wonderful, sure, but on my first try i spent 90% of the time tryna figure out what i was meant to do. i mean, i get that its SUPPOSED to be like a maze, but when actually gets you lost it kinda goes from "cool and lore accurate" to "lore accuracy at the cost of mild inconvenience". the second half of the level w/ the minotaur was sick, though. i will admit, i DID rage the first time i fought the minotaur cause its kinda not obvious what you're supposed to do to hit him (that stomach hitbox is the size of a fuckin hair) but after you get the hang of it, its a neat fight. i do feel like the railroad situation was kinda wasted by only bringing in 2 trams with enemies and then starting the bossfight with the third one. it woulda been cool to see many trams come and go with enemies on 'em, but oh well. also, jumpscare warning, thanks. very funny hakita. cool joke cool prank there. you got me with that one

7-2: LIGHT UP THE NIGHT

good level. i loved that war aesthetic and shit. the subway station area was a bit mid, and the hook platforming was kinda boring, but not that big of a deal. it introduced my favorite enemy of the update, which is a plus. *cough cough* guess which enemy i'm talking about *cough cough* gutterman *cough*. the challenge was actually pretty creative. wasn't easy to figure out, but also didn't take me like an hour. the archive area where you had to take the correct path was cool, the area just looked cool in general.

7-3: NO SOUND, NO MEMORY

imo: best level aesthetically, kinda mid gameplay-wise. i will admit i may or may not have shat pant when scary flashlight intro. in general, the level layout is spirally at best and messy and confusing at worst, but it's made up for with the amazing cherry blossom trees scenery. the blood tree thing mechanic was actually a really cool idea (also the trees are pretty) but i feel it was executed kinda badly. the whole blood monsters thing just feels weird. i think it'd have been better if it was just normal enemies whose blood fed the tree. the final area was really cool though, nice to see the dual wield powerup back in action. the whole infighting mechanic was also neat, with the way it gets wat harder if you mark yourself for death and disable it.

7-4: ...LIKE ANTENNAS TO HEAVEN

this level is just... mwah! climbing up a colossal machine was awesome, the idol shield area was cool with the time limit and stuff, the escape sequence at the end was awesome (i love escaping from crumbling/soon-to-detonate buildings in games). everything about this level was absolute perfection... except for the bossfight itself. both of the bossfights, actually. look, the defense system had a cramped arena with lackluster attacks and the whole fight was generally really boring and stupid. did not have fun at all. just move around in a circle to dodge the laser while you attack the turrets, ooooooohhhh thrilling... and don't even get me started on the core fight. absolutely idiotic. i hated it. the spinning laser walls felt awkward and the idol shields were infuriating. it sucks so bad that one of the laser walls is at an awkward height that requires you to dash mid-air to move at its level. the whole level was great but the bossfight ruins it for me, really.

ENEMY REVIEWS

MANNEQUIN:

honestly, not a big fan. the design and lore are good, but the attacks are just... annoying. its like a fly that pisses you off from afar. just buzzing around, making itself your problem. they really felt the need to give them prime boss-style combo melees and mindflayer's horrid homing projectiles, huh?

GUTTERMAN:

easily my favorite enemy of the update. i love it when enemies are easy to parry/style on. so satisfying and dopamine-inducing. when i saw the teaser i thought their machine gunning would be annoying, but surprisingly they're only really a virtue-level threat if you ignore them for too long and that's about it. very nice enemy

GUTTERTANK:

easily my LEAST favorite enemy of the update. super inconsistent, fast moving makes it hard to follow, random explosions everywhere with me having no idea where they're coming form, AND you can't even get close to them to heal because they just fly-swat you right away with an unparryable smack. the terminal says to bait out the attack, but the cooldown is so small that they can just do it twice. better off just dash-boosting through the hit to ignore it.

MINOTAUR:

hated at first, but now grew fond of it once i've mastered its patterns. it was like fighting the ferryman all over again, really. i felt cheated and as though it was unfair at first, but once you get the hang of him he's really not that difficult to deal with. also, really sad lore. sorry minotaur.

EARTHMOVER:

i mean what's there to say about it. i already talked about the fight in the 7-4 section what's there even to say here. cool design, i guess?? nice lore entry...?

BIG JOHNINATOR:

big johninator

NEW FEATURE REVIEWS

sharpening of some pixelated textures:

they made the projectile and maurice charging laser sprites less pixel-ey. i'm not too happy with this change, actually. i thought it looked fine, now it just looks... weird.

charged freezeframe rockets:

if you hold a rocket frozen for a second, it'll turn blue and "supercharged", causing its explosion to be WAYYY bigger when shot. this allows for INSANE new nuke tech, it's unbelievable. compare the size of the previous biggest possible explosion (shotgun core + malicious railcannon) and the one you get now with charged rocket + malicious railcannon, it's unreal. literally the size of the cybergrind arena. this changes EVERYTHING. i'm like 90% sure this massive explosion size is unintentional and is getting nerfed within a week.

dying mindflayer knuckleblasting:

when a midflayer is doing its death animation, you can punch it with the knuckleblaster to make it go flying and firing its laser everywhere and exploding after a bit. it's actually fucking hilarious but has zero use in-game because of how situational and difficult to pull off it is.

[edgarrallannhoe]

7-08-024 man, i fucked up.

today,tomorrow,to…

Ive been vomiting for the past 24+ hours now. i like to say “hahah i’m vomiting SO MUCH but idk why..” i know why. Rome makes me sick, rome makes me want to relapse, rome allows me to relapse. I know it’s no rome’s fault here, i wish it was. I wish all of this was anyone else fault but mine, but here we are, with all the faults in the world i guess.

i have to say tho, among all of the european capitals, rome is the least chic one by a mile.

Yesterday a bought me some Ketamine. I have a complicated relationship with K since the first time i tried it almost twelve-thirteen years ago and not knowing how to use it i just decided to open the bag and snort the whole thing in one line. Bad idea, i spent the night hugging the service toilet at my highschool with a friend making fun of me during the whole thing. Then after that day, i snubbed it at practically every occasion i had, i just wasn’t interested in that devilish thing again, and now, since a few years i’m again at it. I don’t want to talk about this tho, kinda boring, kinda useless.

8-08-024 somebody save me from myself

the purge

i tried to force myself to post, but i started writing then said “fuck it, why should anybody care?” then said “BuT IM DoInG tHIs FoR MySeLf sO whY dOeS it maTTeR if people enjoy it?” and then again “i’m lying as usual, few are the things i do where i’m not concerned about how i will be perceived, social media isn’t one of them.” so i’m here now, less whiny than the other day, but more sick.

I keep vomiting, crying, then trying to drink lil sips of water then vomiting again the same water i just drank. Atp this night i felt like a dry prune, without water, without anything substantial in me, wrinkled and all, i was literally crying hugging my garbage bin: i want to note that the garbage bin is literally kinda a wicker basket, so lot of holes and whatnot. I said to my dad, that because of my “puking problem” maybe we should pick a new one that doesn’t make everything messier every time this happens, and he bought another bin…. a DRILLED metallic one, so now i have a little drilled bin inside a wicker basket, a nightmare every time, now i have to also clean them after i’m finished!

i don’t think i have an ED, or at least not in the way it is usually explained. Ive always been skinny and kinda minature, and always ate whatever, but i have to admit that while once i believed ( and sometimes said myself ) the whole “i eat whatever and whenever and i stay sKiNNnYyYyYy” , i know understand this whole thing better. While i have a fast metabolism and a skinny/petite corporature, and it’s true that sometimes i eat McDonald’s four days in a row, i don’t put weight on cause i eat nothing during the whole day tho. like, i wake up and drink latte macchiato ( idk outside Italy what Latte Macchiato is, here is just like 1/4 coffee and 3/4 milk with maybe a lil sugar ), then mid morning i drink Latte macchiato, then i skip lunch, then in the afternoon you guess it! Latte macchiato! ( if it’s summer sometimes it gets changed with a cold Cola in the glass bottle, love it ), and THEN i eat McDonald’s. But if you consider the fact that i’m pretty active as a person , always moving even if i’m home in bed, and that i only drink coffee and milk the whole day, it’s not weird not gaining weight if you have a crispy mcBacon for dinner 4 nights straight.

So yeah, i think that whole “eat a lot don’t put on weight” it’s a little bit of a fairytale, but i’m sure that there is always a girl swearing that for them is exactly like that. Good for you Veronica.

Sometimes is also happens, that because i don’t really eat during the day, i end up having less hunger than if i ate ( i always ate slay✨), and then the hunger makes me nauseous, so then i vomit but i vomit absolutely nothing but slimish green bile, and then i am even more “hungry”- the problem is that i’m not, even when i am atp, i’m not hungry, i feel nauseous and i know that it’s because i need to eat, but i would rather not- it becomes a cycle, and every time is exhausting, this night i felt like i just wanted to die. I just wanted to be put off of this misery. Now it’s kinda better, kinda, rn here is 12AM, i woke up at three AM to, you guess it, vomit and it went on until almost two hours ago, i feel like shit.

I bought a watermelon at the store/supermarket, there is a real market near the store with better watermelons but i don’t want to enter that lively place, vade retro lol, so i’m okay with a watery and less red watermelon. i’m now eating in very small bites a small pizza no topping and all, but i’m far from feeling fine.

ok ill stop writing for now, IM DYIIIIING- i wish i was - aaaaaaaaaghhh somebody save me fucking please

xx emma

[progmetol]

Fallout 4 update

Erm I discovered Vault 88. Friendship ended with Sanctuary. THIS is where the underground CDA base will be. I’ve spent like five hours here already and leveled up multiple times just from building. Only thing that sucks is some of the vault parts click together weird but… okay. I got some mods to fix that though like ones that make lights snap to walls.

Then somehow I lost Valentine and Ada. I Google and see that there’s a thing you can build in V88 that lets you put trackers on your companions. Cool. I turn it on and he’s in fucking Goodneighbor??? Brother I did not send you there, gtfo (I had to speed run the Kellog memory quest too)

I hire MacCready. He is very funny. But I can’t take him seriously because I am much more familiar with his bitch ass from Fallout 3 and he has a baby face. I immediately ditched him after I got Deacon and now he sits in the vault depressed.

I went to the Railroad just to join it (no intention on finishing the game with them though. I’m RPing that I’m a mole for my own purposes with the Minutemen) and got Deacon. In my other play through I accidentally got completely locked out of the RR because I joined the Brotherhood of Steel first so I made sure to join them first this time. I may do some spying in the BOS too but I’m going to be real with you. Nobody in either the RR or BOS have any brain cells. Or the Institute for that matter.

Preston Garvey is actually based. Another settlement needs our help? Yes sir, God bless the Minutemen. He always talks about arming the settlers and uhh, based? His stupid laser musket sucks though so I’m going to have to get him something better. I should give him a 50 cal sniper or something since I’m pretty sure companions have unlimited ammo.

Hancock is also funny because I maxed out friendship with him (or at least enough to get the perk) and now every time I walk near him in the vault he force starts dialogue with me and is like “you ready to hit the road?” sorry sir but I need to get the perks from other companions. Go bike in the corner with Clem.

I have three suits of T-45 and I’ve only used any of them like twice. The start of the game, killing a mirelurk queen (which ended up not needing it because it ended up not being able to chase me into a tunnel and I could take potshots at it lmao) and the donut shop which, didn’t really NEED the power armor, but I found it mid quest and I didn’t feel like taking it back to the vault.

[astral-athame]

((Life for me has pretty much been: Wake up at 8am. Desperately try to get more sleep until 9 (usually I doze off for, like, 2 or 3 minutes at a time and that's it). Get ready for work. Leave between 9:30 and 9:45. Work from 10-1:30-ish (it's supposed to be until 1:15 but I'm never out of there on time). Get home around 1:45. Leave for work part 2 around 2:30. That goes from at least 3-7, usually closer to 7:20 when I finally leave (sometimes stay until 8 or 9). Get home between 7:30 and 7:45. Make a quick dinner, shower, etc. Around 8:30, watch Ba.tt.le.st.ar Gal.act.ica with a couple of friends (if things work out, this couple may eventually be more than just my friends, but we'll see how that goes ^^;) until about 10:30, then chat with them for a bit after that, usually until almost 11. Bedtime routine (wash face, brush teeth, etc etc). Then stare at drafts until midnight when I realize I need to get to bed because I know I'll be up earlier than I need to be. Then the weekends have consisted a lot of babysitting, running errands, and trying to finish unpacking here and there because it's been 4 months and finding time to unpack has been a pain in the ass with everything that's constantly going on. Also, I spent 3 hours on Saturday putting together a kitchen cabinet- thankfully we have extra screwdrivers because the phillip's-head screwdriver they included was such bad quality that it was messed up and unusable less than half an hour in because the metal of it was so soft -_-

ANYWAY- Work both shifts the rest of the week (except Friday, but only because I don't have to do the second shift, still have the first). Saturday we're going out for my dad's birthday (which was actually last week, but we couldn't make things work for going out last weekend like we'd wanted to). Saturday night is also game night, as usual. Then Sunday I *should* have some free time, but I also desperately need to get some cleaning done that's being semi-neglected throughout the week. So what I'm saying is Sundays are chore days.

If things go well, I should, soon, only be working the first shift in another week or two (with the second shift just being Fridays and when absolutely needed)? Right now both my sister and I are stuck doing the second shift every night (and have been since before mid-winter break last month) because the custodial staff is down two people (one girl broke her leg and has been out since October, I think? And the other has been on temporary (paid) probation since early February while they consider whether or not to fire him and go through all the legal jargon of all of that). But they should be coming to a decision about that soon, I would hope, which would mean that if he gets to come back, then we won't be working nights unless someone calls out. And if he doesn't come back, then they should be hiring someone to fill his place so we'll just have to wait until someone snags the job (hopefully, in that case, they'll offer it to my sister first because usually they try to offer it to substitutes and she really wants it, but we'll see). They're also slowly running out of budget for substitutes, so, that's something to consider, too.

ANYWAY- TL;DR: I've basically had no writing time / personal time and that's why I've not been around. Hopefully work stuff will calm down soon because leaving the house around 9:30am and not really getting to be home until usually after 7:30pm (sometimes 8:30pm or 9:30pm) has been exhausting ^^;

I'll try to be around on Sunday (probably focus on Rogue's blog because I've been writing the fic in my head at work most nights so I have a lot of muse for her AND her blog has been sorely neglected for at least a few months now WHICH MAKES ME SO MAD AT MYSELF). If I can even get one or two asks done, then I'll consider that an accomplishment at this point!

I'm so sorry about the long absence. I'm sorry to everyone for neglecting replies. I'm sorry to everyone I was writing with and haven't had the time / social and physical energy / emotional capacity to reach back out to in a while. That's on me. I dropped the ball on that. I've never been good at ooc communication anyway, tbh. I was really hoping things would be a little bit calmer after I moved, but instead they went in exactly the opposite direction and haven't really slowed down any since November. In fact, they've just gotten more hectic over the last few months ^^;

I adore you all so much and I really do hope that I can get back to writing soon. I've been missing it (and all of you) terribly.

Take care and I'll try to be around soon <3))

[bagelwithcreamcheeseandham]

Advil vs Aleve for period cramps: my experience

Very recently, I've started using naproxen sodium (Aleve) instead of ibuprofen (Advil) for cramps, which I've pretty much been using for the 10 years I've had my period, and I want to talk about it.

Using this pain scale, my avg cramps are a 3-5. My "bad" cramps are 7-8 and spike to a 9.

When I take ibuprofen, it works fast and takes away the cramps almost completely, unless I have "bad" cramps, then it feels like it does nothing and I will still have the level 7-8 pain. I typically take 2 ibuprofen at a time, every 4 hours or as needed. This is sometimes tricky because I have to time it right. If I'm feeling fine at the 4-hour mark and forget to reload on ibuprofen, the cramps will come back with a fury, like I got hit by a bus. I also find that ibuprofen will lighten my (very heavy) flow, I do not get that with Aleve.

With Aleve, I take one every 8 hours, so less opportunity to forget and it lasts longer. It lowers the pain but doesn't seem to completely take it away as ibuprofen does. However, it does seem like it "caps" it off at a level 5*. Since I've been taking the Aleve, I haven't had the mind-bending, full-body sweating, writhing around wishing I was dead, pain (which for me starts at 8). But I have had much longer stretches of time where I am in 2-5 level pain. This is new for me since starting Aleve.

Being in these levels of pain for hours at a time is draining, physically and mentally. Whenever I have bad, 7-9 level cramps, even if it only lasts like two hours or less, the rest of the day is literally a blur, I'm so out of it. And even with the 2-5 level pain, being in that state for hours is exhausting. Hours at a time, multiple times a day where I am sort of unable to focus or do anything but scroll tiktok, and maybe sip some tea. Today and yesterday, I basically spent half the day in bed. I didn't have any pain above level 4, maybe 5, but after so many hours of it, I was just so drained I couldn't do anything else.

All said and done, I do prefer the naproxen sodium (Aleve).

With Aleve, I'm in upper-mid to low pain for longer periods of time, but do not have my "bad" cramps. With Ibuprofen, the majority of the time I'm in mid-low or even no pain, but level 7-9 severe pain is always a possibility looming in the background. It's almost like Aleve takes the entirety of my cramps, and spreads it evenly through the week, while Ibuprofen takes my cramps and sprinkles it unevenly, giving me periods of time that I feel fine, and periods of time that I'm in the worst pain I've ever felt in my life.

And I would much rather be compromised for 2 days with mid cramps than ever feel a level 9 cramp again.

*Also worth noting, this is after ~10 years of using ibuprofen and 2 months of using Aleve, so there is the possibility that for the past 2 months, I just haven't had my "bad" cramps. If I remember, I'll come back to this post in a few months and drop an update on how it's going.

[rossithepixie]

Okay under the cut is gonna be me doing some reflecting on how i’m 4 days away from my 1 year anniversary of finally escaping my abusive ex and how i’m having some feelings right now

As i said above it’s gonna be year since i got away from my ex. Which would have been impossible without outside help because i’m on disability and have limited income because of it. It had only been harder because my ex had an iron grip on my already limited finances while i lived with her since if i even tried to take back the smallest amount of financial control she’d make an already bad situation 100x worse.

It hadn’t started that way of course, stuff like that never does. But the while situation was compounded by the fact that we’d started long distance and i’d moved across the country for her. We’d rushed in all honesty because i wanted to get away from my drunk father and finally be free to come out of closet in safety. I unfortunately couldn’t have known it was going to be an out of the frying pan and into the fire situation.

I didn’t know that everything was going to be so bad and that in my search for independence and love that everything was going to go straight to hell. And don’t be mistaken, i did love her and that was part of why it took so long to admit i was being abused financially, emotionally and mentally. And this doesn’t begin to tell anyone just how bad it was. Because by end of it i felt like shell of who i used to be.

And i struggle greatly with feeling like my mid to late 20’s were wasted. Time spent being isolated by her from other people through multiple ways. Those 4 years i saw very few things and made almost no connections to anyone else. I was in a new state where I didn’t know anyone else with no money to use to go out to help me meet anyone else. I was rarely able to get new clothes because of her financial control and if i wanted clean clothes i often had to handwash mine because we didn’t have a washer or dryer and she very much prioritized buying herself clothes as well as hers getting first dibs on being washed. I had clothes that ended up unsalvageable from sitting at the bottom of a laundry basket so long. (Her clothes took up two fullsize dressers and majority of the closet)

I certainly didn’t feel comfortable meeting new people like that with clothes that were old and only as clean as i could get them by hand. And i hated going out if i did go because i’d be like that standing next to her in full new outfits and her hair and nails done. It felt humiliating. I will never forget when someone looked at us together and gave me a dirty look and expressed how she couldn’t believe someone as pretty as her was with someone like me. She didn’t defend me either. The woman who’d insulted me then began to hit on her.

And this is just a tiny tiny fraction of the things that happened while i was out there.

Getting away was hell. I’d tried at one point when my therapist finally got me to a point where i could admit i was being abused because admitting that meant accepting how bad things had gotten. I also had to wait until i could do in person therapy again because she would eaves drop on me and if she wasn’t home our other roommate who was her best friend would eavesdrop for her and tell her what i’d said in therapy and private calls.

Even once i could admit and knew i needed out it would take a full year before i could escape since when i’d reached out to my bio dad who had both the money to help and the space for me he refused to help unless i got rid of my cat who’s my ESA. My cat was my one thread of sanity through it all. And though i had a breakdown, i stayed.

It wasn’t until i told an old friend what was going on and they got a good job was i able to leave. Even once plans were set I couldn’t relax until i was actually out. Even the 2 hour bus ride to the airport I couldn’t relax, walking through a 100 degree city with a cat carrier and as many possessions as i could pack into two bags i couldn’t relax. Not because i thought my ex would come after me but because so much had been ground out of me over the course of 4 years that i didn’t dare hope i could actually be free. It actually took several weeks of being in my new apartment with my friend for it to start sinking in that i would be okay. I cried over clean laundry, i cried over being able to buy things i needed without the worry that would id be told no, i cried over being able to eat without getting yelled at. I had to relearn how to give my body rest when it needed it and that no one was gonna yell at me if I didn’t immediately take care of something. And this is all among so many other things.

With how terrible her “love” was i still struggle with the idea of being lovable for someone. I wonder if i’ll ever be truly wanted and loved in the way i’d like to be. Because it’s hard to feel like you’re worth loving after being treated so badly for so long.

I don’t know where i’m going with this. I thought i’d be having happier emotions so close to my 1 year anniversary of getting away but instead i just feel hurt and sad.

[peroxideprinces]

ive read anyones ghost, our wives under the sea, in the dream house, under the whispering door, and am currently reading her body and other parties, and i finished the dreamer trilogy finally !!!! (read all of these since mid august)

camp counselor-ing was really fun!!! it was about 29 total hours. it was at a pretty nice camp and i spent 90% of the time with my cabin which was me and 2 other counselors and our group of 13 fifth graders!!! we did like all of the most cliche camp things like canoeing and archery and singing songs around a campfire (a fake one tho cause we're in a burn ban). my cabin got to go to dinner first because we were the best behaved and most engaged and the most involved counselors and then the next day we got to go to lunch first because we had the cleanest cabin <very proud of this. we also got all 13 kids to shower in under an hour (very strict door management and freezing cold showers), got them to go to bed 45 minutes early (lied to them), and then got them all packed up and to clean the cabin in 40 minutes lol. we were running that cabin like the military. but the kids all loved us and they listened to us (something the other counselors in other cabins struggled with !!!

ooooh how was new york!!! and what performance thing are you working on

whats ur fave book out of those (if u have one) ?? they all sound so interestin :O

nd im glad camp counselin was fun !!! im sure u were rhe coolest one there i know this in my heart

new york was certainly a place !! we drove there which was terrible horrible evil . pennsylvania never ended . it was like a worse version of the backrooms out there . we were only in nyc 4 two days nd we stayed in queens but it was cool !! p chill tbh ?? i wouldve loved 2 see the city but queens was nice . i had new york pizza nd it was YUMMMM . drive back was awful miserable disgustin

!! the performance thing !! our school does this yearbook fundraiser thing where the yearbook class as well as all performin arts classes perform . its pretty cool nd its fun seein all the diff groups !! though the seventeen thousand show choirs get old after a little . this yr i have 2 work up in the sound booth immediately after i perform (bc apparently no one else was available ??) so im excited 2 see how that turns out