#working for the knife!! yikes!!

[letsmakethescenephotodiary]

my 2022 wrapped

[transnats]

Body To Flame - A. Anderson

Kinks/Warnings: Rough sex, predator/prey dynamics, light bondage, strap-on sex/use, dacryphilia, light dumbification, degrading/humiliation, sub/dom dynamics (sub!reader, dom!abby), knife play, spit play, impact play, cum eating, throat fucking, voyeurism, strap referred to as ‘cock’, pet names, AFAB reader

🎙️ Sora Says: CHAT! I worked really hard on this (took multiple breaks from being distracted by Lucy Dacus) and I think it turned out kinda good! Please don’t kill me if this is super dark. 😭 I just think I’m into some weird shit and in turn, this appears out of the works! I wanted to release something with all the free time I had so this is it! Okay damn lemme stop rambling.. YIKES!!!

W/C: 1.7K

Running through the thick, luscious forest and taking in its greenery, you only had one goal in mind — outrun Abby before she gets you. Adrenaline pumps through your veins in a way it never had before. It was exciting on both ends; Abby giving you a head start while slowly creeping up on you, and you trying to escape her grasp.

Leaves crunch under your shoes as you run, your legs screaming in pain as you huff with effort. You take a second to catch your breath, leaning against a large willow tree while the forest continues making sounds around you. The hum of crickets, the chirps of some other animals and the faint flow of water combines and makes a beautiful sound — almost a perfect juxtaposition of the predicament you were in.

The tranquility didn’t last long as you heard heavy footfall behind you. Every sense in your body screams for you to run. So your body moves on autopilot, bolting off in another direction. 

Abby gets a thrill from the chase, a slight hint of amusement appearing on her face as she breathes somewhat heavily. 

Though you’d been two steps ahead of the girl, she was faster. Her big arms wrap around you, bringing you in her clutch as you pretend to struggle.

“Quit fucking squirming. Don’t pretend you don’t want this.” Abby barks, holding you tightly. “Leave me alone!” You shout. “Oh but baby, you wouldn’t want that would you?” She retorted. You stay silent. “That’s what I thought.”

Abby then pushes you to your knees, before walking behind you. “Gotta ensure you don’t run from me now. I’d be really sad if you ran from me.” Her belt comes undone before she pulls it off.

With an agonizingly slow pace, she bounds your hands behind your back. She pulls the belt extra tight before walking back infront of you. The bulge in her cargo pants was definitely prominent and it made you salivate.

She takes notice of the expression on your face and she smirks slightly. A hand comes down to slightly caress your face. “I’m gonna fuck your throat and you’re gonna take it like a good girl. Got it?” She asks, somewhat sharp in tone.

You nod, of course, and she wastes no time to pull off her boxers and pants. Her fingers slowly intertwine with your hair, grabbing into a makeshift ponytail. Your mouth opens without her even having to tell you to do so.

She started off slow, listening to each sound as she slowly worked its length into your mouth. She groans as if she can feel it. She wishes she could. “Takin’ it so fucking good for me baby.” She mumbles under her breath between breaths and moans.

She becomes absolutely feral for it, seeing you on your knees like this, taking her cock so good. How could she not wanna do nasty shit to you?

“Gonna cum down your stupid fucking throat, yeah, ‘n you’re gonna fucking take it for me, baby.” Abby speeds up her pace, feeling some kind of euphoric feeling. Could she have just cum from this sight alone? Probably. Hell, she might even do that right now. 

The occasional bump on her clit from her strap was only moving her to go slightly faster. “Look like such a whore on your knees like this. Cryin’ for me and shit.” She spat, tossing her head back. Tears pricked in the corners of your eyes as the strap hits the back of your throat, causing you to gag slightly.

Abby looks down at you before she slightly smiles. “So pretty crying for me.” She seems to be getting a kick out of seeing you cry for her. And you were definitely certain of it when her breathing became faster and her moans got higher.

She was about to cum, and god was she close. With a few more harsh thrusts, she’d made a mess of herself. “Take my cum down that pretty throat.” She grumbles. Yet again, she tosses her head back as the aftershocks of her orgasm pass through her body.

But she was far from done. She stands you up, before leaning in to kiss you. It was hungry, it was needy, and it definitely made you moan and whine into her mouth. Her tongue intruded into your mouth, sliding against yours before she pulled away.

Opening your mouth with her thumb against your bottom lip, she instructed you to stick your tongue out. From there, she spits in your mouth.

“Go ahead and swallow it for me.” She says, harshly patting your cheek. You swallow it eagerly. You look her in the eyes all needy and she knows it. She knows you’re probably soaking wet right now.

“You need to be fucked don’t you baby?” She asks, cocking her head to one side. “Really bad, Abby.” You whine. A dark look twists itself onto her face. “Beg for it. Be nice and loud for me. And tell me exactly where you need me.”

It was embarrassing in a way to do this. She always made you do this. “Cmon, you know what I need. Just give it to me.” You say while looking up at her. “No, I don’t. You gotta tell me. Can’t read your mind.” Abby responds, chuckling at how needy you are. “So stupid and needy that you can’t even tell me what you need. How sad.” The faux sympathy was hard to ignore.

“Need you inside me. I wanna be filled up by you. I want your cock so bad, Abby. Please.” You whine yet again. “There she is. I knew you had it in you.” She coos.

Abby then proceeds to manhandle you, pushing you onto the ground with your ass in the air, and now she’s on her knees behind you. Your back forms a deep arch as she yanks your pants down.

The click of her switchblade could be heard behind you. It makes your heart race with anticipation. The cool steel of the blade makes contact with your exposed thigh. Slowly, she drags it up and up. It causes you to squirm. “Keep still. Don’t wanna have to make you bleed.” She instructed.

The blade finds itself under the fabric of your underwear. Abby drags the blade up until the fabric rips. The now torn fabric falls off your body, exposing your wet cunt.

“Look at her, she’s crying for me.” She teased, taking in the sight. She continued dragging her switchblade across your inner thighs until you were whining for her.

“Abby please. I dont wanna be teased anymore.” You say, almost crying from how bad you need it. Abby shushes you. “Lemme have my fun first.”

It feels like she’d been teasing you for what felt like hours before you finally heard shifting behind you. Abby spits on her hand before coating her strap in it. She drags her cock against your slit, listening to your desperate little whines.

When she notices you trying to push yourself down onto it, she harshly slaps your ass, making you whine loudly. “Nuh uh princess, wait till I give it to you.” She said while rubbing the spot she’d smacked. Now she makes you wait even longer before she pushes it into you. At first she doesn’t move.

She’s still as if she’d been calculating her next move. When you’d least expected it, she begins thrusting slow and deep. You moan loudly, your hands balling into fists, making crescents on the palms of your hands.

Her hands smooth over the globes of your ass before returning to your hips. “Faster please. I need it.” You say between moans. “Beg me properly.” She growls, keeping her pace steady.

“Please fuck me harder and faster, miss. I need it really badly. I wanna cum for you.” You whine out. “That’s a good girl.” Her thrusts pick up in speed, as you asked. She reached a hand around to vigorously rub your clit.

You’re whining and gasping, almost screaming her name while she continues fucking you. She’s hitting your g-spot and you feel like you’re in heaven.

A string of curses fall from your lips, ragged and broken, as she continues with her unrelenting pace. “Yeah? You needed it all hard like this. Anyone could just walk past and hear how fucking loud you are.” Abby says, grunting slightly. The idea was thrilling. Absolutely thrilling to the both of you. 

She gives your ass another smack. “Goddamn baby, you hear how wet this pussy is for me? And she’s sucking me in? This pussy was just made for me, wasn’t it?” She sounded absolutely feral for you. “Yes! It’s all yours— fuckfuckfuck, feels s’good!” You moan, your eyes rolling back slightly. “Damn right its all mine. You belong to me and nobody else.”

Wet squelching fills Abby’s ears, taking over her senses. She’s absolutely pussy drunk from you. She couldn’t get enough. She looks down at you, cursing softly. 

“Taking it so good for me. Making such a mess all over my cock baby.” She mumbles under her breath. She, at this point, wishes she could feel you. The way you were begging for her to cum inside of you encourages her movements.

Going faster, she watches you get dumber and dumber. Your moans are significantly louder and your babbling. “‘M so close Abby! Please don’t stop. Wanna cum for you.” You moan loudly, and she groans. Her pussy was soaking again. You’d made her this way.

“Gonna make you go stupid for me.” She promises. Your hands ball up tighter while your orgasm builds up in your stomach.

“I’m cumming! Don’t fucking stop!” You say, screaming almost. “Cum for me then, pretty girl.” Abby says softly. 

The orgasm washed through your body as you came all over her. Your legs shake slightly as she helps you ride through your orgasm. Your chest rises and falls as you moan.

She takes the belt off of your wrists before she pulls out, looking at the mess between your legs.

“What a messy bitch.” She says, then going in to clean you up with her tongue. You were still quite sensitive, everytime her tongue grazed over your clit you mewled out and squirmed. “Gotta clean you up baby, keep still for me.” She whispers. She laps at your cum, savoring the taste and letting out little moans. Once she’d had enough, the two of you take a second before getting up.

She was far from done with you, and you knew that you. That’s why she hauls ass back to her car while holding your hand. You look down at her back pocket, seeing your torn underwear. Your face heats up, but you pretend not to notice. Abby was already saying what she planned to do to you when you’d arrived back home. 

Taglist: @joliettes

[ew-selfish-art]

DP x DC AU: Letters and Paper goods are easy to store, and therefore, easy to hide. Danny has drama to monger though.

Tim Drake becomes a ward of Bruce Wayne at the same time the Drake Corporation is crumbling, and his father's health is declining. Dana, his father's physical therapist turned new wife, isn't optimistic these days, and Tim can read the writing on the wall.

Times have changed and Bruce and Dick are treating him with kid gloves. Jason Todd is alive again, been there suffered that. Young Just-Us has proven yet again to be his true family... But Bruce 'welcomes' him home the second the fake uncle is sniffed out.

So, Tim rationalizes, If Drake Corp is going down, then so shall the reason he spent his childhood abandoned. The many, many archeology digs his parents left him for over the years and their many, many stolen historical pieces. Tim is ready and able to get rid of them all.

He first returns the artifacts that have obvious origins to the people with whom they belong. Then it starts to get a little hazy as to where each item stolen is from. The paper goods are the hardest to place.

Years later, Tim has almost completely emptied his parent's old home of their stolen goods. By now, he runs a fortune 500 company and is working as Red Robin. Going through the last of the archives means going through the very last objects his parents ever preferred over his company, and he can't wait to be rid of them.

A glowing green envelope however... this one he feels compelled to keep. He hadn't known it back when he started this project- but somehow his Parents had found objects drenched in the essence of the Lazarus Pits. And it wasn't just one letter, it was dozens and dozens.

Tim Drake knew it would be risky to move them, but he needed to get these letters to an ex-league member to understand what the language of the dead was trying to proclaim.

_____

Danny hates a fetch quest but apparently Ghost Writer is having a bad day. It starts with Danny running by the guys library to have a chat when all of a sudden, the question of certain... ghost relations... came up. Danny is always more than thrilled to hear about how the various ancient-as-in-old ghosts interacted with the Ancients-as-in-yikes ghosts.

Ghost Writer finally admitted to the monarch in training that if he wanted to know so badly, that he could track down Clockworks old letters. They'd been scattered well before Ghost Writer could properly work on the ghost archives (read: was still alive), and it wasn't until he'd long worked on the library that such affairs were noted as missing.

The potential for gossip was just too good! A call home to Sam, Tuck and Jazz to let them know he was on an adventure, and then Danny flew off with little more than some hints by GW and an annoyed nod of cryptic agreement by CW.

Danny goes about wondering Gotham as himself, not yet seeing the need to be Phantom, when he runs into the very guy he was looking for.

"Hey- you don't happen to have a shit ton of letters written in the language of the dead do you?" Danny smiles as innocently as possible as he watches all seven stages of grief play out on the guy's face. Then something changes and Danny can tell that this guy is like, scary competent.

"I do, however, I was double crossed and a shit ton of assassins are on their way to try and take them."

"Uh... Bummer for them I guess? I'll just take them and go- I don't even really need to keep them if you want em back-"

"Assassins. They won't exactly leave empty handed."

"Huh. Well... Wanna come with? These are supposed to have some pretty juicy drama in them." Danny awkwardly places a hand on the back of his neck.

A knife being thrown in their direction was enough to get this guy to make a decision.

"Let's go spill some tea then."

Danny grins as he pulls the guy through a rapidly drawn portal, ignoring the wide eyes he makes. Turns out his name is Tim, and walking him through afterlife drama is the best- how does he know so many dead assassins??? One of these letters is about a guy who took Tim's spleen??

[c0ld0utside]

Hi! I wanted to request a script with a mermaid reader. Something like a cub that doesn't look like the others, maybe sharp teeth, maybe something else, whatever you want. + a fisherman who accidentally caught them. You don't have to write this if you don't like the concept!

No, no you're onto something! This request is PERFECT AUGH-Fisherman Dad...is something I didn’t know I needed. 

Here’s your fun fact for the day: Piranhas can bark. 

Criticism is welcome!

Warnings (Let me know if I missed any): Reader/MC gets hit, Blood, Reader/MC gets gagged, Reader’s/MC’s hands get bound, Reader is put in a box

Growing up in his small port town, Cannon heard stories of sea monsters and their relatives. Mermaids, Sirens, Leviathans, Serpents, Krakens��the list goes on. Now that he’s an adult, however, he knows those were just stories parents told their kids to warn and teach them. Don’t go to the beach at night, don’t swim too far out, swim with a group, wear lifejackets.

If those beasts really do exist, he wonders how they handle storms as shitty as this one. Lightning and thunder clashed overhead and the rain poured down in tubs. The waves were large and rough, going way farther than they normally did at high tide. Ah well. Cannon’s just glad his boss is sane enough to not make him and his coworkers work in that mess. 

Feeling like an old man despite being in his mid-thirties, Cannon stood up, popped his back, and headed off to bed. Hopefully, the conditions will be better by tomorrow. He doesn’t want to go to work on a rainy day.

…

…It’s raining. It’s not as bad as yesterday, but it’s raining. At least that means the catches will be good today. 

Speaking of good catches, Cannon isn’t sure if he’s hallucinating. He didn’t bring someone with him since he wasn’t going too far out, so he had no one to ask. Normally, when a fisherman pulled up their nets, they got fish. Or none at all. 

“Easy, easy…it’s alright,” Cannon says, mostly to himself. This is fine. Totally normal. Maybe this is a crazy dream and he’s going to wake up late. Cannon moves away to grab a knife and crouches back down next to the wet gremlin. “Not gonna hurt you,” He whispers, hooking the blade under the rope where it’s pressing into the fish kid’s neck. 

What Cannon has in his net is half a fish and half a kid. A fish kid. A fish kid that looks like a mess, and who is currently hissing at him like a rabid possum and snapping at the wet ropes. Snapping. Like a piranha. Are they a piranha? He can see the pearly, pointy whites from where he’s standing, holding the rope down so the net stays in the air. The creature continues to thrash and hiss and bite. 

He lowers the net and moves it onto the deck, careful to avoid the rabid little monster that is going insane. Cannon can’t blame them. If he was a little fish kid caught in a net while bruised up he’d be freaking out too. 

The brat twists their head and bites down. Letting out a startled yelp, Cannon uses his other hand to smack them and pulls away. Yikes…it’s ugly and the blood is streaming down his hand, making a mess. “I just said I wasn’t gonna hurt you, bonehead,” He grunts, using his good hand to hold their head down while he cuts them free. 

He’s caught off guard again when they push themself out of the net and start scrambling over to the edge of the ship. The kid’s tail flops around and drags as they try to get away. It hurts- Cannon can tell from the way the thing whimpers and hisses. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” He tuts, grabbing some of the rope and walking over to the small fry. Small fry? He’s not thinking straight. Are there major arteries in hands? Maybe he’s losing too much blood from the bite.

Grabbing onto their tail firmly with his good hand, Cannon tries to gently pull them back. ‘Small Fry’ has different ideas, because they start screeching and barking like a madman. Their mouth snaps at open air over and over as they flail around. “Hey- hey, shhh, shhh…” He tries to soothe, but it doesn’t work. 

Cannon was really hoping he wouldn’t have to do this. He doesn’t like what he’s about to do, but he has to. He shoves some of the rope into the kid’s mouth and wraps it around their head. He doesn’t make it too tight- they’re hurting enough as is. Before the kid can rake their claws- they have claws- down his arms, he grabs their hands and ties them together. 

“Sorry, Small Fry, you’re not making this easy.” 

He gets muffled snarling and barks in return. 

“Can you breathe, little buddy? Can you understand me? …No? Alright, that’s…fine.” Cannon murmurs, looking down at their tail. Oh yeah. They weren’t going to be able to swim with that. Their fin is torn and there’s an ugly cut running up the tail. Not to mention those bruises from earlier. 

“I can’t let you go just yet, Small Fry. You’re a mess, see?” Cannon says, pointing to their tail. Their gaze follows his and their glare hardens. “Don’t give me that. I’ll patch you up, alright? Now be nice.” 

With that, Cannon grabs an empty tub and dips it into the water before pulling it out and securing it onto the deck. He then walks back over to the little monster, scoops them up, and carefully lowers them inside. 

He is so glad it’s still early. Barely anyone will be on the streets. He’s also glad it’s cloudy- had it been sunny people would have seen the silhouette of a small mermaid in a closed fish container as he drives back home in his truck. 

He’ll figure this out later. Right now it’s finally settling in that he just accidentally caught a mer…maid? Merchild? Yeah. A merchild. He caught a merchild and he’s taking them home. A merchild that bit him. The bandage work on his hand is messy. He'll change it when he gets home.

And half of him doesn’t want to let them go. They’re so…reckless. It’s no wonder they got so banged up. Wait- no, maybe it was the storm. Still, they need help and they don’t understand. They don’t get to not want help. They’re getting it because he said so and he doesn’t know how mer society works, but he cares.

-

Feel like making a part two for this as well. 

You’re looking fine today! Take your vitamins!

[soldierandawar]

I'm thinking about how, when Buck found out about Abby and Tommy, he told Maddie and Josh that he didn't think Tommy could be dishonest or cruel. Then Josh gives his speech about pre-glee gays, and immediately Buck is like, "Yeah, I gotta live with that man." He puts Tommy right back up on that pedestal, and I'm sure Tommy saw that, and he's right. Relationships with that unevenness usually don't work.

So, cut to the breakup. You could argue that Tommy was being dishonest—he obviously went into the relationship with an end date in mind. He insinuates he's falling in love, but he breaks up with Buck anyway. Were his feelings ever real? You could also argue he was being cruel—it comes out of nowhere, and he doesn't let Buck get a word in once he's decided (plus ending it by calling him Buck, yikes on a stick. Twist the knife, why don't you?)

And now Buck has to spend time reflecting on this. The curtain is down. Tommy's been exposed. And then I have to ask, did Buck ever give Tommy the chance to step off the pedestal himself?

[quiteliterallyilliterate]

If you want another request, how about something with Four? I feel like he is an undertapped Link in the LU x reader fic verse. I also think he fits in well with a bunch of different story types. He has the skills to live a peaceful life at home with a partner, he has the Colors, he also can be small (or a Minish depending on whether you believe his is small or transforms into a Minish), & shadow…. I am not picky whatsoever , but if you are willing, could you do some Four x reader?

Order up!

*ahem* I AM MOST DEFINITELY WILLING. GIVEGIVEGIVEGIVE- I agree with you. This man needs more love. Formatting a little differently this time, let me know what y’all think!

(thanks again to @litrllyvoid for proofreadin’)

Hope you enjoy~

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Long he had lived a simple life. Even with the dramatic disruptions of the world, he could tell it wasn’t a life cut out for him. That grandeur had called to him, and when he responded, there was only judgement in turn. Since he was little, Link had found peace with the small world within his village. Running through uneven grassy hills and causing havoc, hand in hand with you. His arms and legs bruised, but with a full heart and genuine grin. Though, the older he gets, and the more the edges of his memory begin to fray, he wonders if that were truly the case. Perhaps it wasn’t that he was content with the world he was born into. It is on cold mornings such as this where the question burdened him most. Was it life that made him happy, or was it just you?

He burned the thought away, tugging at the fragile nerves that caressed his heart. He shrugged on some clothes with little regard for what he adorned himself with. It wasn’t as if there was anyone to impress— especially when he’d be working for the most of the day.

Each stair step creaked and groaned. His grandfather sat at the table, already eating breakfast. He plucked an apple on his way to sit, its waxy skin once a luxury that would’ve been shared. He no longer needed a knife to split the core in half. The juice tasted less sweet when there wasn’t sweet laughter accompanying it.

“Yikes, bad apple?” His grandfather laughed huskily in reaction to his dismay, crows feet and smile lines etched into his face. How was it that he could find happiness here where Link could not?

“Rough morning.”

“Ah. I see. Please… take a break if you need to” The old man clasped his hands, bony elbows rested on the table. It wasn’t hard to spot the concern in the deepset wrinkles of his grandfather’s face. Link found the strength to nod and move on for the moment.

The dull ache of his arms never faded as he worked. It was to be expected, forging something from an abstract nothing was not a task even the gods found simplistic. Monotonous, sure. There was a rhythm in each strike against the metal, a pattern to be found within the firings.

There was a finality like death in the quench of the blade.

The weight of his work and a life brought to an abrupt end.

And like a body, he decorated the corpse with wood, wrapping it in delicate cloth— a casket of its own.

Creation was not a task meant for mortals, he thinks. Though people often try to make it so, the hollow pain in his joints and sear of his muscles make it apparent. It strains him, though it is what fuels him. There is a sense of grief whenever he hands over a blade he slaved over— a mourning so powerful that no amount of rupees wish away.

It was in such a similar manner that he loved you. With such a sense of fullness and unconditionality, he did not stop to think of a world for which you were not in it. It is foolish of him to long for his childhood just because it was spent hand in hand with you. But he’d give anything to have colors be so bright again and for his smile to be so wide and genuine. It didn’t matter how bruised he’d be, so long as he gained those bruises running down riverbeds with you.

Now, he dressed up the body of those memories. Decorating you in his mind's eye with blue thistles, sprigs of rosemary, wild poppies and violets. Each aspect of him paying homage to their love of you. Of who he can only hope you continued to be.

The blade he held cracked when it was dipped into the water, split in twain. He looked at the jagged edge where the hilt was severed.

He could not find it within himself to remeld the pieces.

It would not be the same again.

He needed to move on.

He was close enough when adventuring with his brethren. There was enough fighting and adrenaline to keep his mind off his wounds. He let himself attach —maybe not in such a similar fashion as he did you— but in a way equally fulfilling.

What a fool he was.

How could he not notice the darkness creeping its way in? The abyss called for his return, sentencing him back to a cage he built. And so, he returned. Back to a life wherein he could reap no joy but couldn’t muster the strength to leave.

He wished he had his brothers. Time to help him forge a plan of escape from the mundane. Twilight to offer assistance in the smaller tasks— so he could manage life just a little bit easier. Sky to boss him into taking a break, even if it were just stretching. Legend to banter with as he worked, taking the weight off of the task. Wild to make use of the end product, to give the life of the blade meaning. Even just the careful eyes of Wind studying what he did. He missed how individual he felt, yet still holding his place among the set. He’d always have a home there, even if he was fundamentally different from his brethren.

He wished he still had a home with you.

You still had a home with him.

If only you’d return to him…

But life is not such a simple endeavour, and he doubts your parents would be content with you marrying some blacksmith, even if he held the title of hero. That was if you weren’t already forced to marry. That was if you still loved him.

He hopes whatever life you’ve been condemned to is happy.

Because if he is not there to protect you from the worst that fate has to offer, he can at least hope that there’s someone there who can.

Even though it isn’t him.

[gretavanmoon]

an omnipresent force• ch 2

Chapter 2- DARK ENIGMA

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

Words: 12.4k

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

Warnings: Dystopian Horror Cursing, Smoking, Mention of Drugs, Feelings of Fear and Uncertainty, An Apocalyptic World, Hunting, Violence (mention of firearms), Kidnapping, Wounds and Pain, Blood, Death & Dying, Burials, Lying, Deceit, Sadness, Panic Attacks, Use of Restraints, Mentions of Sex

Cheatham County, Tennessee

Five days later

Y/N

The old wood of the rocking chair squeaks beneath me as I gently move my body back and forth, snuggling into my thick afghan wrapped around my body. There is a light dusting of snow on the ground, and I’d spent the majority of the evening out here on the porch, taking in the scene of my grandparents’ farmland before me. The lead in the pencil I’ve been writing with all evening is starting to dull, but I press a little harder to get the last few sentences written down into my journal. 

December 29, 2030

Day five back at Pap and Gran’s farm. We didn’t do much today except peel some potatoes and boil chicken for broth. Gran’s state has deteriorated since we made it back here. Paps and I truly thought that maybe bringing her back to her home would make her feel better, but she’s only gotten worse. Part of me thinks that she might have just wanted to find her peace here, in her own home, in her own surroundings before she decides it’s okay to let go. Awful of me to think that, isn’t it?

I miss my Mom. And I miss my dad, and I really, really miss my brother. Having nearly no time to mourn them has truly put me in a weird headspace, I don’t know how I’m making it day to day. Sometimes I think back to that fear I felt when I first realized I had to get the hell out of my house when I found the faultline in my foundation, that feeling that it could all come crashing down on me at any second, burying me in walls and furniture and drywall to the point I can’t breathe… That’s what this feels like. Like I’m standing in my basement again, just waiting for the whole thing to crush me. 

The only thing that is keeping me going is Paps and Gran. And the fact that if I stop, then they stop. And Gran is already slowing to a crawl. 

I pull out my pocket knife from my pants, opening the blade and sharpening the graphite in my pencil a bit before licking the tip, and getting back to work. 

I’ve lost nearly 16 pounds, and my hair feels so thin. I can feel my muscles starting to wear out, and the joints of my bones are beginning to ache. Lack of nourishment, I guess. But I don’t let it stop me, and neither does Paps. We are still getting up at the crack of dawn every single morning to look for roaming wildlife to catch. Thankfully we were able to get our hands on six chickens, a rooster, a goat, and the neighbor’s old Blue Heeler, Hank. Hank sits by my Gran’s side day in and day out… I think he remembers that she used to throw him scraps out into the front yard.

The strangest thing happened to me yesterday, and I feel embarrassed to even admit it in this stupid journal. 

For the first time in months, I got the overwhelming urge to want to fuck. 

I wish I could write that in invisible ink like we used to do in text messages, yikes. But, I guess I have to realize that I am still a living, breathing woman who still goes through her monthly cycles, and still possesses the urges associated with it all. God, I  fucking laughed out loud at myself. I haven’t seen another man close to my own age since we left Nashville and I saw a group of young people throwing a cinder block through the front glass of a coffee shop. For fucks sake I’m so embarrassed. 

But I actually even dreamed about it last night. Real, true, romping sex in some strange place… it was so real that I woke up in a cold sweat with my heartbeat between my legs. Shit. I don’t even know who it was with, but that part didn’t matter. I used to love those pointless, carnal dreams that made you blush in your sleep. But damn, now? That’s as close as I’m probably ever gonna get. 

I had to spend the rest of the day fighting the flashbacks while spending time with my literal grandparents. Ignoring the fact that I used to daydream about it, then make a phone call to whoever, and make it happen. It used to be so easy. Shit, I miss random hookups. Fucking hell. 

Now I’m spending my days collecting freshly laid eggs before a pack of wild dogs come and kill my chickens. Goddamnit.

ANYWAYS. 

Tomorrow is my 33rd birthday. And I don’t even care. It feels silly to even think that even though the world is pushing me off the literal land I stand on, I still have to age. I still have to deal with being a human. And mourn the loss of my family. What the fuck. Just lost the last of my immediate kin, I’m digging up last season’s potatoes from the ground and nursing my sweet Gran as she lies in her bed in pain, and I’m having sex dreams. Really, really fucking good sex dreams. If I could roll my eyes with paper and pencil, I’d be doing it right now. The human experience is so fuc

My thought process is stopped when I hear the sound of something I haven’t heard in literal days. Weeks? I don’t know… But I hear it, the faint sound of a tune and a melody coming through an old, staticy speaker. I close my pencil into my journal and stand, realizing I’d been sitting outside for a while now as the stars had become bright and the moon sat high in the sky. 

My brow furrows as I listen harder. It’s Billie Holiday. I push the front door open and enter the warm house, firstly noticing the crackling fire that Paps had kept burning all day. I then saw him standing in the dimly lit corner, fiddling around with his old vinyl records and adjusting the volume of the music. The wall behind him is stuffed full of records, floor to ceiling and two shelves wide… all full of the music he filled mine and James’ lives with since the time we could walk. He’d been collecting his entire life.  Truly, I owe my love of music to him. 

“Paps…” I say softly as I enter the living room. 

“Hey youngin’, sorry if I disturbed ya…” he said, puffing some pipe tobacco smoke up into the air. I used to tell him he needed to quit, but now… what’s the use?

“You didn’t, Paps.”

“I sorta… forgot that music exists,” he chuckled, opening the cover of a Bill Monroe album and inspecting the inside.

I place my hand on his back, giving him a few pats as I lay my head against his shoulder, watching the record spin on his antique hand-crank phonograph. “I kinda did too, actually,” I reply, admitting it to myself. “What made you pick Lady Day?”

He shrugs. “Not sure. Always loved her voice, hated it when she passed. She left one hell of a legacy, though, huh? Your Gran sure loved her, that’s for sure,” he mumbles on, looking back to the daybed we had set up for Gran in the living room so she could be closer to the heat of the fireplace. 

“Love her, Don. Not loved. I ain’t dead yet,” we both hear Gran stir from under her blankets. The both of us erupted in a fit of laughter at her unbridled and filterless sense of humor. 

“Hell’s fire, Jane. Didn’t think you’d be able to hear us,” my Paps laughs as he places the cover back down on the table and goes to join her at her side. I follow behind. “Did we wake you?”

“You did, but that’s okay. No better way to be woken up from a dreamless sleep than by some pretty music,” she says, propping herself up on her pillows. She still has so much strength, and though she’s weakening by the day, I’m still astounded by her ability to get up and even walk herself to the restroom. “And!” she boasts with her crooked finger in the air. “No way I wanted to miss my favorite granddaughter’s birthday when the clock strikes twelve,” she adds with a reassuring nod. 

“Gran, you don’t need to stay up this late! It’s almost midnight now, go back to sleep,” I push her, not wanting to miss one second of any rest she can get, while also wishing that she and Paps could sit up and reminisce with me until the sun comes up. I’d give anything to have just one more hour with my parents and James.

“Oh, child, I’m fine!” she pushes my hands away, pulling herself back up. “You’ve gained another year. This day and age, that means something, you know?” Her voice is weak, but she still sounds like herself, her southern drawl coming out to play as she tries to fluff the pillows behind her. 

I nod in understanding. “If you say you want to stay up, we’ll stay up!” 

There really isn’t such a thing as a true bedtime, anymore. I’m up at strange hours of the night, take many naps throughout the day… time doesn’t matter, aside from the rooster reminding us of when the sun is about to come up every morning. 

But we still set the clock, and we’ll change the batteries. The Grandfather clock against the back wall reminds us of each hour, every day. And how lucky we still are to have each and every one, no matter how long they drag us on. 

Gran taps her fingers along to ‘Love Me or Leave Me’ as Paps sings quietly along, and I place a few new logs onto the fire to keep it burning. The smell of this house has always stuck out to me– matured wood, the scent of the barn wafting through the cracked windows, the Murphy’s Oil Soap that Paps was always obsessed with cleaning the floors with… it’s all still stuck here, unmoving in time. Just like the photos on the walls, the dinnerware filling the shelves, and the wall that’s covered in pencil markings and dates, marking mine, James’, and my father’s height growth over the years. 

It’s all still here, exactly where they left it. Exactly where they carved things into the load-bearing beam that runs the span of the house. The wearing in the wood of the floor where Gran stood for fifty some odd years in front of the stove cooking meals. The screen door that hangs haphazardly on the front door, the screen ripped and aging as it served its purpose keeping the flies out of the house for however many summers.

A time capsule. And by god, were the three of us overjoyed when we pulled up and found it not sitting at the bottom of a sinkhole.

“Have you got any Sinatra?” my Gran asks, pulling me from my deep-thought trance as the Billie record spins now, without any sound. 

“Of course, sweetheart,” Paps agrees as he stands to replace the record, knowing that he’d give my Gran anything she could ever ask for, just like he always had. 

He makes his way back over to his setup and finds exactly what he’s looking for, switching the vinyl out and putting the needle back down. Gran tilts her head back onto her pillows as she hears Frank’s voice come over the crackly violin sounds. 

“Ol’ Blue Eyes,” she mutters before sitting back up and grabbing at my hands. “You know, Y/N, I didn’t always love music, it was your grandfather’s doin’ that got me to fall in love with it.” Much like he did for me, actually. “Of course I’d go to the dances at the school and I knew a few songs here and there, but it was when I met him that I truly found my love and appreciation for it.”

“He’s had that effect on us both, then, hasn’t he!” I jest, smiling and squeezing at her frail hands. We both glance at him still standing by his collection, eyeing the spines of the covers and pulling them out to look over. I truly did owe a lot to him, he taught me more about artists than I could have ever taught myself. Older ones, especially. He knew the stories that were never recorded in interviews and tabloids. He knew, because he kept them all in the back of his mind as if they were his own family stories.

“That man got me to follow the Dead around for nearly six months before I told him he’d better get me back to Tennessee so I could have me a garden,” she went on, making my face warm with a grin. I’d heard the story a hundred times before, but I’d sit and listen to it a hundred times more, if time would let me.

“Oh, shoot, Jane. We had a good time,” Paps interrupted, scowling at her as he puffed his pipe. 

“Didn’t say we didn’t, Don!” she pokes back, and I can tell they’re about to get into one of their little playful spats. “Your grandfather and I tried LSD for the very first time while we sat in a drum circle after a Dead show in Kansas City,” she said, her eyes wide as she still held my hands. 

Now that, they’ve never shared before. 

“Gran!” I exclaim, truly surprised.

“Now Jane!” Paps barks from his place.

“What?!” she replies, shrugging her bony shoulders. “It was a damned good time and I can honestly say I came back a changed woman. Nothing wrong with that, now is there? I’ve lived one hell of a life…” she trails off, earning a scoff from Paps as he waves her off. “There should be nothing stopping you from still living your life, Y/N. Do you hear me? The Earth might swallow us up, but that doesn’t mean you can’t keep running, keep on living, you understand, child?” she asks, moving her cold hands to cup my cheeks.

“‘Course I do, Gran. I promise,” I relent, and I envy her ability to speak to me with this regard, knowing that the end of her life is near.

“Good,” she pats the side of my face. “Don, how about a little acoustic for a dying old woman?”

Paps drops his shoulders. “Now Jane, do ya have to keep talkin’ that mess, or am I gonna have to make you?” he teases.

I laugh and stand to go into the kitchen as Paps makes his way over to the corner, plucking his old acoustic from its place. I re-wet Gran’s cloth in the icy water, wringing out the dripping water and returning to place it back over her chest. 

Paps sits beside us on the daybed, the smoke rising from his pipe as he plucks at his strings, his feeble but strong hands re-tuning them to where it sounds best. My grandfather is, and was, a very handsome man. Strong and built like an ox. I can see why Gran followed him around chasing after the Dead for six months.

Finally he strums a perfect chord, raising his eyebrows at Gran as she smiles back at him. “Guess it’s a good thing I never got my hands on an electric, hm?” he says as he bites the end of his pipe. 

Neither Paps or I have shown any signs of the rash, at all. No where. And neither of us could fathom why.

The two of us sit and listen to Paps play a plethora of familiar tunes, his fingers still agile enough to float over the strings and play little snippets of all of Gran’s favorites. I can feel Gran’s body relax as she listens to him, her mind probably floating through a million memories of watching him play over the years. He hums along a little as his eyes close on their own, listening to himself play. I swear I could sit here for days. 

After a few minutes, his fingers contort and play a little more harshly, strumming out a tune that hits a nerve buried so deep within me, I almost cry right there on the spot. His very own rendition of one of my favorite songs in the world, You’re the One. 

“Paps…” I murmur, almost whining.

“Hush, child, let me see if I can still pull through these chords,” he shushes me. And he does. I want to scorn him for bringing up the music that was made by my favorite band in the entire world. But then again, in later months, Greta had become one of his favorite bands, too. 

“Babe, ain’t no denyin’, that I got you in my head…” he sings to Gran, making her cover her face with her hands. He plays through about half of the song before he stumbles over a note or two, and decides his hands have gotten too tired. 

“How dare you, Paps. You know that struck a nerve…” I say, scowling at him. 

“Oh, quiet, now. You used to walk around the house singing their songs for days on end. Watch those silly videos of them, hell. How many shows did you go to?” he asks, truly schooling me on my own obsession with that band.

“Twenty-three,” I mutter under my breath. 

“How many?”

“Twenty-three! Okay?” I play along with him, the both of us knowing that he attended the last five of them with me. 

We’d traveled over to Kentucky for his first time seeing them live after I’d shown him a few of their songs. He was hooked after his first play of From the Fires, ripping the album cover from my hands to read along with the lyrics. After that we moved on to Anthem of the Peaceful Army, Garden’s Gate and so on, each play enrapturing my grandfather even more than the last. 

“These kids have some damned promise, that’s for sure. This is a sound I haven’t heard in ages… and their talent? Boy…” he’d said. I still remember the day I surprised him with tickets to his first show, watching him fall in just as much love with them as I was. Swaying along to their classics, singing along with the lyrics he’d learned to love. He learned their names, he learned their personalities a little. He even met a few of the friends I’d made along the way, flirting with them as we’d all stand in line before a show. 

It was Paps and Gran’s travels with the Grateful Dead that inspired me to follow Greta Van Fleet around on their tours. Not for six months straight, as I had to hold down my job, but nonetheless. Twenty-three shows I went to over the course of nine years. Strange Horizons all the way up to their last tour before the world shut down. I had tickets and plans to meet up with my group of friends for a show after Greta had gotten back from Greece, but, of course that never happened. 

Paps grew to love them just as much as I loved them. Love them. For so many years, they were my escape. My solid rock to land on as the headaches of daily life surrounded me. I made lifelong friends through them. Traveled to other countries to see them, with my friends by my side. I watched them grow into men, as I had grown into a woman right alongside them. Watched them evolve, grow, and retreat into silence before exploding back onto the scene with something brand new and fresh, roping me right back into their world. Obsessing over every little detail they fed us. Digging deeply into the meanings of songs, and discussing all the lore with my cohorts on social media. I can account many of my life’s milestones to at least one song of theirs. 

Now, when I find the world more quiet than it ever has been in my lifetime, I find myself reminiscing on those times, some of the best times of my life with that band, and my friends that felt more like family. I catch myself humming their songs, just trying to keep myself centered and rooted to the earth as it literally is falling apart beneath my feet. Greta was always my solid foundation, and even during the End of Days, they hold true to that assignment.

The grandfather clock finally decides to strike midnight, signaling my 33rd birthday.

“I’m sorry we can’t celebrate like we normally would, sweetheart,” Paps says as he continues lightly strumming.

“It’s okay, Paps. Just having the two of you still here with me is celebration, enough.” And I truly mean that. I watch as Gran’s sullen eyes fill with tears as she watches the two of us, and I know I’d give anything to keep the two of them alive as long as I possibly could. But her rash is worsening by the day, and Paps and I can tell that though she puts on a tough exterior, she’s suffering inside.

Gran had fallen back asleep peacefully to the sound of Paps’ acoustic, and we covered her up and threw another few logs onto the fire to last us a few more hours, at least. Paps kisses my forehead after he places his guitar back on its stand in the corner, wishing me a happy birthday as we both retreat to our beds.

+++

The next morning, I wake to myself shivering; Paps and I both must have slept through the night without waking up to tend to the fire. I stretch my muscles and rub my eyes, but I’m instantly startled  by the sound of someone coughing. I throw on my robe and slippers and rush to the living room, finding Gran sitting up in her bed, coughing terribly. Paps and I are by her side in seconds, asking her what she might need to get through the fit, but she just shakes her head. 

Her skin is cold and gray, and it looks as though her muscles are shaking uncontrollably. She’s almost completely covered in the rash, now.

“Do you want to get in the tub, Jane? Do you need to get in the water?” Paps begs of her, kneeling by the bedside. 

She shakes her head more. “No,” she chokes out. Her throat sounds scratchy and dry and we offer her water, but that, too, she rejects. Finally her coughing subsides and she relaxes back, and Paps and I share a knowing look. A look that we’ve both shared three times, when everyone else finally succumbed to the rash. 

This is so fucking unfair. Why don’t I have the rash?! Why can’t I take this pain away from her? Why am I not suffering, too?!

“I’m ok Don. I’m ok,” she mutters, her voice barely her own. 

We both sit there with her for hours, until the sun is noting midday. We hold her hands, caress her face, talk to her, tell her stories… anything to get her to pass with as much comfort as we can. She coughs, still, but each time she begs us to carry on with talking to her. I watch as my grandfather finally sheds a tear, wiping it free from his face as he sniffles through it. 

“Don’t you dare cry for me, Don,” Gran says. “We’ve had a beautiful life together. Beautiful… family,” she struggles to breathe. My chest feels heavy, too, with the overwhelming amount of sorrow it’s holding. I want to throw my fist into the wall, curse everything that has ever lived. I feel a rage building up in my stomach, one that is beginning to burn with so much fury that when it finally awakens, I’m not sure I’ll be able to contain it.

“I love you, I love you both…”

And with one small exhale, she ceases to breathe any more. 

We both allow ourselves time to weep at her bedside for a minute or two before I finally stand and open the windows, uncaring of how it will chill the house. I wanted to let her soul be free. 

+++

It took me about three hours to dig my grandmother’s grave, as the ground was hard from the cold and one shovel can only dig so fast. Hank the heeler was by my side the whole time, sitting and watching guard as I threw the shovels of dirt into a neat pile. I insisted Paps let me do it alone, and he spend a little bit of time with her to say his goodbyes.

 It was cathartic, really, putting my body through physical grunt work as I let the tears fall freely. I wept for her, for the rest of my family, for the heartbreak of my grandfather. But mostly, I cried for myself. I shouldn’t have, it felt selfish to, but I had hardly allowed myself any time to feel sorry for me. Fuck, a person can only take so much. My heart was already broken into a thousand pieces, but the numbness of the past few months had shielded my ability to listen to myself. My body somehow must have felt the need to get it out, so that I could put a brave face on for Paps. He’d need me to. So, as a rare bit of bright sunlight came down and scorched my arms, breaking through the freezing cold wind, I allowed myself to cry again.

It’s almost sunset, now, and Paps had wrapped Gran up in a few white sheets, topped with a pretty lace tablecloth that she had woven many years ago. It used to cover the dining room table, but it did seem fitting for it to be with her, now. 

I give Paps a sweet smile as I make my way into their bedroom, sitting on her old chest as I open the top drawer of her armoire. There, arranged still so neatly, was all of her expensive jewelry that she hardly ever wore. Gold bracelets, diamond rings, emerald-encrusted pieces… all if it is so precious, so valuable, and so completely worthless. 

I take a second to collect it all up and slip it into a canvas drawstring bag, making sure first to keep just one piece out for myself. She’d have wanted me to, I’m positive of it. 

A sterling silver ring topped with the prettiest piece of deep blue turquoise. Her grandmother had given it to her many years ago, and she only ever wore it to special occasions, but it fits perfectly on my middle finger. And if I wanted something to remember my grandmother by, it would most definitely be this. 

I go back into the living room and gently grab my grandmother’s cold, bruised hands, replacing each piece of precious jewelry onto her fingers and wrists wherever I can fit them, stacking them one on top of the other. 

“Should we add her books, Paps?” I manage to ask. 

He shakes his head solemnly. “No, might be best to keep things like that above ground…” 

Paps and I make our way out to the barn as dusk falls, and I light the few candles he has placed around on the shelves and tables. It’s dilapidated but in a good way; the walls and ceiling showing wear of many, many years of hard work. I watch as Paps grabs up one of the candles and walks to a swing door I’d never really noticed before, using some force to pull it open and propping it with a cut of a two-by-four. My eyes take a second to adjust to the darkness as he walks further inside the room, illuminating the space. There in the center of the small room is a pine box casket.

“Paps, what in the world? When did you…?” I breathe, walking closer to it. I notice that it has my grandmother’s name carved right in the top, the letters painted in black.

“About fifteen years ago, I’d say. Jane and I always said we wanted to be buried right here on the farm, when our times came. Guess we never told you kids about that. Your parents knew, a’course, but we never dreamed they’d go before us…” 

Paps pulls his blue handkerchief from his back pocket and wipes his nose, his eyes still dripping with remnant tears. 

“It looks really good, Paps. You did a great job,” I commend him, but he pays no mind. Instead he blows across it, relieving some of the old sawdust from its home on the lid. He pulls the top open and inspects it again, pulling a few pieces of straw from the inside. 

“Help me get it over to the site?” he asks, and I realize I’d never even asked him where he wanted me to dig the grave. I just picked the prettiest place that I could. Something tells me he would have picked the same place, too. “Under the willow?” he asks. 

Great minds.

“Under the willow.”

We lower the casket onto the wheelbarrow and roll it across the back yard and along the fenceline, right beside the weeping willow tree. It was Gran’s favorite place to come and lie in the grass with a book. Hank walks alongside us, his snout on guard for any wild packs that may be a threat to us. 

Together, we lower the pine box into the hole I’d dug, making sure it was level at the bottom. “Want me to go get her?” I ask. 

“I’ll get her,” he responds as he takes off back toward the house. The wind is whipping my hair across my face, now, as the stars are beginning to show themselves, and I can’t stop myself from crying again. This shouldn’t be happening. I shouldn’t be standing beside a grave I just dug, with a casket my grandfather built, watching his back walk across the tall grass to retrieve the body of the love of his life. This shouldn’t. Fucking. Be. Happening. 

In the moonlight, I finally see the figure of him coming back through the shadows with her in his arms. I silently thank the heavens above that he is a strong man, still yet, with more brute strength than any man his age should have. Just like James.

I help him lower her inside, but not before the both of us place kisses on either of her cheeks. I work to cover her back up with dirt as he stands behind, Hank begging his hand for a pet.

“You wanna say a few words?” I ask him as I throw the last shovelful of dirt on top, wiping a hand across my cold-sweat forehead. 

He takes a quick, chopped breath. “Sixty-two years wasn’t nearly enough with you, sweetheart. Won’t ever be enough. Thank you for every single laugh, every single tear, every single argument and happy moment. Thank you for our beautiful children, and grandchildren, and thank you for filling my heart with more joy than any man should have the privilege of havin’. You sure made my life worth livin’. Give ‘em hell up there in heaven, Janie. I know ya will. I love ya to the moon.” He sniffles again as he gives in to Hank’s requests, finally leaning down and wrapping a strong arm around the dog. I sidestep and wrap my arm around him, too, and we stand there in the wind until we can’t stand any more.

JAKE

“RRRUHHHHH!” I growl loudly as I wake up from unconsciousness in a full-on panic. My eyes are shifty and dry as I work to sit myself up quickly, my hands still bound at my back. The tape is gone from my mouth now, though. 

It’s dark, and it's cold, but I’m indoors. I just can’t fucking see a god damned thing. 

“Hey! Help!! Can anyone hear me?!” I yell, my voice echoing hard off the walls that surround me. My voice feels dry and knotted in my throat as I try to swallow what little moisture I have in my mouth. When I get no response, I crack my neck sideways as pain sets in over my body, and not just from my arms being bound. I feel as though my legs have been hit with something hard, and my back feels like it’s bruised and sore. What the fuck? What the fuck!

“Heyyyyy! Somebody come and fucking talk to me! What do you want?!” I yell again, my heart rate flying as reality sets in that I’ve been kidnapped from the cabin. Alone. 

The last thing I remember is being alone in the back of that truck, rolling around as whoever was driving had little care for it’s cargo in the back. Maybe that’s why I feel bruised and beaten. Or maybe it’s not. 

Yes, alone. In the truck… six intruders… weapons… it’s all coming back now, in little spurts of memory. Where is everyone else? Where is my family? When was I brought in here? I feel bile rising in my throat as I feel a panic attack setting in, and I grind my hands against one another so as to try and free them from their ties. But it’s no use, of course. It only digs them into my skin more. 

I sit in silence listening to only the sounds of my uneven breathing, trying to calm myself and make a plan of action. No time to fall into fear, Jake. 

I maneuver my body around to get to the walls, standing on my sore legs to turn and let my hands run along them. There’s nothing there– no windows, no chairs or furniture. Just a box. I diligently run my hands along every one. Four walls. With nothing. Nothing but– 

A door. 

I turn my body to try and find a doorknob or whatever to open it, and when my hand finally grasps the spherical knob, I realize that the mother fucker is locked. Of course. I turn and slam my shoulder into it a few times to see if I can pry it, but it’s no use. “Hey! You son of a bitch! Let me out of here!” I yell again, getting mad, now. 

“Quiet, Jacob,” a voice I do not recognize suddenly fills the room. My stomach drops. 

I open my mouth to reply, but nothing really comes to mind. The voice is male, but distorted. Quiet? QUIET? 

“Who the fuck are you? Open this door and come and talk to me!” I yell again, my body suddenly feeling like my blood is going to pulse from every orifice of my body. 

There is a long pause. 

“I said quiet, Jacob,” it repeats. 

I grit my teeth. This voice is really pissing me off. 

“I’ll be quiet when you come in here and fucking show your face!” I yell even louder this time.

There is another long pause, and finally, I hear the metallic screeching of the heavy door opening. I waste no time in trying to push through it, relying on only my hearing to know what is going on, just as I had back at the cabin. Everything is so fucking dark.

But I get nowhere. I’m stopped by my body running into two stern and sturdy men again, pushing back further into the echoey room. I nearly lose my footing, but I press forward again, determined to get through that fucking door. But they stop me again, thrashing my body back so hard I hit one of the walls. It nearly knocks the breath from me, but I catch it. “Who are you? What do you want? I want to see my fam–”

“It’d really do you good to stay fucking quiet, like we told you to.” Suddenly I feel a gloved hand cupping across my mouth, stopping me from speaking. The man’s face is close to mine, whispering in my ear as he pins me back against the wall with his other arm. “Do you understand? Can you keep your voice down?” It asks, a little more lax. 

After a few seconds, I nod, but my mind doesn’t have the time to process another plan. Maybe if I cooperate, they’ll let me the fuck go. His hand slowly falls from my mouth, and I stay quiet, nothing filling the room now but my haggard and nervous breathing, again. “Who are you,” I whisper, my tone demanding. 

I notice that the second man must be standing behind the one still holding me to the wall, hearing him huff a laugh under his breath. How can they fucking see me? 

“Let’s just say that if you play your cards right, we’ll be your new best friends,” the man says as he releases my chest, allowing me to breathe. I hear the tear of velcro twice, realizing he must be taking his gloves off. 

“I don’t need any more fucking friends. I have plenty back at home,” I bark, still gritting my teeth as I stay at a quieter level. 

They laugh again. “Home? You mean the cabin you were holed up in? Barely surviving?” the man behind the first asks sarcastically. 

“Home is where my family is, actually,” I bite.

“Aww, isn’t that cute,” they laugh at me again as I hear that they’re both standing, now. I should try and run again, right? But it might get me knocked unconscious again. Maybe not. Not yet. 

“Little Jake Kiszka, maybe you really do have the heart of gold everyone says you have,” the first one says. “Maybe being rich and famous didn’t get to you, after all.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about? Who are you? How do you know my name?” I ask. 

They both scoff again. “You’re fairly fucking famous, my guy. Lots of people know your name,” the second one blurts. My guy? Who–

“Well it’s pretty convenient that I don’t know yours, seeing as how you have me fucking tied up in a pitch black room. Can we cut the shit? Or am I gonna have to try and run again?” I ask, completely over this game. Suddenly, I don’t feel very threatened. 

“You won’t get very far if you do, Jake,” the first one whispers, and I hear his boots step closer to me again, and his breath hot on my face. “Listen to me, and listen closely, okay? Are you listening?”

“Yeah, fuck, I’m listening,” I say.

“We told you to stay quiet for a reason. You’ve been captured by an outfit that’s been around for a long, long time. But you weren’t caught for just any reason,” he goes on, barely audible. 

“What does that mean? What reason?” I ask. 

“They’ve got reason to believe that you know.”

“Know what?” I ask, confused. 

“Why the fucking world ended. Or actually, how. Your brothers, you all wrote about this, didn’t you? In your music?” he goes on, and if I wasn’t confused before, I sure as shit am now. 

“What?!” I squeal, almost laughing. “You’ve got to be kidding me…”

“Hmm-mm. They aren’t kidding. Does it feel like they’re kidding right now? No.”

“Why do you keep saying they? You are the one that’s got me locked up, right now,” I retort. 

“Because we’re pretending,” suddenly the other one is in my ear. “They think we work for them. The brunt work. The dirty jobs…. Like kidnapping you,” he says. 

“Listen Jake,” the other interrupts. “We know you, we know who you are. We were… we were fans of your band, back then. But these people, the ones who hired us, they trust us. And they have worse plans for you than holding you in a dark metal box with your hands tied…”

“Why me? Why did they take me?” I ask. 

“Your music, your songs… you fucking predicted more about all this than you think you did,” the other explains. 

Josh’s dreams. 

“We didn’t predict shit, we were just writing fucking songs, we didn’t–”

“All of it is real, Jake,” the first whispers, his lips brushing my hair. “The stories you told, the worlds you built… all of it exists, and has existed for a long time.”

“I don’t get it,” I say, blinking my eyes in the darkness. 

“The lyrics you wrote about, the Garden you all dreamt up… It exists. In a complete other realm.”

I damn near laugh in their faces. “You’ve got to be kidding me, right? This is a joke?”

They stay quiet for a beat. “No jokes here, Jake. Just know that more is happening than you could ever even fathom. It’s not just the end of the world here. It’s the end of the world there, too. Well, it’s about to be, if the battle is lost,” the second says. 

“You’re both insane, and I’m in on some kind of prank. This is all a joke!” I argue. “We didn’t create that world...”

“No, you didn’t. But you knew about it. You wrote songs about it, didn’t you? You told tales of a Battle, wrote songs about war and peace, lyrics about the water rising, and the air so thin…”

My head is spinning. I’m getting a headache. And I could really use a fucking cigarette.

“Yeah, global fucking warming, who didn’t know about that?” I defend. 

They both laugh under their breath. “Let’s just say you guys literally wrote the time and space of another world as if you’d read their history books. And, lived there alongside them.” 

There’s no fucking way. This is absolutely ridiculous. 

“What do you mean if the battle is lost?” I ask, the question coming from my mere curiosity. 

The second crouches down in front of me again, from what I can tell. “Our world here has already begun to end, right? Technology itself is murdering us by the boatloads. The thing we created. It’s omnipresence became too much for earth to handle, started to suck away at her resources and poison her. Poison her natural way of ebb and flow. So she said fuck you humans, I don’t need you. You shall all suffer my wrath, and I’ll use the poison that you created to kill you,” his voice had gotten a little dramatic, as if he was reading a romantic tragedy. 

“Okay Shakespeare, we get it,” the first says, and I can’t help but laugh a little. “Here’s the thing… the other realm is suffering, too. What happens on earth is mirrored in that realm, but the mirror isn’t a clear reflection. It’s more of a…”

“Cloudy and messy shadow of what happens in our realm,” the other says. 

“Yeah, actually,” the first agrees. “It happens here, it happens there, just not the exact same way. So their world is suffering, too. But they’re going to try and stop it.”

“How are they going to do that?” I ask.

“...Have you not figured that out yet, man? Don’t you think that uh— capturing a few guys who have predicted it all to a tee so far and using them for information on what’s to come next wouldn’t be a nice and easy route for them?”

“You’re shitting me, right?” I say blankly. “You kidnapped me because they think I know what’s going to happen next after the world ends?”

“Mm, kind of. You’ve gotten it all right, so far.”

No, Josh has. Apparently.

“That and… a pretty good other reason,” the first mumbles. 

“What other reason?”

“You don’t have any signs of the rash yet, do you?” the second inquires, throwing me off. How would he know that?

“No… but what’s that have to do with all of this?” I say, my mind spinning. 

“You’re an immune. Just like us,” the second says with a bit of pride in his voice. 

“An immune? How the fuck do we know that we just haven’t gotten it yet?” I press. 

“You’ve seen how fast that shit kills people,” the first scoffs. “Don’t you think you would have at least shown a little bit of a sign of it, by now?” 

He’s right. It’s been months since the first sign of the rash, killed more people than I’d like to discuss. And quickly, too. But my whole family… none of us have shown signs…how are we all so lucky?

“Maybe the earth decided that she’d keep a few of us, the ones who aren’t fucking assholes,” the second barks, earning what sounds like a slap to the chest from the first. 

“I don’t think that’s how it worked, idiot,” he says. “Anyways, we’ve already spent too much time in here with you, Jake. But listen. Remember we’re all pretending. They’re going to push you, they’re going to make us push you. But we want you to know we’re on your team, even if we act like we’re not. They’re out collecting immunes as we speak, trying to put everyone into some type of commune to protect the longevity of mankind. But you’re special, because they think you know. They’re special because they’re immune. You following me?”

“When they kidnap more immunes they’ll group me with them, but treat me differently because they think I can help them, got it,” I say, catching on fairly easily, for some reason. 

“Bingo,” the second clicks his tongue. 

“Do the people who hired you live in the other realm, too? Like, why do they care?” I ask, feeling like I just read the plot of a fantasy novel.

“Think of it like a family intertwined between both worlds. They’re able to bounce back and forth, but they all take up space in both places. One realm can’t live without the other. That’s why they’re trying to stop the end of their world there, so they have somewhere to be if our’s ceases to exist,” the first explains. 

“That’s fucking confusing,” I whisper. “If ours ceases to exist, one can’t exist without the other. Isn’t Earth already too far gone?” 

“Maybe her inhabitants are almost wiped, but as a planet, she’s still got a long way to go before rejoining the cosmos. If the other realm is saved, it could power Earth enough to stop her eradication. Plus we have immunes. Earth won’t completely die, she’s just trying to do a hard restart, if that makes sense,” the second one adds. “She’s sick, and she’s trying to make herself healthy again.”

I let out a huff as I try and wrap my head around the dystopian film I’m apparently a part of now. Half of me thinks these guys are lying to me. Playing games to distract me. But then again, why would they be wasting their time?

“Play dumb, Jake. Pretend you don’t know a goddamn thing. Especially when they start to question you about what you guys wrote in this last album,” the first says, standing to his feet and putting his gloves back on, from what I can tell. “This isn’t gonna last forever, we’re going to put a stop to this.”

“You are? How?” I ask, pulling hard on the ties around my wrists. 

“We are. With your help,” the second whispers. “There’s a whole group of us who plan on breaking free of this shit, we’ve just got to trust each other that we can run. Gather up the other immunes once they’re captured and create our own destinies.”

“But, if we don’t go along with them, won’t Earth completely shit out on us? If their realm dies too?” I ask. 

“Catching on quickly, Jake. I’m impressed,” the first whispers. “If we recreate our own line of mankind from the immunes, everything will be okay. We just want to do it out from underneath the thumb of these selfish motherfuckers. We can do it on our own.”

The two of them turn on their heels and start to walk toward the door again, leaving me sitting in the floor. “Hey, where is my family?” I ask. 

“They were assigned elsewhere. Separated all of you, we don’t know where they ended up. Sorry, man,” the second says. And within seconds they’re both gone, and I’m alone, yet again.

Y/N

I trudge back inside the house now under the cover of darkness, after having spent a few minutes outside trying to breathe and calm myself. Paps has lit a few candles inside, and I can see the warm glow of them through the windows making the house look like a jack-o-lantern. I smile a little at the thought. As I push the door open and lock it behind me, I turn and notice he’s stood by the kitchen table, a few more candles lit across it. There in front of him are two bowls of potato soup. 

“Paps, this is so nice of you,” I mumble as I hang my afghan on the back of a chair. “I thought you said you weren’t up for eating tonight?” 

“Your Gran would have been ticked if she knew we were too upset to feed ourselves, you know that’s a fact,” he says, pulling my chair out for me. I take a seat and I can smell the herbs he’s put into the soup.

“You’re right…” I agree. “She wouldn’t have been happy with us at all.”

“Plus, figure you could pretend one of these candles is on a birthday cake, and blow it out. Since we didn’t get to celebrate you the right way,” he adds as he takes his own seat. 

“I think I could do that,” I say, picking up my spoon to dig in. “Thank you Paps, you’re really too good to me.”

“We’re all we’ve got, sweetheart.”

As we eat, I watch as Paps’ hands seem weaker now, and how they shake a little as he brings his spoon to his mouth. He’s done an excellent job on the soup, but we both know we’re choking it down, both of our stomachs too wrought with nerves and heartbreak to enjoy it like we should. 

As we clean our bowls, he pushes one of the candles toward me, holding his hand out to motion for me to blow. The candle is old and burned through almost all the wax, but it still smells of pumpkin and apple pie. “Don’t forget to make a wish, sweetheart. And make it a good one,” he says, giving me a sweet wink from behind his glasses. 

I take a deep breath and wrack my brain, feeling like making a wish right now is selfish. Normally, I’d wish for a happy next year, health and fortune for my family, or even for the next man that walks into my life to be the right one. 

But all of that feels stupid now, pointless to request of the universe. 

Next year isn’t even promised. 

Over half of my family is gone. 

And no man is destined to walk into my life to better it in the least, let alone offer me kinship of any kind. 

So instead I wish for Paps to stay as healthy as possible for as long as possible, and that the universe bestows good things upon us both. Because like he said, we’re all we’ve got. 

+++

After I’ve cleaned the dishes and tidied the kitchen, I’m stopped in my tracks from the same sound I heard coming through the walls last night– the sound of quiet, staticy music. 

I find Paps with his record player again, cranking the handle on the side as the sound begins to spill from the horn. For a second, I’m happy that he’d kept this old thing, knowing that without it, we wouldn’t be able to hear music at all, probably ever again. 

I step up beside him and watch it spin, listening to “Lovin’ You More Every Day” by Etta James drift into the air. I know that Gran loved this one, too. It was one of the songs they danced to at their wedding. 

So I take his hand in mine, pulling him to stand with me on the old oriental rug in the middle of the room. I begin to sway around as he gently places his hand on my back, swaying right along with me. We’re dancing a little too slowly for the speed of the song, but neither of us care. We’re just enjoying our time, wishing that Gran was here to clap for us after the song ends. But as it comes to a close, we’re met again with static, waiting silently for the first note of the next song. 

“You’re a bit too big now to stand on my feet,” he says through a stiff smile. 

“Maybe so,” I giggle. “But it was your training that got rid of my two left feet…gave me a sense of some rhythm…” I grin. 

He smiles again as he sniffles through some more tears. “I’m sorry I won’t be there to dance with you at your own wedding, sweetheart,” he mumbles as he pulls me close, and my heart shatters into a million pieces. 

“Now Paps, don’t talk like that…” I argue. “Lord knows I’m not gonna find a man who can dance better than you, anyway.”

I hear a chuckle run through his chest. “May be, sweetheart. May be.”

We sway along to a few more songs before we’re both yawning. “Believe I’m gonna hit the hay,” he says solemnly, patting me on the head a few times before making his way to throw a few more logs onto the fire. 

“Me too, I’ll see you in the morning?” I ask, realizing that this will be the first night in over sixty years that he is going to sleep knowing he won’t wake up to the love of his life. 

“When the rooster crows, my sweet. Love you.”

“I love you, Paps,” I say as we part ways, drifting off to our respective rooms. 

I’m thankful the weather isn’t too horrendous tonight as I snuggle into my bed, pulling the covers onto my chest. I relax, but leave my candle lit, staring up at the ceiling and recounting the day. The look on Gran’s face as she finally met peace, no longer feeling the wrenching burn of the rash that had enveloped her body. Poor Paps. I can’t even imagine what he’s feeling, right now. 

I grab my journal back up and flip to the page I’d left off on, realizing I’d stopped in the middle of a thought. Instead of finishing it, I start a new one. 

I write about Gran’s passing, how and where we buried her, how I adorned her hands and wrists with all her old jewelry, and how Paps had made me a special birthday supper. I try to be as detailed as possible, leaving nothing out as I let my hand flow from print to cursive. My eyes begin to get heavy as the candle light flickers, and I realize just how exhausted I am. How mentally and physically drained I’ve become, simply from trying my best to stay alive. 

My eyes close a little, drifting down onto my forearm that’s covered in tattoos. My dad hated them, but Paps and Gran always told me they were an expression of my life at the time, like a roadmap of all of the things I loved, when I loved them. Keepsakes I’ll never part with. I always thought it strange, that coming from grandparents from an era of humans who normally found tattoos distasteful, but. 

But they were right. I have over twenty tattoos, but my forearm is dedicated to the band that I knew and loved so much, and who brought me some of the happiest times of my life.

The first one sits right in the crook of my elbow, a simple sun and crescent moon that I got right after I fell in love with From the Fires. Then words, right below that, reading ‘In an age of darkness, light appears’ in small font, wrapping all the way around my arm. Under that, a swirling symbol that resembles a radar, 13 lines that make an almost complete circle to commemorate the song that reminds me to step back into the natural world. Beneath that, a sword and an arrow, parallel with one another. And lastly, a symbol that truly represented their fifth album, lines shaped into what looks like a bird in flight. 

I never got to get a tattoo from this last album. And honestly, the darkness of the theme of it made choosing what I would have gotten a little difficult, anyway. 

I run my hand over the dark black ink and my mind begins to sleepily drift. I wonder what my friends are doing right now…are they alive? Are they sad, too? Are they still clinging to the good times we shared to keep their minds from falling into the deep depths of solitude?

My fingers stop over the Age of Machine tattoo, the little ridges of the skinny lines still rigid on my skin. I think about how much this tattoo reminded me to unplug and drown myself in nature every chance I got. How that song truly motivated me to do the exact opposite of letting myself be pulled into the false world of social media, and spend my time in my garden, or swept up in a book. Strange, now… thinking about how it made me feel when I listened. Haunted, dizzy, and uneasy. Scared, almost, but cautious. Ominous and anxious, but in the most peaceful way. Now I’m glad of the inspiration it gave me. Maybe that’s why I haven’t gotten the rash. It’s almost like that song was warning us of what was to come…

What are the men who wrote this music doing right now? Are they okay, too? My heart wrenches in a different way than it has, yet. Yearning to know of the state of people I had never met, yet worried about the wellbeing of for so many years of my life. “Silly,” I whisper to myself. But, it’s not silly. It’s just the heart they helped me find within myself to care about other people so deeply.

I close my pencil into my book again as I blow out my candle, thinking of all the nights I went to sleep excited to wake up before the sun and double check the luggage I’d packed, grabbing a quick coffee before I hit the road to travel to god knows where to see my friends and my favorite band again. Carefree, and careless. Living my life the way I wanted to, choosing the road ahead to achieve that happiness I’d always chased when it came to hearing their music live. Life unchained, the way Gran lived hers. 

+++

Just as my body is relaxing into a well-deserved sleep, I’m awoken by a loud rumble, a deafening sound so deep that I feel it in my bones. I shoot up in bed, realizing that the bed below me is shaking, vibrating. I pull the covers back quickly, rushing down the hall to find Paps already coming toward me with his candle in hand. 

“What’s going on?!” I yell above the loud rumbles. 

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” he yells back, and we both make our way to the large picture window in the living room. The moonlight illuminates the hillside of the farm, revealing a giant faultline that reaches from one side of the field all the way to the next. 

“Shit,” Paps mutters as I feel panic setting into my gut. “Faultline.”

“What’s that mean?! Paps, what is it?” I ask in succession, watching as the crack as wide as a river is eating up the ground.

“Probably another sink hole. Or one is going to happen nearby, I’d say,” he barks as he turns and rushes back to his room. “We’ve got to go. We’ve got to run,” he hollers. 

What?! Run?? We can’t run! 

“Paps, but the house! We’re alread–”

“Get your backpack. Get dressed, hurry! We’ve got to get away from it!” he commands, his voice booming. The house begins shaking again as I run to my room, throwing on my pants, jacket, and boots, and tossing my heavy emergency backpack over my shoulders. I make sure to secure my toboggan onto my head before stuffing my journal into the free pocket of my backpack, rushing back out into the living room to find Paps ready and waiting. 

I hear plates and dishes falling from the shelves of the kitchen, and books falling off the shelves of the living room. It’s just like an earthquake, except I had watched a crevice form in the ground, right before my eyes. My hands are shaking, and I am already broken out in a cold, panicked sweat.  We rush to the truck, throwing our things into the bed as we climb inside. 

“Hank! Where’s Hank?!” I yell, looking around for him. 

“Leave him, we’ve got to go,” Paps says as he turns the key in the ignition, hearing the engine purr to life for just a second, before shutting right back off. He tries again, pumping the fuel pedal to get the block to heat and the glow plugs to light. “Fuck, fuck!! Come on, baby! Don’t do this!” he yells, trying to coax the machine. But it’s to no avail. The battery has died.

We open the doors and clamber to grab our bags again, realizing that on foot is our only means of escaping the growing faultline. We take off rushing down the dirt road, still hearing the deep rumble of the ground separating behind us. I wish I could describe the sound, a noise unlike anything I’ve ever heard before. The cracking and snapping of deep roots, the crashing of trees, a low bellowing sound so deep that it sounds like it came from hell, itself. Unreal. And utterly fucking terrifying. 

My legs carry me, and luckily so do Paps’, straight down the long driveway and back onto the main road. I hear the wood of the house start to creak, and more wooden-sounding bangs. Fuck. Please, not the house… 

“Should we go to the woods?” I pant, knowing that Paps is just as out of breath as I am. 

“No, to the knoll,” he points, panting too as he motions toward the top of a high hill. When we finally make it there, we stop, taking a breather as now it feels as though we’re far enough from the field to get a better view of everything that lies beneath. And there, right in the center of the field is another sinkhole, giant and deep and dark with half the farm swallowed up in it. 

Luckily, the house is untouched.

“How on God’s green Earth…” Paps breathes as he lets his hands fall to his knees, trying to catch his breath as the two of us look down on the scene in front of us. Like it was straight from a horror film. 

“Had to of been Gran. She wouldn’t let the devil himself take her home, if it was the last thing she did,” I say, earning a breathy laugh from Paps. 

“You’re goddamn right, sweetheart. You’re goddamn right,” he says, finally catching his breath. “We need to run, we’re pretty close to this thing, still.” We take off again, rushing back down the road as we still hear the ground shaking below us. We hear trees falling in the distance, and we begin running again. I’m truly thankful for Paps’ stamina and heart right now, his legs getting him to safety even at his age. 

“Keep going, Paps, not much further,” I encourage him, just in case he needs it. “We’re okay, we’re okay…”

Suddenly, I see a set of headlights in the distance, barreling down the road towards us in a cloud of dust. When it finally approaches, I flag it down until it stops beside us. An old man is sitting in the driver’s seat, his face just as panicked as ours. “Hop in! Hop in!” he says, and we listen. Paps and I rush to the passenger side and slide into the cab, the man already hitting the gas before Paps can even shut the door all the way. 

“You’ve got to turn around!” I say, “There are sinkholes this way!”

He turns the wheel harshly, and I’m glad he listens to me. We rush back the opposite way, zooming down the road so fast I can hardly fathom what’s happening. Pure panic. 

“We’re alright, Paps, we made it out,” I try and calm him, reaching for my canteen of fresh water and offering it to him as he catches his breath. 

Suddenly we’re being thrust forward as the man steps on the brake, and I’m close to cursing him before I notice he’s stopped before another faultline in the road. “My god…” the man says, opening his truck door and climbing out. 

“No, no… what are you doing?!” I yell, wondering why in the hell this man is getting out of our escape vehicle and walking towards the crack in the ground. I watch as he steps closer to it, inching his steps as he peers down over the edge. “Is he insane?! Are you insane? Please, come back!!” I scream, but he doesn’t listen. The ground shakes again, throwing the man off balance as it makes him stumble, swallowing him right up into it. 

“Oh my god!!” I yell as Paps lets out a guttural scream. My hand covers my mouth as I yell in disbelief, watching as the man is there one second, and gone the next. 

“Drive, Y/N, drive!” Paps urges me, pushing my arms to scoot to the driver’s seat. I throw the truck in reverse, pulling the door closed as I rush to get us away from it all, pushing the pedal to the floor as my eyes scan for more faultlines. It feels as though we’re surrounded by them. My heart is pounding, now, as my body does the necessary work on auto pilot. 

“Keep going! Keep going!” Paps says as we get closer to town, and away from the vibrating ground. After a few minutes of shaking panic, it feels like the buzzing of the ground has subsided, and I can finally take a deep breath. A shaky one, but a breath nonetheless. 

As I finally allow my eyes to adjust and my hands to stretch, I’m finally feeling in control of my body again. Okay, okay, I’ve got this. Just keep driving. “Paps, you okay?”

“I’m okay sweetheart, you okay?”

“I’m good, I’m good,” I breathe, taking another deep breath in to calm my shaking body. “God, why the fuck did he do that?”

“Couldn’t tell ya, dumb and curious, I guess,” he says, taking another drink from the canteen before offering it to me. “Head toward the city, we’ll need to find a place to hunker down, tonight.”

And though my heart is still pounding as his words hit me, I take the right turn off the state route to head to the interstate, both of us in high hopes that the city will offer us more than it did when we left it. But honestly, I’m losing faith. 

I’d been driving for nearly twenty minutes on the empty road before I take a cutoff exit, determined to cut our drive time down and conserve fuel. The exit leads to a sideroad that is heavily wooded, but I know it will get us to the city more quickly. As the headlights shine down the two-lane road, I notice some kind of dark, shadowed figures standing down in the distance. I blink a few times, trying to see what is there. 

“Is that deer?” I ask Paps. 

“Can’t tell, it’s too dark,” he says, so I slow my pace. My headlights do little to light them up, but the closer we get, the more human they look. Tall, dark… just standing there?

And they aren’t moving. I bring the truck to a stop, my headlights almost no help at all as the figures begin to close in on us, instead of moving out of the road. 

“The hell is this, what’s happening?” Paps yells as the figures have us completely blocked from continuing down the road, now. My panic returns. I hear Paps cock his shotgun. “Drive, drive!!!”

My foot smashes the pedal to the floor, but the truck doesn’t move. The tires screech as I continue pushing it, willing the truck to keep going. But it won’t. It’s like I’m running it into a brick wall. “What’s happening!! Why won’t it go?!” I scream, my hands gripping the wheel as the truck begins to fishtail from the force of the tires on the ground. The lights from the truck are completely gone, now. We’re in total darkness. “Paps!”

“I’m here, I’m here, honey!” and I feel him grab my hand. Suddenly the truck doors slam open, and my body is being grabbed and pulled from the seat. I thrash and kick at whatever has grabbed me, but nothing works. It’s too strong. I feel a painful hit to my head, and my ears scream as I start to lose consciousness. I feel a dark cover be put over my head and secured, completely blocking my vision altogether. “Paps!!!!” I try and yell, but I’m slipping quickly into unconsciousness as my voice is barely a squeal. My hands are being tied in front of me, and all I feel is cold. 

+++

I wake up in a cold sweat, my hands still bound as I sit with my back against a metal wall. My breathing is ragged as I try and take in my surroundings, and I realize I still have the covering over my head. I wince in pain from the impact of whatever hit my head earlier. I hear others beside me, many crying, panicked voices whimpering in the same room. I try and make a sound, but my voice is hoarse from screaming. I try and speak, but there is tape over my mouth. What is happening, where is Paps?!

My heart is pounding in my chest as I try to raise my bound hands and remove the covering, but it’s secured tightly. I’m in pitch black darkness, and I can’t see a fucking thing. I try to stand, but my muscles are weak and sore, and I can hardly will them to move, let alone stand. It’s unclear how long I was knocked out, and how long I have been sitting in this cold, metal room, but it feels like only a few minutes have passed. I feel tears begin running down my face, I feel so helpless, so exhausted. So blind.  

Suddenly I hear a loud noise, like a heavy metal door being thrust open. I see a light through the covering over my face, and I try and yell again. But nothing comes out. Just like in those nightmares where you are unable to make a sound. I hear footsteps come into the room, heavy boots pounding against the concrete floor. My covering is forcefully removed, and it takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the bright light. 

Finally, I’m able to see eight or ten others with me, all of us sitting with our hands bound, lined up against the walls of this room. Some beside me, some directly across from me. I watch as two tall, masked men work their way around the room, removing each and every face covering. A woman, a man, a teenaged boy, an elderly lady… and then, Paps. I make excited eye contact with him as I feel a squeal leave my taped lips. He’s safe. He’s here. 

I watch as the rest of the covers are removed one by one, the person seated directly across from me being saved for last. They leave him sitting for a few seconds as they exchange what looks to be laughs with one another before one of them gently kicks his legs a little before undoing his head covering. 

The man’s face is beaten and bruised, his brown hair tangled and long and falling in front of his face as he winces in pain. They throw his face covering back down to the floor beside him, laughing again as they turn and leave the room without a word, locking the door behind them. 

I peer to the hair-covered face again to get a better look, and I swear if my mouth wasn’t taped shut, I would have screamed out in disbelief. 

That’s Jake fucking Kiszka.

He feels my eyes on him as he finally looks up to me, noticing my awkward stare. Neither of us can speak. I feel myself smiling under the tape, what are the fucking odds? What is happening?! Where the fuck are we?

His eyes grow wide as he realizes I know him, and he stares back at me in utter confusion. Do I tell him I recognize him? Shit, he can probably tell I do, by now. For some odd reason unbeknownst to me, I maneuver my tied hands to slowly pull up the sleeve of my shirt, showing him the splattering of tattoos that line my forearm. I know you. I watch his eyes see them as I straighten my arm out, willing him to see them, recognize them.

I watch his chest rise and fall as he begins shaking his head slowly side to side, his breathing picking up significantly as he looks at me with red, swollen eyes. 

No? Is he telling me no?

Just as I hear the sound of the heavy footsteps coming back down the hall, I watch as Jake slowly lifts his bound hands to his face, his pointer finger sticking up in front of his taped mouth. 

My stomach falls as I realize he’s serious. Not only is he telling me no, he’s telling me to stay quiet.

Tags: @gretavangroupie @britney-gvf @sacredstarcatcher @wetkleenex-gvf @farfromthehomelands @takenbythemadness @writingcold @builtbybrokenbells @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @fleet-of-fiction @milkgemini @gvfpal @ageofcj@dancingcarbon @highway-tuna @stardustjake @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface @gvfmarge @gracev0609 @myleftsock @literal-dead-leaf @peaceloveunitygvf @ageofbajabule @slut4lando @jordie-gvf @sadiechar @tinydancer40 @rosabellagvf @capnjaket @lyndz2names @thetroublegetssoloud71 @gretavanomens @spark-my-nature @josh-iamyour-mama @anythingforjtk @alwaysonthemend @danieljlmwagner @klarxtr @fortunatelytinybasement @demonrat444 @gretavansara @watchingover-hypegirl @hippievanfleet @digitalnomadz @raviolilegs @lipstickitty @hippievanfleet @klarxtr @strange-whorizons @do-it-jakey-baby @myownparadise96 @gvf-luna @starshine-wagner @cassiesgreta @joopsandjangs @whimsiliz @kiszkas-canvas @whimsiliz @joopsandjangs @broken0mens @scoreofinfantryvines @whereiskeara @do-it-jakey-baby @miravanfleet @heckingfrick@kiszka-canvas @whimsiliz @joopsandjangs @broken0mens @scoreofinfantryvines @whereiskeara @do-it-jakey-baby @miravanfleet @heckingfrick @jenniferkiszka @jjwasneverhere @gvfmarge @pineapple-photographer @vanfleeter

[deadratdonoteat]

Yuji Itadori x reader

Damsel In Distress

Y/n needs rescued and a pink haired teen does just that. With a little movie date!

Tags- fluff, trapped, movie night, movie references, Snacks & Candy, matching Oonsies

W.C= 1.5k

This is not how my mission was supposed to go. I struggled against the restraints. The stupid curse that was supposed to be an easy fix o held me captive. My arms were getting tired from being behind my back. The dinghy chair that I was tied to was not comfortable. No doubt someone was coming to rescue me. I doubt it will be soon but at least it’s something. The curse was hiding behind the door to the room. It was a fat glob. Looked dirty.

“Why are you waiting by the door? No ones coming for me,” I called out to the green gooey curse. It just mumbled something that wasn’t english. What a waste of time. The rope had to be cursed, my knife wasn’t cutting it. I’m going to be stuck here forever. Right as I was coming to terms with my fate the door was flung open. The door smacking the curse.

“Don’t worry L/n! Help is here!,” the blurry figure shouted. My eyes weren’t used to the bright light from the open door. I already knew who was calling for me. The new first year that I briefly met at the school. Yuji Itadori. The one people would whisper about, something about a curse within him, I wasn't listening.

“Oh Itadori! My savor,”I say sarcastically. I saw the pink haired boy looking around. Probably looking for the scary curse holding me captive. “It was hiding behind the door,” I told him. Itadori whips his head to the door he flung open.

“Oh Yikes Sorry little guy,” Yuji apologizes as he slowly closes the door, revealing the gross looking curse. He made quick work of it. He turns back to me with an eyebrow raised. “How did that weak ass curse do this to you?” He asked with a genuine tone. Anyone else would have made fun of me.

“He had a civilian captive and when I tried to help her she pushed me into the chair instead,” I retold the events. Yuji had a finger on his chin as he nodded along. “Itadori?” I asked. I caught his attention, he tilted his head. “You mind untying me?” he rushed over after i finished my sentence. He made quick work of the ropes. I stood up as soon as the bindings were off. Blood rushed to my head. My vision developed dots. I started swaying.

“Wow L/n, are you okay?” Yuji asked, grabbing my shoulders. I leaned into him.

“Yeah yeah, I just stood up too fast,” I answered him. He was warm. His arms were supporting my weight. His chest is not as soft as I thought it would be. WIth my vision coming back and blood returning to my legs, i straighten my posture.

“Thanks for the rescue, Mr. Itadori,” I said in a dramatic tone while bowing to him. He laughed. Amused by the formality.

“Of course L/n! I’ll always be there to rescue you,” He announced loudly

“Your personal Damsel In Distress,” I started walking forward.

“I love Hercules! It's a good Disney film,” he stayed behind me to make sure I could fully move.

“Not everything I say is a movie reference,” I said as I opened the door.

“So you don't want to watch Hercules in my room and make Gojo Sensei buy us snacks?” He said cockly.

“Calm down there! I never said that,” I laughed as we both stepped outside, the warm setting sun hitting us both.

“So 8pm in my room?” His smile glowed in the sunlight.

“Of course,” We walked shoulder to shoulder.

WHen you two asked Gojo to get snacks he was a little bummed out about not being invited but he just winked at Yuji before skipping away. It was a bad idea to leave Gojo alone with his card. He came back with way too many snacks and matching onesies, mine being a f/a onesies while Yuji wore a cat one. Gojo took so many photos there black dots filled your vision from the flashes.

“Why didn’t we go with Gojo-sensei?” I asked while taking a seat on the small couch Yuji had in his dorm.

“Are you complaining about all these snacks?” he asked, dumping the snacks on the coffee table in front of us. Looking at the varieties of sweets, looking for my f/c. Grabbing it and opening while leaning into the cursed user's shoulder. The movie started.

Yuji laughed at about every joke in the movie. I forgave him when he offered me some piece of candy from his pile, he fed it to me like a baby. Sometimes I would hear a deep voice speak and then Yuji would slap his cheek. The credits began to roll. I sat upright. Stretching my back. Thinking about the potion I was justin. My back was pressed against Yuji’s chest. His arm wrapped around me. We were straight up cuddling? Pushing the thought from my head.

“Yuji are you alright?” He gave a nervous smile when I asked.

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well sometimes your voice would go super low but then you’d smack yourself,” I explained, he looked nervous.

“You're the only one who doesn’t know about him..” he started but trailed off. I raised a brow

“Who?”

“The curse that im a vessel for..” he looked away, not sadly but a different emotion

“What are you talking about?”

Why do you think the counsel wanted me dead?”

“I thought you were on trial because you killed a bunch of people,” I tiled my head. No one ever told me why Gojo-sensei had to speak up to the counsel men. I never cared enough to ask.

“WHAT??” Yuji shot up, matching my up right position.

“Yeah, i thought you were like a crazy murderer,”

“And you still hang out with me??” He started to raise his voice.

“Well we all do things we are not proud of,” I nodded with my words. The pink haired teen started laughing. My face grew hot with embarrassment. Was I wrong?

“I’m a vessel for a once powerful curse, Sukuna,” He told me suddenly, with a serious tone. My head fell to a tilt again.

“Who?” I asked, his eyebrows going up. He seemed surprised that I didn't know. His cheek started to change.

“Never heard of me, doll?” the mouth that morphed spoke, the single eye trained on me. I backed up from my spot. The mouth grew into a smug smile, seemingly amused by my fear.

“EW! Yuji what is that!?” I exclaimed. The mouth frowned trying to open its mouth but was slapped by Itadori’s hand. Yuji laughed at the situation. He grabbed his stomach from laughing too much. I was still so confused by the random mouth that appeared on my friend's cheek. The teen whipped his tears of joy.

“That was Sukuna, the curse inside of me,” He explained. It clicked in my head. After more questions I was fully educated on the situation.

“So it can hear all your thoughts? Sukuna I mean,” I corrected myself from calling him an ‘it’.

“I think so…Im not actually sure..” He put his finger to his chin.

“I can.” The oh so scary curse appeared on the hand that was resting on Yuji’s chin. Nodding my head. An idea and question popped into my head.

“Wait” leaning over to the pile of junk food. I unwrapped a sweet. Putting it up to the cursed mouth.

“Can you consume food while being just this mouth?” I asked while putting the candy closer to the mouth.

“L/n be careful,” Yuji said, worrying that Sukuna would bite off my fingers. The eye stared at the candy then at me. I don’t think he knew if he could. The mouth frowning.

“Come onnnnn it’s good!” I persuaded the curse, swaying the candy in front of it. As Sukuna glared into my eyes he opened his mouth slowly. Even though he didn’t open very wide I shoved the sweet in, pushing it all the way in and quickly pulling back just in case.

“Wow, I can taste it!” Yuji called out. He seemed to be savorig the candy as if it was really in his mouth.

“Do you feel the candy or is it more of a phantom touch?” I asked. My eyes switch between staring at the hand mouth and Yuji. The teen opened his mouth to prove there was no candy.

“That's so cool!” I exclaimed. I saw Yuji’s throat movie so the curse must have swallowed the sweet. Right as we were about to change the subject-

“Another!” a demanding voice shouted. Looking down at the cursed mouth, it was grinning. Guess the King of curses likes sweets.

The rest of the night was spent talking while occasionally feeding Sukuna candy. Watching a stupid romcom that neither of us were very interested in. I left Yuji’s dorm around midnight. I was supposed to leave earlier but we got lost in conversation. I’m sure Gojo-sensei won’t like that I was in a guys room for so long. I checked my phone for the time again. Seeing the new wallpaper that Gojo set when he stole my phone for pictures. It was a picture of me and Yuji with our arms interlinked, wearing the silly onesies, smiling big.

Maybe I should get kidnapped more often if this is how it will turn out.

<3

[hannahssimblr]

It’s a dreary, drizzly evening that calls for streetlights earlier than usual, their light straining weakly through the thick mist off the bay, and as I glance down at Ivy with droplets of rain beading on the halo of frizz around her plaits I consider the fact that she was right, a jacket wouldn’t have been the worst idea. 

The lights are on early at Michelle’s house too, the voile netting over the netting in the living room window not giving anything away inside, just the vague shapes of whatever is on the television.

As always, the door is off the latch, and inside Jen is leaning against the counter by the toaster spinning a butter knife in her fingers. She gives me a wary look when we see each other. “She’s in the living room,” and holds her hand out to Ivy, “Hey Ives, do you wanna hang out with me for a little while? C’mere, oh, who did your hair today? Was it your brother? Yikes, okay let me have a look at this…”

I gingerly push through to the living room, where Michelle is engaged in an intense discussion with both of her parents. She’s slumped on the couch with puffy eyes while they stand with their backs to the fire, glancing at me with alarm as I enter the room wielding a bar of chocolate, which, in hindsight is a bit of a pathetic celebratory or consolation prize. 

“Hi.”

“Oh good, Jude,” Rahim beckons me over to the couch to sit with Michelle, and I take her hand, “can you tell her that this is not the end of the world?” He’s saying, voice tinged with impatience, “There are plenty of other opportunities.”

“Zero, huh?” I say gently, and she shakes her head, arm trembling as she passes the letters to me. One, two, three rejections. I read one of them briefly, from Paris. 

“‘...unimaginative and containing cliches…’ wow, that feels a bit harsh, doesn’t it? I don’t think they needed to be all like that about it.”

She breaks down in tears, “I’m a terrible artist.”

“No, you aren’t,” I skim through the one from Berlin, “Look, they’ve said here that this year’s application was their strongest in history. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

“I just feel so stupid.”

“What? No, you’re the furthest thing from stupid.”

“Michelle, there are other options,” Rahim practically pleads, “Why don’t you go back to the application portal before it is too late and put down something more reasonable?”

Debra agrees, “This is what we’ve been saying, Michelle, maybe art is wrong for you. See? You shouldn’t have changed your mind in the first place. There’s a good reason you decided against it-”

“Yeah well I want to do it now, don’t I?” Michelle snarls, swatting tears away from her cheeks, “Jude and I are doing this together, it’s already decided.”

Her mother eyes me warily before deciding that I should probably hear this too, “Love, you know it’s not always a good idea to make big life decisions based on your boyfriend. Nothing lasts forever.”

“How could you say that?”

“What happened to veterinary science, hm? Wouldn’t that be a good career?”

“I wanted to be a vet when I was like, seven, what are you on about?” 

“Or she could be a doctor, like me!” Rahim attempts, but this is only met with a fresh barrage of sobs. I rub my girlfriend’s back uselessly while the chocolate softens inside its wrapper against the heat of my leg. 

Debra is looking at me empathetically as I comfort her daughter, as though she and I have some connection now, like a baton has passed through some small exclusive club for people who have held Michelle while she cries. “How did you get on with your applications?” 

“Oh, um, yeah, I got in,” I feel guilty even saying it but Michelle doesn’t really react to the news, as though she already made an assumption, but I jump in to finish quickly before she can make another. “I won’t be accepting any of them, though, I mean, obviously. I was only ever going to move away if Michelle was coming too, and, you know, unless London works out then that won’t happen.”

Michelle kneads her eye with the heel of her hand, “Did you not get the email?”

“What email?”

“From the London school.”

“Uh, no, I just saw the letters.”

Her eyes widen, “So you didn’t see the NCAD email either?”

“Since when were there emails?” 

“Oh my God,” she’s on her feet then, all of her misery forgotten in favour of urgency. “Go and look right now, what the hell?”

“Love,” Debra attempts soothingly, “it’s probably better if Jude checks his emails on his own, isn’t it? The last thing we want is for this to set you off-”

We’re already running for the stairs, her behind me prodding my back the whole way up in a way that feels like she’s forcing me to walk the plank to my untimely death in a tank of piranhas. We burst into her room and she runs to navigate to gmail while I sweat despite the temperature of her room, which is always kind of cold. 

I log in and the page loads up to two new emails sitting brazenly in my inbox.  

“There they are, click them!”

“Michelle I just want to say that-”

“Oh, come on,” she seizes the mouse and clicks for me, first the one from London, and her voice is flat, “They accepted you. No surprises.”

“It doesn’t matter though, does it? If they didn’t accept you too then I’m not going.”

“Mm.” She immediately clicks the next one, from NCAD, “It’s just points,” she mutters in explanation, “So it all depends on our leaving cert,” scrolling, she reaches the bottom of the email where my points sit, undeniable in a bold black font against stark white. 

I feel her stiffen. “One thousand?” 

“Uh, wow, is that good?”

There is a long pause. “Jude, that’s literally maximum points.”

I can’t bring myself to look at her right away, but I feel her eyes on the side of my face, searing holes through my skin. 

“I thought your interview went badly.”

“Yeah me too!”

“Well then-” she breaks off to make some noise that’s somewhere between a scoff and a sob, “then how did you get such ludicrously high points?”

“Like what I said, I suppose. They were arseholes to everyone on purpose,” I spin around to her, “What did you get?”

“Four fifty.”

So I grab hold of her hands and hold her very tightly and very still, I want to seem sure, “No matter what happens, we’ll be okay,” I promise, “Even if none of this works out for you, I’ll still be right here, do you hear me?”

She nods. 

“I’m not going anywhere without you. God, I mean, why would I even do that? You’ll get NCAD off the back of your leaving cert points, I’m one hundred percent sure. And... even if you don't, I'll stay in Dublin.” As soon as I say it I start feeling nauseated, and dizzy, a bit heady like I’ve inhaled some miscellaneous gas from the science lab, but I fight through it, “fuck all of those stupid plans for going abroad, right? I’m here.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

“Okay, c’mere,” I pull her into me and hold her tightly, taking in the smell of her hair, the way her narrow shoulders, her birdlike frame softens in my arms and accept that this is the comfort I will rely on from now on. True, it’s not always easy with Michelle, but we really do love each other. Sometimes love is work, but love is rare and worth holding onto with both hands and your whole heart. All those plans I had, I think, they were misguided, a youthful mistake. Perhaps at some point in the future I can move to Amsterdam, or Paris, or Berlin, or London, and do something creative and exciting, but not now. That’s what I’ll do in ten years, when everything is different. I’ll make sure to tell Sam. 

Who did I think I was, really, trying to do all of that at eighteen? Now is for this, for Michelle. For doing something right.

“I love you,” she says, and I wonder, with her cheek resting against my chest, if she can somehow hear the way my heart tightens as though grasped by a fist, or how my breath catches in my throat when she says it. I’m surprised by the rising feeling that I might start crying, but I force it down.  

Crying over what, Jude? I sneer at myself. 

Yeah, that’s what I thought. Something stupid, as usual.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[dumpster-diving-rat]

Rating bsd characters (ADA) based on how likely I think they are to cheat

Atsushi Nakajima

(I don't really know that much about him like I do with other characters so this is probably not going to be good)

0/10

-I doubt he would ever cheat bc he's been through enough, and you probably helped him with his self loathing

-If he did ever cheat though, he would have extreme guilt, and would tell you right away, apologizing multiple times for what he did

-He's a good person, and I'm sure Atsushi would never cheat, if anything, he would hate himself more if he did

-His eyes are on you, and you only, if you're dating him

9/10 bf, he has his flaws, but he treats you well

Dazai Osamu

6/10 (yikes)

-I love Dazai don't get me wrong, it's just the amount of women that are head over heels for him, makes me feel ify

-He seems like the type of person to probably go to a bar or something, and flirt with a woman, and that leads to other things, one after another

-Would he tell you immediately? I don't think so. I think he would probably tell you after you got suspicious, or after you found out

-His score doesn't mean he will cheat, and that doesn't mean he doesn't love you, I just don't really trust him, and neither should you

-I don't think he'd beg for forgiveness, but he would apologize

-Though, there could be a chance he would manipulate you into going back with him, that is, if he really didn't want you leaving

5/10 bf, he has his moments, but I can't tell you if he'd be the best or not, considering he still has those past problems

Kunikida Doppo

0/10

-It's probably against his ideals to ever hurt the feelings of the one he's dating

-He literally would never, and could never cheat on anyone

-If he were interested in someone else, then he wouldn't cheat, but he would tell you about his feelings, and ask what to do about those feelings, while he most likely still loves you

-If you asked to end things off because of those feelings, he'd understand, but be hurt

-He'd ask if you could reconsider that, because he still loves you, but once your decision was final, he'd understand, and break things off with you

-If you asked for him to leave that person alone and not talk to them, he'd be okay with that, and would do as you ask

-He'd fall out of love with that other person, and would spend time with you to forget about them

-He would 100% tell you immediately if he did act upon his feelings and cheat, and he would apologize multiple times

-I don't think he'd really beg for forgiveness, but he would ask if you could forgive him

10/10 bf, he would let you know about everything, and wouldn't lie, although he probably is incredibly blunt because of it

Ranpo Edogawa

0/10

-I don't see him ever falling in love with another while dating you

-He loves you with his whole heart

-I don't really know what he'd do if he were to cheat, because I just don't see him doing that, although it would make some good angst ngl

-He probably spends most of his time with you, even more so if you worked at the agency with him, so I doubt he'd even have time to cheat, really

9/10 bf, he is a little bit arrogant, but he still loves you, and he may share a little bit of his candy with you

Yosano Akiko

(Again, I don't know that much about her like I do with the others, so this may not be good)

3/10

-I think she is definitely a more flirtatious type, so I feel like she could potentially cheat

-If she were to cheat, she'd probably never tell you, and when you confront her about it, she'd probably wave if off like it was nothing

-She probably thinks what she did was bad, but not horrible, even if it was

-I'm sure she'd love you, it's just, she wouldn't really think about how you would think in the moment

-She's definitely sadistic, so seeing you hurt about what she did probably mad her feel happy if anything, but maybe a little sad too

-I don't think it's highly likely for her to, I just don't think it's entirely unlikely

5/10 gf, very sadistic, you may wake up with a knife about to go into your body with her standing next to you, but hey, she fixes you right up and still loves you

Junichiro Tanizaki

(Again, I don't know much about him like I do with other characters, so this may be bad, or OOC, and I'm sorry if it is)

4/10

-He wouldn't cheat on you with anyone, but then, his sister decided to do what she typically did with Junichiro

-He didn't think it was cheating, because he did it so often before dating you, he thought it was normal

-Ofc he's uncomfortable by it, but he's used to what Naomi does

-You pointed out that it was cheating, and he immediately apologized

-He didn't know it was considered cheating, and he realized what he did was wrong, and that's when he started telling Naomi to stop it, because he was dating you

-He apologized multiple times, and didn't know if he would be forgiven, he told you he loved you, and he didn't know it was wrong

-Never does that ever again, and is 20x more aware of what's going on when Naomi is around him, to make sure he doesn't mess up again

8/10 bf, his relationship with Naomi is weird, but he loves you more than her, and stops that weird stuff with Naomi

Naomi Tanizaki

(Yet again, this may be OOC or bad, because I don't know that much about her like I do with other characters)

7/10 (more than dazai, even more yikes)

-She would cheat on you with Junichiro, no doubt

-She obviously is in love with you, but, she loves her brother too

-You would point it out, and she would, just like Yosano, wave it off

-She's used to what she does with her brother, so she probably did it multiple times honestly

-The best thing to do in this situation is to end off the relationship, or take a break, because I don't know if she'd stop that quick

-After finally stopping because she realized she was in the wrong, she did apologize, mainly expecting forgiveness, because she seems to have a control on Junichiro, so she probably expects you to be the same way

-If I'm being honest, I don't really like Naomi that much, but I'm sure she would still love you, and would calm down her behaviors with her brother (Junichiro can finally breath now that she's not engulfing him in hugs, he's so thankful)

5/10 gf, loves her brother, but loves you too

Fukuzawa Yukichi

(May be OOC or bad bc I don't know him that well, but I know more about him then Naomi and Junichiro, so that's a start ig)

0/10

-I can't see him cheating on anyone, ever

-He cares about people's well-being, and I'm sure he wouldn't do anything to hurt you (unless he did that thing were he yells and literally throws you with his voice lmao)

-He's got a soft spot for you, and definitely treats you well, he has no reason to cheat

-If he were to cheat, he'd apologize, not particularly expecting forgiveness, yet apologizing nonetheless

-I know what I said is practically a reoccurring thing, (sorry for that, I'm kinda stupid and I've never really dated anyone, so I'm doing the best I can here 😭) but I think that he would tell you what he did anyways, and try to make it up to you if you let him

-He loves you very much, he may not say it everyday, but that's okay, he just hopes you know he does

10/10 bf, he's stern and all, but he has a soft spot for cute things, and shows you his love to the best extent he can

Kenji Miyazawa

(Potentially OOC because I don't know everything about him. Also this is platonic love, and not romantic love, the most you do is hold hands and hug, so if I say he loves you, or if I say something about dating him, I mean it like you're platonically dating, not romantically or sexually dating, because that's gross and he's 14. You guys are together as friends, and friends only. Platonic means "of love or friendship, intimate and affectionate but not sexual" for those who don't know)

0/10

-He's too caring to cheat, and he is your best friend, and would never do that to you

-I can't really tell you what I think he'd do, because I just don't think he ever would cheat, and that's just my opinion

-He probably gives you gifts everyday, as a token of your friendship, or of his love for you (as mentioned, platonic love ftlog please do not think of this as a romance kind of thing, I'll sob)

-Everyone in the agency thinks you're so cute together, and loves how you two interact, even if Kenji is naturally this nice to everyone

-You've always gotten along well, and he greets you with a smile every day

10/10 (platonic) bf and best friend, he cares about you so much, and never fails to bright up your day

Kyoka Izumi

(May be OOC. Also, just like Kenji, this is strictly platonic, the most you guys do is hug and hold hands, nothing more, if I mention her loving you, or you guys being together/ dating, I mean it in a platonic way, you guys are together as friends, and friends only. Again, platonic means "of love or friendship, intimate and affectionate but not sexual" for those who don't know)

0/10

-She would never do this, and I could never see her doing this either

-She also cares about you, even if she doesn't make it obvious

-You make her life brighter and better, and she's so thankful you're in her life

-I can't really try and tell you what she'd do if she did cheat, because I could never see her doing it

-She gives you gifts, and hugs, to try and let you know she's always there for you

8/10 (platonic) gf and best friend, she may have had a horrible past, but she's changing, and she'll always show you her care for you, even if she struggles with it

This took incredibly long to make, but I hope you like it nonetheless ♡

[issa-pheonyx]

Umbrella!Leon S. Kennedy X Agent!GN!Reader (NON-YANDERE)

𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐋𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐔𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭? [𝐁𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲, 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐋𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐀𝐝𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐬 𝐋𝐞𝐨𝐧🌚]

▌│█║▌║▌║ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ ║▌║▌║█│▌

You definitely had mixed feelings towards Leon when you were caught with him when on the look out for Ashely (once again). After the Raccoon City incident it was never the same after that. Lots of trauma, loss, emotions gone, etc. It was a shit list. To work for the government, but you only did it for Sherry and your best friend Claire. Finding out what Leon truly was hurt your feelings-sure people say it is strangely too soon to fall for someone for one night, but there is something there for the both of you, but Leon was focused on his job...not even thinking he kissed you at the transportation, patching him up in his sleep and all. You realized it was meant for nothing just for his job for Umbrella. Now seeing him again...you felt bittersweet. "It's been so long I haven't seen you, (Y/N)." The corner of his lip curls to a smirk. You did not give him a reaction as you remained emotionless,"Hmph...did not think I would ever see you again, Leon." HIs smirks fades away (like in the gif) as you put your knife back in your sheath by the side of your thigh. "Wanna explain any reason why you're here?" You asked as he shakes his head and walk away from you,"Maybe some other time." He leaves through the door as you stood there with mixed feelings. You want to get mad, cry-just confront him, but right now or ever is a good time. He is the one who will get away and it would be best for you to move on.

It was strange to witness such coincidences on things going your way to be less of a hassle. First thing came to mind was Leon probably much more ahead of you or even watching you without noticing. But, you brush it off and kept moving. You and Ashley got along. She was like a little sister to you and she saw you as a role model like a big sister. "That girl...she is just wasting your time you know." Leon said. You scoff,"Just like when you kissed me? When I patched you up when you were unconscious? Offered a damn arm and leg-" Stopping yourself from bursting out in rage you let out a deep sigh,"This is MY job, Leon. Just like you are doing yours." Yikes, that called him out. He tried to get some words out, yet he couldn't. "You wouldn't get it." He spat out. You shot him a glare,"Right...cause it is your job too. Later."

You really wanted to get over with it already. Eventually, you then developed feelings for Luis and lets just say things didn't go pretty for him. It's been the longest you haven't cried either. Sure, at first you found him annoying by his flirty and carefree actions, but eventually warmed up to his sense of humor. Ashely noticed it too...and someone else, but in silence. His death impacted you a lot though, because he wanted to help you and his last words stuck to you about even being the main perpetrator of your creations...can you still turn your life around? 'Can Leon do that too?' You thought. Shaking your head you wiped your tears and use your anger against Saddler and Krauser.

It was an intense fight against Saddler. At first you were concerned if you were ever going to complete your mission saving Ashley since you were her only option and requesting backup was not an option...or more of a possibility. Only to see Leon throw the RPG to you to finally ending Saddler's life. Of course, you succeeded by Leon's help. It is just like the past. This time Leon helping you instead the other way around. But, all hopes is lost when he had his gun to your head. "It's all business, doll. Hand the sample over." You grit your teeth and slowly stood up giving him the sample,"You do realize what you're doing, Leon." He gives a smirk,"Yeah I'm aware." The gun still pointed at you as you had your hands up. A chopper swings by as Leon runs and jumps off the area. You ran towards the edge thinking he may or may not landed right. He did as he was sitting comfortably inside and throws something at you as you caught it. "You're going to need that. Hurry. Time is not patient." He had some sort of controller and pressed on a red button. 'A fucking bomb!? He set this up!?' There was a key and a black cat charm attached to it. "Hasta lluego~" He winks and you rolled your eyes running back to Ashley saying the island is going to blow up. "WHAT-"

Thankfully, you made it out with Ashley in the jet ski. Well, she was drowning when jumping out of the exit, but you managed to help her up. During the ride Ashley starts to be a little curious,"So, after this you think we can do some shopping? Don't worry everything is on me! Oh and...about that guy. Leon, was it? Are you guys...you know?" I let out an amused laugh,"You really think him and I are a fling?" Ashley expresses her disappointment,"Aw come on! Tell me! You're a badass, what any man or woman wouldn't want you?" Sighing, you finally answered,"I'm like a part of him he can not let go of. Let's leave it at that~"

▌│█║▌║▌║ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ ║▌║▌║█│▌

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭. 𝐌𝐲 𝐮𝐩𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐢����𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥~🖤🫣

[simping4villains]

I may be a slut for the spiders, but they aren’t the only villains I simp for. Here’s a Shigaraki x Reader oneshot I wrote awhile back (well, it was supposed to be a oneshot but then I wrote a second part and now I might keep working on it, who knows?) Any way, it’s pretty wild, so read at your own risk.

Warnings: Mature content (heavy smut), degradation kink, praise kink, overstimulation, bondage, knife play, sadism/masochism

A/N: Yikes, I'm going to hell for this one. Hope y'all like it at least! <3

~~~~~

You were soaked to the bone with rainwater as you and Tomu pushed through the door of his apartment. It felt dreary even once he'd turned the lights on. You thought maybe this was why he hadn't let you see it in the almost four months that you'd been together.

There were a lot of things the two of you seemed to be on a delayed timeline for. You hadn't seen his apartment, you hadn't met any of his friends yet, and you still had yet to be intimate with one another.

You couldn't hold the last one against him, though. He'd always seemed afraid to touch you. You guessed it was because of his quirk. He was worried that he'd accidentally end up killing you if he wasn't careful, but you trusted him.

You had grown up around powerful quirks like his—well, not exactly like his. Your mother was a pro hero who went by Fahrenheit. She could regulate the temperature of the environment around her, able to sweat villains out of hostage situations or instantly create shards of ice to fight with if there was enough moisture in the air.

She had been killed by a group of villains when you were still fairly young, and your dad searched for comfort in the bottoms of beer bottles after losing her. Your Aunt Marci stepped in to raise you. She had never married or had any children of her own, that wasn't the kind of life she wanted for herself, but she never made you feel like a burden. You thought maybe she had a soft spot for you since you had her sister's eyes.

Or maybe it was the quirk that you had inherited from her. Your temperature quirk wasn't as powerful as your mother's had been. It was only limited to your own body. It wasn't something that would ever let you be a pro hero, not that that was what you wanted, but it did come in handy sometimes on chilly mornings.

After your mother's death, Aunt Marci did all she could to separate herself from the world of pro heroes. She didn't want any reminders that the villains who killed her sister were still at large. You remembered that she would always throw away the morning paper as soon as it arrived and there was never a TV in the small apartment that the two of you had shared. You didn't see the point in purchasing one when you'd finally gotten an apartment of your own.

Most people had given you strange looks when you'd told them that, but not Tomu. He seemed amused, commenting on how he admired the way you were trying to remain optimistic about the state of the world.

"Should I not be?" you'd asked him.

"I don't want to ruin the illusion." Was all that he'd said.

Tomura never made you feel strange about anything that you shared with him. Even when you'd told him you'd never played video games—something he seemed to enjoy—he just smiled and promised he'd teach you. That was what brought you to his apartment today.

He pulled his hood off of his head and shook out his hair, letting the wet locks fall lazily back into his face. He was beautiful. He never believed you when you told him, but that still didn't stop you from saying it. You weren't sure he'd heard it enough before meeting you.

"What are you looking at?" He asked when he caught you staring.

"Are you cold?" You asked, noticing that he was shivering. You were hoping that your gawking could be mistaken for concern. He didn't really seem to be in a mood to be called cute.

"I'll be fine."

"Don't be ridiculous," you said, pulling him closer and wrapping your arms around his torso so he could benefit from your quirk.

He seemed tense at first, almost uncomfortable, but relaxed into your embrace once your body heat radiated into his skin. He was still pretty hesitant about physical touch in any form. Again, because of his quirk. You were trying to help him become more comfortable with it. You trusted him enough to believe that he wouldn't hurt you.

You felt him wrap his arms around your shoulders, careful to keep his hands pointed away from you as he held you closer. He gently kissed the top of your head before nuzzling into your neck. Your heart skipped at the rare sign of affection.

"You're too good to me, y/n," he murmured.

You pulled away from him slightly, just enough to look at him, and pushed the hair away from his face so that your eyes met. "I'm not giving you anything less than what you deserve."

He shook his head. "I don't deserve you."

He tried to bury his face in your neck again, but you wouldn't let him. He was always trying to brush off any compliments or words of endearment that you gave him. It was like he didn't believe any of it, like he couldn't see himself the way that you did. You needed him to.

"Tomura, yes you do." You rested your hand on his cheek, cupping his jaw so that he couldn't look away. "You're a good person. I wouldn't love you if—"

You stopped yourself. That was another thing that hadn't come yet in your relationship. Neither of you had said the L-word and you didn't intend to be the first, you weren't sure how Tomura would react, but it had just sort of slipped out.

He was frozen before you, his expression unreadable.

You dropped your hand from his face and abruptly made an attempt to change the subject. "So, um, anyway, are you gonna show me around your place or what?"

Tomura hung your coats up by the door before leading you through his apartment, turning lights on as he went.

"This is the kitchen," he gestured to the room you'd entered by. "And this is the living room," he said. The two spaces flowed into each other. He crossed the room and bent down in front of the television, rummaging through the cabinets of the stand that it was rested on. "There are a few different systems we could play on. I'll let you pick the game that you want to—"

"Where's your bedroom?" You asked.

He looked back over his shoulder. "Oh. You wanted to see that too?"

You nodded.

He sighed and stood up. "Alright."

You followed him through a short hallway between the two rooms. On one side appeared to be a bathroom and a closet and on the other was his bedroom.

The only sources of light in his room seemed to be the LED lights that ran along the tops of his walls, and his computer monitor, though there were a few empty cans blocking the light at the bottom of the screen. In this dim lighting, you could see clothes strewn about on the floor. The walls were pretty bare and there was minimal furniture. He had told you before that he travelled a lot for work, so you figured it made sense that he hadn't done much decorating or anything.

He sat down on the unmade bed and watched as you looked around. "Is it what you expected?"

"More or less," you said.

He scratched at his neck. He had a habit of doing that when he was anxious. "I'm sorry it's such a mess. I didn't think you'd come in here."

You sat down beside him, setting a hand on his leg to try to comfort him. "It's alright. I don't mind."

When he didn't seem to calm down, you pulled his hand away from his neck, replacing it with your own and gently caressing his now-irritated skin. You could feel the ridges of the scars left by his nervous habit. You wished he wouldn't hurt himself like this.

You ran your hand along his shoulder and back up to his hair, lightly playing with it in an attempt to soothe him. It seemed to be working. He tilted his head back and hummed in satisfaction. You were suddenly aware of how close you were. Could this finally be your chance to make a move?

You tilted his face in your direction and leaned in to kiss him, but he stopped you.

"Y/n."

"What?" You asked, trying your best to adopt an innocent tone.

He frowned. "I know what you're doing. I'm sorry, but I can't. I don't want to hurt you."

"Tomu, I trust you. I have faith that you can control your quirk."

He shook his head. "That's not all that I'm worried about."

"I don't understand. What do you mean?"

He turned his body to you and grabbed your jaw harshly so that you were forced to look at him. Even sitting down, it still felt like he was towering over you, his presence suddenly intimidating instead of the usual gentle aura you'd grown so used to. This was an entirely different side of him.

His eyes went dark and he ran his thumb over your lips as he spoke. "I won't be able to hold myself back, not with you. I want to break you, to watch tears stream down your face as you beg for mercy. I want you to scream my name until your throat burns. I won't be satisfied until I've completely ruined you."

Your heart fluttered in your chest and you blinked in surprise. This was the absolute last thing you'd expected from him. Why was it always the quiet ones?

He dropped his hand. "So, it's probably best if we don't—"

You shut him up with a kiss. You were tired of him having these negative thoughts that he wasn't enough or that his way of showing affection wouldn't work for you. You needed him to understand that he was all you longed for.

"I'm yours, Tomura," you said, sinking your teeth into his bottom lip. "You can have me however you want me. I'm not afraid."

He pulled you onto his lap so that you were straddling him.

"However I want, huh?" he murmured beside your ear. You could hear the smirk in his voice. "You might end up regretting those words."

He bit the tender skin of your neck before sucking the same spot until it bruised. He repeated this a few more times, being careful to space the marks out so your neck was fully covered. He didn't want his hard work to be so easily hidden.

You couldn't help but moan at the sensation. You had waited so long for this and his touch was absolutely intoxicating.

He gave a satisfied hum in return. "Mm, I like that."

You felt him growing beneath you and began slowly moving your hips back and forth, trying to get even the smallest amount of friction between the two of you. He responded to your movements with an amused laugh.

"Eager, are we?"

Your cheeks started to burn. How desperate you must have seemed. What did he think of you now?

"You don't have to be embarrassed," he said as if reading your mind. He leaned back on his elbows so that he could get a better look at you. "Keep going, you needy slut."

You couldn't bring yourself to do it. You hadn't been able to control yourself before, but now that he was watching you, you felt even more self conscious.

He sighed impatiently and sat back up, grabbing your hips with only four fingers on each hand, careful not to use his quirk on you. He started rocking your hips back and forth. You couldn't help the moans that escaped your throat.

"That's it. Let me hear how bad you want it. Don't hold back for me."

He pressed sloppy kisses to your lips as he helped you fuck yourself closer to release. You knew your climax wouldn't come like this, though. It wouldn't be enough.

"Tomura," you breathed between kisses.

"Yes, baby?" He moved down your neck, kissing and biting the tender flesh once more. The sensation sent heat through your body.

"I-I need—"

He cut you off with a harsh bite. "What do you need?"

"I need—"

He did it again. "What, baby? Just say it and it's yours." Even the feeling of his breath on your neck was driving you wild. He knew what he was doing. He would keep toying with you for as long as he wanted, probably never giving in. It was cruel.

"More," you managed before he had the chance to interrupt you with his teasing.

He stopped moving your hips completely. "I don't know. You didn't ask very nicely. In fact, it seemed more like a demand." He reached up and grabbed your hair, pulling your head back. A sharp hiss passed through your teeth at the sudden pain. "You don't get to make demands."

"Tomura, please," you begged. "I need you."

He hummed. "Please? That's more like it."

He grabbed at the material of your shirt and pants and you watched as they both turned to ash before flitting away into nothingness. Then, he did the same to his own clothes, so that all that separated you was the thin material of his boxers and your panties.

You could feel everything now, and it made you impatient. You started to rock against him, but he grabbed you, holding you still.

"Not yet," he whispered to you, kissing down your neck slowly until he reached your chest. His lips lightly traced the edge of your bra before he reached around to unhook it, pushing it off of your shoulders and throwing it to the floor. His eyes roamed your now almost-entirely exposed body, taking in every curve and dip before meeting your own gaze. "You're so beautiful," he said, leaning in for a kiss, but stopping just before he reached your lips. He grabbed your jaw and turned your head to the side, licking a stripe up your neck. "I can't wait to ruin you."

You gasped as his fingers pushed your panties aside, sliding through your folds. The hand that was on your jaw moved to put pressure on your throat while Tomu's mouth explored your breasts, sucking and biting at your nipples. The sensations all came together in harmony, pulling moans from you and nearly setting your body on fire. You couldn't help but buck your hips against his hand, desperate for release.

You felt him laugh against your chest. "Such an impatient little slut."

He dipped two fingers inside of you, keeping his thumb on your clit. His long digits found your sensitive spot almost instantly, abusing it as they pumped in and out of you at a rapid pace. This, combined with the quick circles he was drawing over your clit, had you seeing stars, threatening to send you over the edge at any moment.

You grabbed at his shoulders, at his hair, at anything you could reach to ground yourself. "Tomura—fuck—don't stop!"

You felt four fingers leave your throat to grab your ass, digging in so tightly that they were sure to leave bruises. Tomura kissed you again, running his tongue against your lips and using one of your moans as an opportunity to explore your mouth.

Finally, the knot in your stomach snapped and your orgasm washed over you in powerful waves. You melted against Tomura, trying to catch your breath as you came down from your high.

But he didn't stop. He didn't even slow down.

"T-Tomu," you whimpered. You could feel the faint sensation of another knot building, despite the irritation you felt from the overstimulation. "Why aren't you stopping?"

"I told you not to make demands," he said, his voice cold.

"What?"

"You said 'don't stop.' This is what happens when you don't listen, when you don't ask for the things that you want."

Panic settled in as you realized that this was his way of punishing you.

He coaxed another orgasm out of you, quicker than before. Your legs quivered and a numb pain was building in your core from too much stimulation, but still, he pressed on. Your third and fourth orgasms came quicker, and without as much satisfaction. It was all too much, bordering unbearable.

"Tomu," you begged, "please stop."

You whimpered against his shoulder, head buried in his neck as your nails dug into his back. Tears were burning trails down your cheeks. You could feel a fifth orgasm building, but you didn't want it. You couldn't go through another one so soon.

"Have you learned your lesson?" He asked.

You nodded against him. "Yes, I'm so sorry. Please, it's too much." His hand pulled away from you just before you reached another orgasm. You sighed in relief, barely able to believe that he'd actually listened. "Thank you," you whispered, letting more tears fall.

He pulled you back by your hair so he could look at you. This was exactly what he'd wanted. "Aw baby, look at what a mess you are." He leaned in and licked the tears off of your cheeks. "Do you need a break before I fuck you?"

You nodded, not imagining how you could handle taking him right now. You were still far too overstimulated, it would only hurt.

"Alright," he said, brushing away the hair that had been plastered to your face with sweat. "Get on your knees, then."

You felt your eyes widen in shock, but you did as he said. You didn't want to risk finding out what would happen if you refused.

He stood before you and pulled down his boxers so that you were face to face with his cock. The angry, red tip was already leaking precum. He was so hard that he was practically throbbing.

"Well?" He asked impatiently.

You tentatively wrapped a hand around his shaft, giving a few strokes and running your thumb along the tip. He let out a hiss that told you you were doing something right. You parted your lips and pressed your tongue to his base, licking a stripe up his length before taking him in your mouth. You bobbed your head and swirled your tongue around his tip, slowly building up a rhythm.

He moaned and grabbed your hair, pulling it back into a ponytail to keep it out of your face. You looked up at him in appreciation, meeting his gaze.

He smirked. "Three taps to stop, alright?"

You didn't have a chance to process what he'd meant when he suddenly shoved the rest of his length down your throat. You gagged around him, shocked by the sudden intrusion. He didn't even give you enough time to adjust before he started fucking your face, snapping his hips at an alarming rate.

You were choking on him, digging your nails into your palms to cope with the pain as tears pricked your eyes once more. His moans filled the room. You looked up to see his eyes were fluttered shut, his brow furrowed in concentration as he chased his release. That sight alone made it all worth it.

His movements became more erratic, hips starting to stutter, which told you he was close. You felt his cock twitch in your mouth before he came, painting the back of your throat with hot ropes of cum. Finally, he pulled out, with a string of saliva and other fluids connecting your lips with his tip. You gasped for air, filling your deprived lungs.

He ran a few fingers under your chin, tilting your head up so he could look at you. Then, swiping his thumb across your lips, cleaning up some of the mess he'd made, he said, "Such a good little whore," admiring how absolutely ruined you looked now with tears and mascara running down your face.

But he wasn't done with you yet. Not even close.

"Get on the bed," he snapped.

You scrambled to your feet, legs still unsteady from the multiple orgasms he'd given you. You apparently weren't fast enough in following his orders, because he shoved you over the side of the bed, burying your face in the mattress. You heard the drawer of his nightstand open, followed by the sounds of him rummaging through, looking for something, and finally the drawer closed again.

"What's your safe word?" he asked. Your heart started racing as you felt him binding your wrists together with a thin rope.

"Safe word?" You echoed, your voice muffled by his comforter.

"Yeah." He gave the rope a final tug and ran the tips of his fingers up your spine, making you shiver. "So I know to stop if it's too much."

You lifted your head and looked around. Your gaze landed on his computer screensaver. It was a tree that cycled through the four seasons.

"How about 'foliage'?"

He laughed. "Foliage?"

"Yeah, what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, that's fine. Just don't forget it."

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and pulled them down your legs, helping you step out of them. You heard his boxers drop on the floor shortly after.

You felt him standing behind you again. You had goosebumps on your skin, not because you were cold, but because you were fully exposed to him now.

He ran his hand between your legs, dipping his fingers through your folds. "Mm, still so wet. You're so desperate."

He pulled his hand away and brought it down hard on your ass. You gave a small yelp of shock, but secretly liked the way it stung. He replaced the hand between your legs with his cock, grinding it back and forth against you. You whined at his teasing.

"What's wrong?" He asked. You could hear the smirk in his voice.

You didn't want to answer. Everything he'd said about you being a desperate slut was true, but you didn't want to admit it, especially since you expected he'd only continue to deprive you if he knew how badly you needed him.

He smacked your ass again when you didn't answer. "I asked you a question."

You bit your lip to hold back another sharp cry. "Nothing's wrong."

"You're a terrible liar. There's something on your mind." He grabbed your hair and yanked you back so that he spoke directly next to your ear. "Tell me what it is."

"I. . . I want you."

He dropped you back on the bed, continuing to tease between your legs. "You have me, baby. I'm all yours."

"You know that's not what I mean."

"Ohhh," he pretended to have just realized what he'd known the whole time. "You mean you want me in here?" He teased your entrance with his tip.

"Yes," you sighed.

"Then why didn't you just ask?"

He slowly pushed into you, filling you up and stretching you out. If your hands had been by your head, you would've been gripping the bed sheets, but they were tied behind your back, so you settled for digging your nails into your palms.

Once he was all the way in, he stilled, giving your walls a moment to adjust to his size. Then he grabbed the rope that bound your wrists and started fucking you like he hated you. You bit the bedsheets, trying to keep yourself from crying out, but your attempts were futile.

"What are you whining for? I'm giving you what you wanted."

His strokes were rough and merciless and you wondered how this could be the same man who always touched you like he might break you. This was a side of Tomura you had never seen, a side you had never believed existed.

You loved it.

You gasped in protest when he pulled out of you, which resulted in him smacking your ass again and telling you to stop complaining, ordering you to get on your back in the middle of the bed. He helped you bring your bound arms around in front of you. Then he climbed over you and pinned them above your head before sinking into you once more.

Your back arched against the mattress, toes curling. You loved this angle. You loved the feeling of his body on yours, you loved getting to look at him, and you loved the way he groaned as he used you.

"That's it. What a good little slut you are," he said, grazing the shell of your ear with his teeth.

He untied your wrists and pulled one of your legs over his shoulder and suddenly he was hitting your most sensitive spot with every stroke, pounding it with a brutal force.

"Fuck! Tomura!" You threw your head back, squeezing your eyes shut as you were overwhelmed with pleasure.

He grabbed you by the neck and jolted you forward again. "Hey, I want you to look at me."

You nodded, focusing on his bright scarlet eyes. He was so fucking beautiful. How could he not see if?

He squeezed your throat. "Say you're mine."

"I-I'm yours," you choked out.

You were starting to feel lightheaded and dizzy, but oh, so warm and tingly too. All that kept you grounded was the feeling of Tomura fucking you relentlessly. And then, as he let go of your throat and you felt the intoxicating rush of oxygen returning to your brain, there was the sharp sting of a blade against your thigh.

A deep moan erupted from your chest. It should've hurt, but you had too much adrenaline from being choked, so it only added to your pleasure. Your hands flew to his shoulders, digging small crescents into his skin with your nails.

"Say it again." Tomura's fingers were once more wrapped around your throat.

As sick as it was, you were hoping for the same outcome. "I'm y—"

"No, not that," he snapped. The ice behind his gaze melted for just a second, and in that moment you saw your sweet, gentle Tomu in his eyes. To hide it, he bent down and nipped at your ear. "Say you love me."

You were glad he couldn't see your reaction. You were suddenly embarrassed. He hadn't said it back earlier and now he was using it against you? It felt almost cruel, but still you obeyed.

"I love you."

He released his hand from your throat and dragged another cut along your thigh.

"Shit," you breathed, digging your nails deeper into his skin.

He laughed. "You like that, don't you?"

You nodded, still coming back down from the high.

He shook his head, running his hand through your hair. "God, I fucking love you."

Your lips met in a frenzied passion. It was sloppy and wet, but you had never had a more perfect kiss.

He moved his hand between the two of you, circling your clit again with his thumb.

You flinched, worried you'd end up with another repeat of what had happened earlier.

As if reading your mind, he rested his forehead against yours and looked into your eyes, trying to comfort you. Even his tone was more gentle as he spoke. "It's okay, baby, no more games. You've been so good. I just want you to cum with me. Can you do that?"

"Yes." You had felt the pressure in your stomach for a while. You thought for sure it would snap with that last cut he made, but you surprised yourself and resisted.

He sped up his pace. You could tell he was growing closer as his thrusts became more erratic. Still, he kept working your bundle of nerves and swirling his hips to maximize your pleasure. You were so close to the edge, you weren't sure how much longer you could hold on.

"Tomura," you whimpered.

"I'm almost there, baby, I promise. You're being—mm fuck—so good."

After a few more thrusts, he held you close to him and you felt his cock twitch inside of you, filling you with his seed. At the same time, your orgasm rippled through your body, causing your walls to clench around him. You raked your nails down his back as you cried out his name.

He rested his weight on you and nuzzled his face into your neck, breathing heavily against you as he recovered. After a moment like this, he rolled to the side, wrapping an arm around your waist and resting his head on your chest. You lightly brushed your fingers through his hair, to which he hummed his approval.

"I meant it, you know," he murmured.

"What?" you asked.

"I really do love you. I'm sorry I don't show it."

"You do," you said. "In your own way."

"I just worry it's not enough for you."

You tilted his head up so that he was forced to look at you. "Tomura. . . you will always be enough for me."

He smiled and squeezed you tight, rolling back on top of your body so that he was completely crushing you. You couldn't help but giggle at his sudden playfulness. You loved this side of him.

After cuddling for a bit, he helped you clean up. You were searching the floor for your clothes when you remembered that they were gone.

"So, do I get to steal your clothes since you decayed mine?"

He smirked. "That was what I'd hoped, yeah. Take whatever you want from the dresser and i'll meet you out in the living room when you're done changing. I'm just gonna run to the bathroom and finish cleaning up."

You opened up his drawers and grabbed the first sweatshirt and pair of sweatpants that you found. They were too big for you, but they smelled like Tomu. Once you were dressed you made your way out to the other room and decided you'd try to set the game up. It couldn't be that hard to figure out, right?

You grabbed the remote from the coffee table and hit the power button. The tv flashed on to the middle of an evening news program. The woman on the screen was talking about recent attacks done by a group called The League of Villains. You were just about to change the channel when a familiar face popped up on the screen.

"The authorities are still on the lookout for the leader of the radical villain group, who they've identified as Tomura Shigaraki. If you see him in public, contact local police immediately. It goes without saying that he is incredibly dangerous and you should avoid approaching him at all costs."

Your heart dropped. You could hardly believe that Tomura, the man you loved, was a villain, but the leader of what seemed to be the most infamous villain group nonetheless? You felt betrayed. You felt tricked. But above all, you felt terrified as you realized you didn't know him at all.

"What are you watching?"

You turned to find him leaning against the wall behind you. His eyes were dark. You didn't know how long he'd been there, but you had a feeling that he could read your mind in that moment. He knew that his true identity was no longer a secret to you.

"I just. . . it just came on. I'm not really watching it. You know I wouldn't pay attention to any of this. I wouldn't want to ruin my optimistic view of the world."

You laughed, trying to make the last part seem light, but it sounded strangled, giving you away.

Tomura pushed off the wall, approaching you slowly. In the background, the newscaster was still reporting about the League's recent activity. She kept saying his name. You really wished she'd just shut the hell up and move onto the next segment.

When he reached you, he wrapped four fingers around your throat. "Are you afraid of me now?"

"Afraid? No, I—"

"You think I'm a monster?"

"Not at all!"

"Then tell me you still love me."

You were suddenly aware that the only thing that stood between you and death was his fifth finger hovering mere inches above your skin.

"Tomura, of course I do."

He tightened his hold. "Say it."

"I-I love you."

His eyes flicked between yours, searching for any sign of dishonesty. Your hands reached for him, gliding up his body in an effort to convince him.

"I love you," you repeated, cupping his jaw and running your thumbs over his skin.

You pulled him into a kiss, hoping that might convince him. But it felt wrong. You were tense and suddenly aware of the fact that the same hands that held you had been used to kill.

You weren't sure you could ever look at him the same way.

[yorshie]

I haven't stopped thinking about your saulmate au for 07 leo

But it got me on to thinking about bring soulmates with Leo in general, and the probability that even being his soulmate, New York will probably always be #1

Until you're in danger or something happens and reality sets in that you aren't a guarantee that he can always come home to

Thoughts? (Prayers)

Oh man. Oh man. Oh man.

Leonardo, having to stop, hands on his knees in a quiet, private moment where he just gets to break down silently, because he has to choose something else. He can’t go to you. You can’t be his number one priority right this moment. He’s got obligations, something Bigger takes prescient before being able to go to you, to assure you’re safe.

And it rips him apart inside. Because he knows what he has to do. And he hopes you know he loves you with every beat of his heart, when you realize he has to choose something else. So he bottles up the scream of frustration, buries it underneath the weight of responsibility and his mask, and becomes downright ruthless in the ensuing battles.

It’s gotta be lonely, giving everything to someone that can’t offer the same. There’s times he’s fiercely protective, almost smothering, and you know it’s because he can’t always promise to be there when you need him. The city is dangerous, and he’s stuck in the shadows, and there’s other things lurking around that can figure out his weak points (you) if he’s not careful.

Until he has to make that choice in real time, when danger is a scant second away from taking you from him, and he realizes his priorities shift in between one breath and the next.

*melts into a little raccoon puddle and floats away in the current* th-thanks nonnie. Just. Just gonna think about this for a little bit.

Edit: came back cuz I realized this works for almost all the Leo’s I’ve seen so far. Halp. I hurt myself again. (Bayverse yikes. 07 yes yes. 03 cries for the short king. Rise. Rise…. Here’s the knife just make it quick for me please)

[novashelby]

Evie Meets Gina

"I keep it classy, but I'm not afraid to slap a bitch." Summary: Evie hates confrontation. So, when Evie meets Gina and it doesn't go well...she sort of just...snaps? Word count: 978...this was suppose to be 100...whoops Warning: Swearing, childhood trauma Thank you @tea-atfive for participating in my drabble request thing. Flor requested how Evie would interact with Gina...and oh, boy....yikes. Not well.

“I hate her,” Martha said, leaning against the doorframe; the threshold that separated the dining room and parlor. Evie was behind her, rearranging the table set. On her heels, Martha twirled around, lips pursed. “Doesn’t she know that if she bleaches her hair enough, it starts to make you bald-”

“Martha!” Evie scolded, hitting her hands to her side. “Now you’re just being ridiculously catty, you know that?” Evie popped an olive in her mouth and walked over to her best friend. “And you only hate her because I don't like her.” She pinched her best friend’s nose, their mouths breaking into a wave of school girl giggles. 

“Who don’t you like?” Aunty Polly came from the other door behind them. She wiped her hand on the white apron, looking around tirelessly. She mumbled under her breath as she counted, humming. 

Martha lost her snarky smile, and sang, “Hi, Ms. Gray!” 

“Martha,” she greeted back. 

Martha gave Evie a grin, adding a mocking wink. “I’m gonna go mingle with the handsome folk in the other room.” Evie whined as Martha landed a big, obnoxious kiss on her cheek and waltzed off. 

“Fuckin’ ell,” she mumbled, wiping the spit off her cheek as she continued to help her aunt. “Why do you still do this if we have maids?” Polly looked over, clothing napkins in her hand.

“It’s good to keep some humanity left in you.” She folded one neatly and placed it over the plate. “And in this family, we need every last bit of it that we can get-rearrange the spoons and knives!” Evie nodded, silently working at her task when Polly asked again, “and who were you and Martha chatting about?”

“Just school girl gossip, Aunty.” She smiled over. “No one important, really.” Evie put down her last knife, and exited the kitchen. Sneaking from the festivities, Evie went upstairs to her room. Her room was her space that even her father respected to an extent. One could imagine when Evie walked around the door frame and spotted her, Evie was quite upset. “Hello?” she questioned, tilting her head. 

Gina had been at her desk, looking over each and every picture frame. With each one, she picked up, her fingers would caress over the glass. She was holding the one of Evie and Tommy…It was the day Evie turned sixteen and they had a party. It was a beautiful photo, truly, because despite all of Tommy’s pain at the time, he looked happy. Evie wanted to rip it from her hands. Gina took a moment to answer, and when she did, she didn’t care to show a single ounce of shame. “Your room is quite,” she paused, looking around. “Sweet.” She put the picture down and picked up her school portrait when she was ten; chubby and toothless. It was her father’s favorite. 

“What are you doing in here?” Evie asked, a bit curt in her tone. She moved aside, motioning to the door. “The party is downstairs. There’s also a loo downstairs-”

Gina held up the photo, smirking. “Cute. Fat cheeks, round face…tooth gap.” 

“I was ten there.”

Gina nodded, humming to herself, looking the girl up and down. “Not much has changed.” With a rather loud clunk Gina put down the wooden framed picture and walked over to Evie, smiling. It was as genuine as her. Never knowing how to navigate the cattiness, Evie wasn’t like her Aunt Ada and Aunty Pol’. Despite the woman being tiny, she felt smaller and unmatched. Her breath hitched as Gina said, “Michael told me about you…about your mom. She comes from Boston?”

Evie nodded. 

“She was a, um, a…whore?” 

Evie closed her eyes. “Gina, I’d like to join my family back downstairs. I think you should find what you want and leave my room-”

“I think she’s back in Boston,” Gina said, offering a smile that held no true genuineness. “My uncle knows her, actually.” Evie snapped, eyes wide. “Isn’t that funny?”

“W-what-”

“That how tiny this world is. Her name is Cindy, right?” Gina nodded. “Cindy…that was it. Maybe a reunion would be in the works-”

“Gina, get out of my room.” Evie’s fists clenched. From the corner of her eye, she spotted a wine glass on her dresser off to her right. The rim was spotted with the same shade of red that laid on Gina’s lips. 

Gina dared to say one more thing. “It’s funny how you haven’t seen her in ten years, yet, you are so much alike. Mooching off men and taking them for what they have. Tell me, Evelyn, because Michael is convinced you’ll live here with Tommy until he dies….Do you have any ambitions? Or will you eventually lay on your back like your mother?” She let Gina’s words sink in before her hand reached for the glass stem. Before Evie could compose herself, the red-almost purple wine was painted on Gina’s crisp, white cocktail dress. “Shit!” she cursed out loud, jumping back. The bit of wine that got on her chin, dripped.

Evie lost all facial expressions, placing the sticky glass back down and wiping her hands on her skirt. “I thought your dress needed some color.” Evie grinned. “You’re welcome.” Gina shook off her hands, mouth agape, glaring at the girl. Before she could get the last word, Evie walked out and down the stairs. Her anger brewed from the top stair to the bottom. Michael ambushed her at the stairs.

“Have you seen-”

Slap. The crack was so loud, everyone turned around. The air went dead silent except for Isaiah’s whistle. Michael was holding his cheek. “Stay out of my fucking business, Michael!” Evie said, pushing by. Martha ran up to her side, trying to ask what happened. Not answering, she said, “let’s go-”

“What happened?”

“Martha! I said let’s go!”

“Alright, alright,” Martha agreed. “I guess we are leaving!”

[chemicallywrit]

Happy Audio Drama Sunday! What a week! Let's talk about audio drama!

⏰ Nine To Midnight has its own feed now, which I appreciate, as a listener to many of the involved pods, because I didn't get like six iterations of the show in my feed. I did have to go seek it out though, but I'm so glad I did. These stories!!! These STORIES. The second episode in particular stuck out, just banger after banger. Also, what's up David Ault! Always fun to watch David Ault flex.

😈 Dungeons and Daddies this week was on the short side, but woof. I. Love. The Stamplers. I love them. I love you Ron Stampler and Terry Jr. Stampler and Scary Terri Marlowe Stampler. They are ridiculous and excellent. Honestly though, their wonderful energy was just the prelude to the truly heartbreaking Close clan. These boys are so deep in denial they ought to be worried about the bends. Yikes. I'm really looking forward to watching them try to save hell and make up for lost time.

⚡️ Electromancy! Of COURSE it's all happening at the dance. What kind of school story would this be if everything wasn't going to go down at the dance? Like with all fantasy about young people, I love the mixture of extremely high stakes (colonialism and revolution) and extremely low stakes (but what am I going to WEAR). I can't wait for part two. @electromancypodcast

👟 Keep It Steady!!! New episode of Keep It Steady! Our teenage burnout is faced with the mortifying ordeal of having real friends who love him, which is a wild thing for a teen to have to accept when he has zero self esteem. And then on top of everything, he gets concussed! My boy! @keepitsteadypod

⚖️ The Adventure Zone Imbalance has appeared on the feed, which is a relief to me, a person who hates listening to things on youtube. And Davenport is there! My main man! If y'all need to know anything about me, it's that I love Davenport. I missed these guys so much.

🚀 Travelling Light is a new show from @monstrousproductions, and I am THRILLED. I love a travelogue, I love a character with ties to religion, I love a warm scifi show, I love a recipe. I know from their tumblr that the writer and narrator of this show is Quaker, which is a tradition I'm not very familiar with, so I'm interested to see how that perspective influences this story. It's just so NICE.

👻 I started listening to Magenta Presents this week, in an effort to listen to everything Lindsay Sharman has ever done, and this is spooky. Beth Eyre is always a treat to listen to, and Lucy Roslyn, whose work I am not familiar with, is also a fantastic actor. They have great chemistry. I love a true ghost story, and I love a protagonist who feels like she's slowly losing her mind. @longcatmedia

🪓 I've finally arrived at the bit of Woe.Begone where other actors are showing up, and surprise! It's David Ault again! He's everywhere! I haven't interacted with fans of this show, so I had no idea, and apparently fans hate his character. To be fair, I did too, but now David's here doing the voice, and it's so much WORSE. Well done, David.

🍕 I finished s1 of Gastronaut and started s2, and I find myself enamored with this guy, coming from a place of relative privilege, tearing his preconceptions apart with a fork and a knife. The writing is lush, the story is fascinating, and it really hits the spot for me of "moody thoughtful nonfiction." I love it so much. I can't believe there are only two seasons. How dare they. (I trust them though.)

🧛🏻‍♀️ Re: Dracula is done, and we have announced Carmilla! My role in Carmilla will be less than it was for Drac, but I'm still very excited to get in on making this story. It's going to be amazing.

🧟‍♂️ The Dead's second episode has appeared, and I am continually impressed with the people I work with. What a death scene from Marquis Moore! What good acting from Brandon Nguyen! They are a joy to direct.

As for me, I'm about to start getting Inn Between ready to post! Are you hype? I'm hype. If you like what I do and want to give me a hand, please check out my ko-fi!

See you next week!

[loquaciousquark]

So I stayed up ungodly late last night playing through the Cazador quest/conclusion (?) of the Astarion romance and I have a lot of thoughts!

Overall, I LOVED it. Absolutely loved it. I love how much he has to say about the mansion, I love the design and weirdly oppressive layout of the space, the sinister door, the annoying button/attic puzzle, his relationship with Go...dey? The bone man! When I saw that room was called the kennel I literally said "oh no" out loud.

The one thing I'm mad at myself about is that I didn't understand how to actually get into the stupid palace to start the quest! I couldn't get up that dirt incline right next to the map marker so I thought I had to get into the upper city via Baldur's Gate on the left--that the palace was in the next area altogether--so I've been dithering about with murderers and Lae'zel getting kidnapped (D:! she's safe now though) and hag children and a million other things WHEN I COULD HAVE BEEN KILLING CAZADOR THIS WHOLE TIME. Harrumph.

Anyway, once I actually made it into the darned palace, I didn't have any trouble at all with the fights until I got to Cazador himself. I did think the ritual skull on the pillow was a nice touch, and I loved the confrontation with Sebastian in the cell, just in case the PC has any doubt left about how sane/human these spawn still are. Seven thousand souls! That's so many!! Seven is a lot, but seven thousand, yikes! There was also one room with some levers at the end of the tedious attic puzzle that appeared to have no purpose; I guess it was unfinished from the design stage, as dozens of Reddit threads/forum posts all agree there's no clear puzzle solution or interactable element. Really, the first design misstep I've seen from the game, and even that was pretty minor!

Then came the confrontation with Cazador, and for all I didn't even get touched in the werewolf fight earlier this fight WRECKED me. I didn't understand the mechanic and got everyone sacrificed for the ritual the first time (was focusing on the adds first), and then the second time I checked the journal and it said "Help Astarion" and so I wasted two turns getting to him only to discover they meant "help Astarion by killing Cazador," not "free Astarion with the Help action" because that sure didn't work, so he got sacrificed again! Then the third time I focused Cazador better until he Called Lightning on Shadowheart and Karlach and killed them both, and then I finally scraped it out on the fourth try. A really, really tough fight! If I didn't have the six summoned ghouls from the Thay book I don't know if I could have done it with this party.

The choices available afterwards are FASCINATING. I played through them all again, and I loved that in every version he absolutely butchers that vamp with as much violent stabbing as I've seen in a video game. And that little flip of the knife to the reverse grip! So deft! He's a rogue! It's like there's thought and care behind these animations!! Incredible! The choices where you don't help him are absolutely awful--the enraged venom in "I'd say good luck out there, but honestly, I hope you die screaming"--and the flat "Your companion has permanently left the party" made my stomach clench. The version where you help him ascend is also horrifying; are there many other quests where both companions are like, "this is a HORRIBLE IDEA, don't do this!!"? And afterwards Karlach said something about "all those souls..." and she looked like she was about to cry, which was the second worst thing in the world aside from the time I had to break up with her because I didn't realize we were dating. Everything is red and evil and we get nice close-up views of the spawn in agony and bursting and then Astarion's eyes glow red as sin forever. I did really like the explicit confirmation that the infected can use the parasites to see out of each other's eyes; that's given me a couple fic ideas already!

I will say the scene of him crying & screaming was unspeakably cathartic and I was yelling at the screen to let me hug him. YELLING. Thank God I live alone! Again, the tenor differences between this scene in the "insight/persuade him to be better than Cazador" track vs. the "flatly deny to help him" track were shocking. I can't believe how different the exact same animation set felt between the two versions! Unbearable relief & grief vs. total impotent despair--no wonder he tries to kill you in a few of the bad endings (on top of deciding on his own to snap the staff & trap the spawn forever).

Regardless, once the ritual was disrupted and the spawn were saved and freed and Cazador was a lolling pincushion, I couldn't figure out how to trigger the follow-up scene I KNEW had to be there, even though I'd already done Shadowheart's personal quest & should have known I needed to long-rest, lmao. I wandered around like a dope for several minutes before finally triggering it.

I really, really liked this romance scene a lot. I liked that there isn't even an option to break up at this point; just like ME3, the romance is locked in and you can just play around inside that structure, which I thought was fantastic! I am sad that it opened with what I expected, which is him resigning himself to eventually being trapped in the darkness & never seeing sunlight again, and the fact that the game let you pick "maybe we'll figure something out with the tadpoles" only for Astarion to express doubt does make me worried for long-term outcomes. My favorite options once you get to the graveyard were to just stay back and let him talk, but I'm honestly really delighted that we got this scene of pretty significant emotional closure for him, and I loved the animation of him carving the year into the headstone. It seemed so immersive & real that even though we can't read the text, we know exactly what he did.

The only incredibly, incredibly, INCREDIBLY minor things I didn't adore about this scene are that first, when he tells you he loves you, his head animation is weirdly still/frozen the whole time on that set of lines despite his expression changing, and it honestly broke my immersion a little bit. The ambient movements of the characters have been so realistic for so many dozens of hours that to have this seriously critical and important moment for the character be almost rigid, especially against a completely silent music-less background, made it stick out as an "oh yeah, this is a video game" reminder. Bummer!

The other thing is that it's icky to have sex in a graveyard, lmao. Tavish doesn't really care because it's just dirt under them--he's literally standing in front of her, so as far as she's concerned it's not that different from the forest--but I did grimace a little. Someone give these dingdongs a bed! or at least a roof!

Anyway! A fantastic romance and super strong writing/consistent characterization throughout, and I'm pumped to see where it's going to go next. I'm still so curious about how the tadpole outcomes will affect things and faintly hoping for a deus ex machina to keep him in the sun, though I suppose that's what fic's for. Regardless, full sign-off on an utterly satisfying romance; so many little things dropped throughout were EXACTLY what I wanted--you can even accuse him of sincerity in the graveyard scene, which is precisely the arc I was hoping he'd have! He didn't even like you in the beginning and now we're smooching next to a bunch of dead people. What isn't romantic about that?

10/10 Larian, thanks for making me a mess for another white-haired grump.