#engine web-style

[glmentoring]

Agencia SEO Medellin

Necesitas una Agencia SEO Medellin porque el SEO es un trabajo continuo y en constante evolución. Si no tienes el tiempo o los conocimientos necesarios para hacerlo tú mismo, una agencia de marketing digital puede hacerlo por ti.

Además, como agencia SEO en Colombia, contamos con acceso a herramientas y recursos especializados que pueden mejorar el desempeño de tu posicionamiento web y garantizar su éxito.

[thunderlina]

In the wake of the TikTok ban and revival as a mouthpiece for fascist propaganda, as well as the downfall of Twitter and Facebook/Facebook-owned platforms to the same evils, I think now is a better time than ever to say LEARN HTML!!! FREE YOURSELVES FROM THE SHACKLES OF MAJOR SOCIAL MEDIA PLATFORMS AND EMBRACE THE INDIE WEB!!!

You can host a website on Neocities for free as long as it's under 1GB (which is a LOT more than it sounds like let me tell you) but if that's not enough you can get 50GB of space (and a variety of other perks) for only $5 a month.

And if you can't/don't want to pay for the extra space, sites like File Garden and Catbox let you host files for free that you can easily link into NeoCities pages (I do this to host videos on mine!) (It also lets you share files NeoCities wouldn't let you upload for free anyways, this is how I upload the .zip files for my 3DS themes on my site.)

Don't know how to write HTML/CSS? No problem. W3schools is an invaluable resource with free lessons on HTML, CSS, JavaScript, PHP, and a whole slew of other programming languages, both for web development and otherwise.

Want a more traditional social media experience? SpaceHey is a platform that mimics the experience of 2000s MySpace

Struggling to find independent web pages that cater to your interests via major search engines? I've got you covered. Marginalia and Wiby are search engines that specifically prioritize non-commercial content. Marginalia also has filters that let you search for more specific categories of website, like wikis, blogs, academia, forums, and vintage sites.

Maybe you wanna log off the modern internet landscape altogether and step back into the pre-social media web altogether, well, Protoweb lets you do just that. It's a proxy service for older browsers (or really just any browser that supports HTTP, but that's mostly old browsers now anyways) that lets you visit restored snapshots of vintage websites.

Protoweb has a lot of Geocities content archived, but if you're interested in that you can find even more old Geocities sites over on the Geocities Gallery

And really this is just general tip-of-the-iceberg stuff. If you dig a little deeper you can find loads more interesting stuff out there. The internet doesn't have to be a miserable place full of nothing but doomposting and targeted ads. The first step to making it less miserable is for YOU, yes YOU, to quit spending all your time on it looking at the handful of miserable websites big tech wants you to spend all your time on.

[door-insurance]

Ahm, hello Life is Strange fandom- I got an announcement

I have been working on my own LiS fan visual novel

This is VortexVN,

You play as Victoria waking up from a hangover with no memory of the week prior, you are tasked with piecing together what happened between her and one of the 4 love interests.

And of course the love interests are:

-Chloe (Chaseprice)

-Max (Chasefield)

-Kate (Chasemarsh)

-Rachel (Amberchase)

The game starts with a quiz; you unlock a route by picking answers related to the character you wanna romance (they are very obvious)

It takes place in an AU where the events of LiS1 and BtS didn't really happen and there are no special powers, Victoria's still a bi tch- I guess that's her special powers.

Think of this game as a spiritual successor to Love is Strange by Team Rumblebee rather than Life is Strange 1

Gameplay so far is your typical point and click visual novel affair, you will be given options to explore rooms, examine objects and talk to other characters- the interactions will play a crucial part in how the game ends,

You can win the girl or get rejected or worse... It will depend on how Victoria carried herself throughout the game,

Mistreating certain characters may prove to be a dealbreaker for the love interest,

Each girl has two close friends in the dorm that you should not upset (I'll reveal who in the guide pdf)

This game is also perfect for Victoria haters as you can ruin her life

The game has its own journal system that will be different depending on who you're romancing, it also comes with a read button (I blurred most of the text so you can get curious and play the game)

Read button will display the journal content in Open Dyslexic font

In the demo you'll only get to explore Victoria's room and the dorm hallways and you'll get two encounters from Juliet (Showers) and Alyssa (Hallway)

VortexVN is still in development, I have finished part.1 of the project and will start polishing it soon- the initial build of part.1 will be available to play as a demo!

The cutscenes lack color and proper shading at the moment and you will find placeholders as well, the art style is all over the place- this will change after the polishing phase

Download links:

Mac and Windows

Web browser ver (I don't recommend that you play it on mobile, also the web version lacks animation and takes forever to load graphics)

programs used:

-Renpy (visual novel engine)

-Photoshop CS5 (Drawing/rendering/animating/designing)

-Clips studio (Texturing)

-tablet: XP-Pen Artist 13

Note: I'm not monetizing this project nor do I claim ownership of the Life is Strange ip, all materials and assets presented in this visual novel were either created by me or are royalty free- I did not lift anything from the games via data mining or by leaks

This game is not a response to or a gotcha at Life is Strange Double Exposure or Deck Nine, I didn't really dislike the game

Besides, I've had the idea of a Victoria centric fan game since the first LiS back in 2015

I'm open for feedbacks! You can DM me or reblog this with a review or something- maybe write a comment.

[bearforcecaptions]

Evan stumbled into the bathroom, yawning, scratching the back of his neck. Another sleepy morning, another forgettable day. He barely even opened his eyes as he flicked the light on, letting the harsh fluorescent hum fill the small, dingy room. The mirror, streaked with old water stains, reflected back his pale, slight frame — but something made him blink.

Hard.

The man in the mirror wasn’t him.

At least, not exactly.

The figure standing where he should have been was a giant of a man — thick with muscle, dense with a heavy forest of chest hair, his beard sprawling past his collarbones. His arms bulged with cords of strength, veins thick and prominent. His hair was cropped short on the sides, a little longer on top, styled into a sharp, effortless look of rugged dominance. His face was weathered, mid-30s maybe — mature, confident — a few faint creases at the eyes that spoke of experience, but no weakness.

Evan’s breath hitched. He reached toward the glass. The man in the mirror mimicked him perfectly, hand rising.

Then the mirror spoke.

"You’ve always been this way, not Evan..." the voice rumbled, rich and commanding. "Your name is Eric."

The name hit him like a strike to the chest — wrong and right at the same time. Evan opened his mouth to object, but the sound dissolved on his tongue. Eric. Of course. It sounded natural. Strong. Familiar.

The voice continued, sliding through him like a slow, irresistible current. "Eric Steele. Born to be bigger. Born to be more."

A shiver ran through him as his body responded first. His shoulders pulled wider with a low, grinding stretch. His arms grew thick and heavy with muscle, veins webbing across them like rivers of molten iron. His chest swelled forward, two massive plates of strength, dusted with thick, dark hair that spread greedily over his pecs, arms, down into a heavy trail across his abs.

His beard surged outward, black and coarse, blanketing his jawline, framing a face that hardened into something fierce and commanding. His hair tightened into a neatly rugged cut — short, faded sides, a dense, heavy top that made him look even more powerful.

"You're not some nobody stuck in an office," the voice whispered, "You're a self-made man. Owner of Steele Ironworks. A real empire."

Images flooded his mind: rows of weightlifters clanging plates, men cheering as he benched impossible weight, his name on the wall in bold steel letters. The life of a small, invisible man disintegrated, forgotten.

The mirror shimmered, and his surroundings changed with it. The bathroom stretched larger, walls of black slate and chrome fixtures gleaming under industrial lights. The sink morphed into a thick slab of stone, sturdy enough for a man like him. The old, peeling door frame widened, as if recognizing it needed to accommodate his size.

"You're thirty-five years old now. In your prime. Built by work, sweat, and respect."

He watched his reflection age up, subtly but surely — fine lines creasing at the corners of his intense, dark eyes, a faint peppering of gray starting at the temples and threading into his thick beard. It didn't make him look older; it made him look formidable.

He flexed an arm absentmindedly, marveling at the tight coil of muscle swelling under his skin, at the thick mat of body hair running across his chest and thick thighs. His calves, once narrow and weak, were now broad and heavy, like stone pillars.

"Your hobbies, your life — it's all built around power," the mirror coaxed. "Iron. Brotherhood. Competition. Triumph."

And it was true. He remembered the heavy smell of the gym, the roaring engines of his motorcycle, the brothers he'd fought and laughed with. The empty hobbies of Evan — gaming, Netflix binges, scrolling social media — vanished, slipping from his brain like a bad dream.

He grinned, flashing perfect, strong teeth. Eric Steele. The name felt natural, like a second skin — no, like the only skin he'd ever worn.

The mirror stilled.

The man inside it no longer whispered, no longer coaxed. He simply stood, a reflection now, matching him perfectly. Matching Eric Steele.

There was no Evan. There had never been.

Eric ran a thick hand through his beard, feeling its heavy texture, admiring the way it framed his sharp jawline. His hand traced the curve of his powerful chest, the trail of hair down his torso, the sheer dense mass of himself. He was pride made flesh.

Without another thought, Eric turned from the mirror, his wide shoulders brushing the frame as he passed through the doorway into the rest of his reality — a world he didn't know had ever been different.

Behind him, the mirror stayed still.

Silent.

Waiting.

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part three: clean up

word count:

warnings: bone cracking, minor violence, some threats, a usual day in the mob life yktv

two | three | four

The night air was damp with the lingering scent of rain and blood.

Lando stepped out of her apartment building, shoving his hands into his pockets as he made his way back to his car. The streets were quiet now—too quiet. Just an hour ago, the space had been filled with the sound of a man begging for his life. Now, the city hummed with its usual indifference, as if nothing had ever happened.

He had stayed just long enough to be certain. No phone calls. No texts. No neighbors suspiciously knocking to ask what was wrong. She hadn’t told anyone.

Good girl.

He slid into the driver’s seat, checked his phone — no messages, no calls.

Finally, some fucking quiet.

Lando finally leaned against the back of his seat, long fingers wrapping themselves around the familiar steering of his McLaren 675 LT as he drove away. He drove without hurry, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting against his temple as he exhaled a long, measured breath. The events weighed down on his shoulders — not with guilt, of course, never guilt– just the meticulous web of problems that needed to be untangled into solutions.

And the idiots he worked with? They were the biggest problem of the night.

His fingers tightened around the wheel, knuckles pressing white. He could still smell the iron tang of blood from earlier, the sharp memory of the gunshots ringing in his ears. He had done what needed to be done—handled the aftermath, cleaned up their mess. But the fact that he had to clean it up at all pissed him off.

He took a few turns through the empty streets before heading toward his house — a looming, intricate work of architecture nestled in the more quiet part of the  city. The headlights sliced through the dark as he pulled up to the wide cobblestone driveway, shutting the engine off before stepping out, his boots almost silent against the stone.

His own place was nothing like hers.

Large, sleek, classical — all marble and dark wood. A skyline view of the city stretched wide beyond huge church style windows, lights flickering like static against the black water of the pool. It was pristine, everything in its place, every surface immaculate. But that was the difference between a house and a home—he didn’t need comfort. He needed efficiency.

He stepped inside,  letting the heavy metal door slam behind him, the sound like a gunshot in the vast space. He turned and reactivated the alarm system from a side panel before shrugging off his jacket, letting it fall onto the back of a chair. The blood on his boot had dried by now, a small, insignificant detail, but he noticed it anyway. He always did.

Inside, the air was thick with sweat, smoke, and the stench of blood that hadn’t been properly cleaned up. A few men were already there laughing and talking, the remnants of their work sprawled out before them — discarded gloves, a half-empty bottle of whiskey, the stench of sweat and gun oil. They weren’t worried. They weren’t tense. They were acting like tonight hadn’t been a fucking disaster.

By the time he came up beside his seat, unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves,  he was already seething. He stood and glared with the kind of measured posture that should have put them on edge.

It didn’t.

Because they were idiots.

Lando took his time stepping forward, peeling off his gloves, his gaze sharp and unreadable. He watched them—studied the way they barely acknowledged his arrival, how one of them laughed under his breath about something, how another flicked a cigarette against the ashtray with a lazy, unbothered wave.

It was insulting.

“You are all too comfortable,” Lando murmured, his voice a quiet blade.

Fewtrell is, of course, the first to notice. Once he goes quiet, the others are a lot quicker to be pulled out of the blissful ignorance of whatever nonsense they were blabbing about moments ago.

Conversation died instantly.

The three of them turned to face him, their relaxed postures stiffening under his gaze. They were good at a lot of things —intimidation, violence, making money— but it seemed like reading Lando’s moods was never one of them.

Which was a shame. He wasn’t in the mood to be patient.

Slowly, he reached for the whiskey bottle on the table, lifting it to the light. Amber liquid swirled lazily inside. He turned it in his grip, then—without warning—he slammed it down, shattering the glass into jagged shards across the wooden surface.

The men flinched.

Finally. Finally, they realized.

“You think tonight went well?” he asked, voice even. Controlled. “You think that was a clean job?”

Silence.

“Because from where I was standing, it looked sloppy.” His words came slow, deliberate. “Messy. Reckless.”

He leaned forward, placing his hands on the table, watching as they shifted uncomfortably under the weight of his stare.

“It was just some low-level asshole,” one of them muttered. “It’s not like he had protection. No one’s gonna come looking.”

Lando smiled. It was a sharp, humorless thing.

“You really think… that’s the fucking point?” he asked, voice deadly quiet.

The man swallowed.

“Are you all fucking stupid?”

One of them, Daniel —a lanky Australian bloke with a knack for fixing vehicles who’d been part of his team for a few years now— shifted, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Look, man, it was clean—”

Lando moved fast.

A sharp, brutal swing of his fist connected with Daniel’s ribs, knocking the breath out of him instantly. He staggered back, wheezing, but Lando didn’t let him recover. His hand shot out, gripping the front of Daniel’s shirt and yanking him forward until they were inches apart.

“Clean?” Lando echoed, his voice dripping with venom. “You brought him and dropped him in a place people actually walk through. You never sweeped the area. Then, you left a fucking body in the open? You idiot,” he seethes. “And now you’re standing here telling me it was clean?”

Daniel’s hands grasped Lando’s wrist, but he didn’t dare push him off. The others watched in tense silence, knowing better than to intervene.

Lando released him with a rough shove, sending him stumbling back onto a chair. He stepped around the table, slow, purposeful, like a predator sizing up its prey.

“You guys got cocky,” he continued. “You were loud. You did it out in the open, like amateurs. And you left yourselves exposed.”

Another beat of silence.

Lando’s gaze flicked over them, assessing. He didn’t mention the witness—the quiet, bookish girl who had stumbled onto something she was never meant to see. He had handled it. They didn’t need to know.

“You don’t get paid to be stupid,” he said finally, his voice smooth as if they were merely discussing the weather, yet something about it had their hearts lodged in their throats. “You get paid to be precise. To be efficient. And if you ever,” he pauses, “-fuck up like that again, I won’t be cleaning up your mess. I’ll be cleaning up you.”

The threat sat heavy in the air, settling into their bones.

Good.

One of the men —Carlos, the Spanish man who had been in charge of planning tonight’s job— shifted in his seat, clearing his throat. “It won’t happen again,” he said, accent curling at the ends of his quiet words.

Lando tilted his head, considering him. Then, in one fluid motion, he reached for the man’s hand resting on the table, grabbed his pinky, and snapped it.

Carlos howled, jerking back, but Lando kept him there, gripping his wrist in an iron hold as he leaned down to just beside Carlos’s ear, lowering his voice to something eerily calm.

“I know it won’t.”

He let go, stepping back, watching as Carlos cradled his mangled finger, his face twisted in pain.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” Lando mused, wiping his hands on a napkin before tossing it onto the table alongside the rest of their earlier rubbish. “Now, clean this shit up. And next time? Get it right the first time, yeah?”

“I had to take care of a loose end tonight because you were sloppy,” he continued, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. Sharp eyes flicked between them, his lip curling in disgust. “I believe it should be clear by now that if you ever put me in that position again, I won’t be dealing with a loose end — I’ll be dealing directly with you.”

Silence.

No one spoke. No one even breathed too loudly.

Lando exhaled sharply, shaking out the lingering tension in his knuckles before rolling his shoulders back. He unfolded his collar, unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt as though he hadn’t just threatened to kill them.

“Sort the body. Properly,” he said flatly. “Let’s see if you can actually do something right.”

They nodded, silent and obedient.

Lando turned on his heel, walking toward the grand staircase at center of the house without another word, not bothering to glance back.

By the time he got into his room, the remnants of his rage had dulled into something more calculating. He had made his point. They wouldn’t mess up again—not if they wanted to keep breathing.

And as for her —the girl wrapped in her blankets, now fast asleep in her too-small apartment, oblivious to the choices being made in her name— he still hadn’t decided what to do with her yet. He hadn’t brought her up, didn’t tell them how close they’d come to getting their ]ittle job tonight exposed because she was his problem now.

And if it ever came to it? 

He was more than willing to solve it himself.

a/n: thank you for the response so far! likes, comments, and reblogs are the fuel that motivates me to go work on the next chapter. lmk what you thought of this one!

[tvgals]

‘ BARBIE WORLD ! ‘

the spider teen group w a black barbie reader !!

MILES MORALES —

he was stunned that he pulled you to say the least

imagine when he took you home..

you and miles stand outside of his parents apartment. “and make sure you don’t call them by their first names, they hate that!” miles tells you, biting his bottom lip when he sees you knocking on the door. “i know, miles. i’m not disrespectful!” you giggle, hearing the door unlock. you’re met face to face with a brown skinned woman with her curly hair braided, laying on her shoulder. her face seems to light up when she sees the two of you. “miles!” she beams, engulfing him in a hug, when she pulls away and turns to you, she brings her hands to her chest and smiles. “and you must be y/n! miles talks so much about you!” she says, you smile and look at miles, his face flushed with embarrassment. “these are for you, mrs morales!” you grin, handing her the bouquet of azaleas. “for me? thank you so much!” she thanks you, softly grasping the stems and welcoming you two in. you see miles’ dad sitting at the table, scrolling though his phone. “dad!” miles blurts out, waiting to get his attention. once he looks up, his eyes go wide. “who’s that?” jeff asks, looking around the room just in case this was some prank.

“dad, this is my girlfriend y/n.” miles sheepishly grins, you sending a happy wave his way. jeff stares for a moment. his awkward, teenage son, was able to get a girlfriend like you? no way! “jeff, don’t just stare at the poor girl!” rio laughs. this was gonna be a long night .

HOBIE BROWN —

he loves it

the opposites attract always gets me !!

hobie watched you as you struggled to put on your favorite pair of pink chunky heels onto your feet, your annoyed groans ringing out the room. “baby!” you yell out into the apartment, hoping your boyfriend would just walk in and put your shoe on for you. you think for a second. you’ve worked multiple engineering jobs as an intern, you’ve studied multiple languages and worked many jobs, and you’re currently letting a shoe disrespect you? hobie walked in and bit back a smile at your determined face.

“love, let me help-“ hobie is cut off with a stern, “no” from you, putting your manicured hand up to stop any movement from him getting closer. “princess, just let me help.” hobie chuckles, crouching onto the floor next to you. “no! i can do it by myself. i am a strong, independent woman!” you sputter out, pushing your foot into the shoe. “bam.” you say, looking at hobie’s smiling face. now onto the next shoe.

PAVITR PRABHAKAR —

he lovessss your style

definitely helps you with makeup

“pavi!” you call out to your boyfriend, who was casually hanging off of a web from the ceiling. “yes?” he calls back to you, flipping onto his feet and walking into the bathroom where you were applying your false lashes. “baby, will you go to the mall with me?” you ask, fanning your hand in front of your eyes to dry the lash glue.

“of course! why would i say no to a pretty girl like you?” pavitr says, walking behind you and resting his chin on your head. “pavi, i need to talk to you.” you say, your tone serious and solid. pavitr gets worried, he’s never heard this tone from you like this, not so..strict and firm. “oh no…what is it?” pavitr mumbles, trailing his hands onto your waist, now moving his head to rest in the crook of your neck.

“it’s very important, like i’m talking end of our relationship if you say the wrong answer, important.” you warn him, pulling lipsticks out of your makeup bag. “now you’re scaring me.” pavitr chuckles. “what is it?” you look at him through the mirror and hold up two lipsticks, “rose red or like a light pink?” you ask, turning to actually face him. “jeez, y/n! you can’t scare me that way!” pavitr giggles, dramatically holding a hand over his heart. “but definitely rose red.”

GWEN STACY —

gwen watches you style the wig on the mannequins head, walking over to take a better look. “what are you doing?” she asks you, watching you shimmy the hair curler from the dark brown wig. “styling my wig for this party tomorrow. wanna help?” you ask, inviting her to sit down in the chair in place of you. gwen sits down and you hand her the curler, placing your hand on top of hers.

“so you gotta put the hair into this little part right here and hold it there for like…eight seconds for looser curls. that’s how i like mine.” you shrug, watching her face contort in concentration. when gwen let’s go, a perfect curl emits from the curler, you smile and give her a hug.

“see? you’re a natural!”

TAGLIST ; — @venusluvslove @kisminarii @xricly @ohsanghoe @conniesbbymama @6olar @cupids-soul @sza-luvrrr @gobblethiskitty @lovedsolana @maniacvell @stellabunniii @theyfwkayla14 @radicaledward55 @bbytamaki @princess-hellokitty @hellomyearthlings @eva7ari @draculara-vonvamp @jared-oranges

[sunderedstar]

good books of 2024

according to meeee.

there is no order here, at least one of these was published ages ago, I'm just working my way through my 2024 timeline, godspeed spiderman. 🫡

Metal from Heaven

surprise hit of 2024. top of the charts. stunning, spectacular. gorgeous. Metal from Heaven FUCKS. almost every single main character is an explicit spicy toxic hot mess of a lesbian committing literal highway/train robbery, the bad guy is literally named Industry, leading to such peak sentences as "I am going to kill Industry." the prose is synesthetic in a way that most writers cannot sustain for a full novel but which here culminates in a moment of pure blissful Neon Genesis Evangelion that I will not elaborate on due to spoilers. the author pulls out the FUNNIEST lines, and also the most abrupt and heartbreaking tragedies. we're not here to be subtle, we're here to put the pedal to the metal until the engine explodes. such a damning, whip smart condemnation of industry, capitalism, power. all in the form of Lesbians. also the phrase 'clown orgy' is mentioned. this shit is like gideon the ninth with CRUNCH. NSFW.

but don't take my word for it. take amal el-mohtar's.

Absolution

Absolution is a hard book. requires thought and rigor at all times to absorb what's going on - and also a reread of the entire trilogy beforehand, because there's time travel nuance involved, which makes it next to impossible to sum up the plot coherently on its own without spoiling things. jeff vandermeer described it partially as 'fuck that alligator from the movie' and - valid. the first 60% had me; the later section...swapped gears drastically, which meant it took a while to hit its stride (aka until it reached Area X again). in hindsight I was just not prepared for one of the POVs to be the Freudian, violently stoned, unreliable narrator love-child of Karkat and Dave Strider whose perception/conception of the heart of the Southern Reach is extremely phallic. and then suddenly cannibalism happens. I liked Annihilation and Acceptance better, but damn. it almost feels like this should be the set up to another trilogy. much 2 think about.

Yield Under Great Persuasion

I don't know why I didn't hear anything about this one before it came out! (instead, I only saw posts about rowland's other book released this year, running close to the wind - which sadly did not hit for me at all). Yield Under Great Persuasion is just ridiculous enough to be fantastic. stubborn little gremlin man, big mad about Pumpkingate years after the original inciting incident that set him at odds with his love interest, attempts to pack his little rucksack and run away from all his self-inflicted gay problems, fails, is forced to deal with said personal problems by direct goddess-intervention. you know it's gonna be good when the guys are hate-banging by page 2. a short, delightful mix of (extremely silly and low-stakes) enemies to lovers and hurt/comfort and working out your emotional and communication issues on page style comfort food. self-indulgent in a fanfic way that is rowland's trademark in a taste of gold and iron (which was also fantastic and probably deserves a reread now.) NSFW.

The Spellshop

between this and yield under great persuasion there's an odd cozy fantasy pairing here. a self-isolated shut-in spellbook librarian who lives for her work escapes the fall of her city and sets up shop back in her old hometown on a severely magic-deprived island. there's some internalized trauma being worked through, against a simply charming backdrop of community and solidarity and magic spells. really. I was. charmed. which is a rare reaction on my part.

The Hunter's Gonna Lay Low

the curveball of the list, The Hunter's Gonna Lay Low is a translated (gay) Korean web novel, and it's the perfect intersection of a decent translator meeting an author who knows what they're doing. notorious tumblr user @spockandawe has a write up of the plot and its major themes here, but in essence it hooked me with its hunter/super-hero meets Pacific Rim setting, its themes of gifted kid burnout and unacknowledged trauma with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and the fact that the author clearly plotted out all of this in advance, with minor details from the opening chapter being extremely plot relevant a hundred chapters later. also, the characters are FUN! the relationship compels me. clownery abounds in all the best ways, while the world-ending stakes are also scarily sky high. its translation is currently incomplete as far as I'm aware, which is literally this story's only downside right now, since you can read it online for free - but so much of the main story is up and translated already that it's hard to imagine how much higher the stakes can go, and I'm dying to know if these two make it through and get the happy ending they deserve. a delicious repast.

Apostles of Mercy

I'm gonna rant here. this is the story of a series that got the redemption arc it deserved.

if you don't know, axiom's end is lindsay ellis's blatant Bayverse Transformers female lead alternate history fic. period. she has openly admitted this. you can easily and clearly pick out the Optimus/Megatron/Starscream expies. and that first book was GOOD. it understood the assignment. loved it.

then...truth of the divine happened. book two of the series. was frankly. god awful. it was like twilight's new moon, where the main character's depression saturates and therefore stagnates the entire narrative, in this case to its detriment. it dragged. the entire appeal of first book of the series is the bond between the main character and her new definitely-not-a-Transformer life partner, and book two managed to both sideline that - the entire point!!! the main thing you're reading it for! the alien time! - and introduce the most skeevy and (for me) unpleasant to read human hetero romance of all time. it was so unpleasant I actually forgot how bad it was.

somehow. somehow. palpatine returned. after I spent three years mourning what could have been. book three saved it. Apostles of Mercy addresses the whole damn skeevy toxic mess that was book two and refocuses on what matters - the alien love interest and a LESBIAN love interest. yes. it's true. once again the sapphics won. we now have a book where the main character is reliving lesbian sex memories as an alien-robot-insect-definitely-not-a-Transformer mindmelds with her so I mean. good job team? her love interest also acquires an alien life partner of her own to expand this into potential alien foursome range? the assignment is once again UNDERSTOOD. in terms of the action scenes, to quote myself while reading it, "I can't believe I'm saying this but you needed to channel far more Bayverse" [for book 2], and doing so for book 3 has produced a work of art. I would say skip book 2 entirely and thank me later, but experiencing how bad the series got at its darkest point is part of what made book 3 such an exhilarating high in comparison. possibly that was the goal all along, impossible to appreciate until now. I just need lindsay ellis to get the contract to write the currently-in-publication-limbo books 4 and 5. because the series deserves it. it only just got good again! NSFWish because I can't remember currently how explicit they got all these months later, forgive me.

The Deep Sky

yume kitasei is new to me, but this book hit some interesting notes as a sci fi debut. it too is about gifted kid burnout and imposter syndrome, funnily enough, in a thoughtful take on the standard sci fi concept of 'a bunch of rigorously trained young adults are sent out into deep space as an ark to save a dying humanity' that actually does discuss how fucked up that is as a concept, both for the kids as they grow up under enormous pressure to win a spot on the mission and for all those people being left behind, in what might just end up being an overhyped waste of resources, since civilization sure is still kicking when they leave. the summary on the book is somewhat misleading - asuka, the main character, doesn't fall under suspicion until wayyyy late in the book, and spends the majority of it in a pseudo-detective role that is absolutely sanctioned by those in charge. she's not 'an immediate suspect' like the book blurb insists. go figure. it didn't knock me out of the park like most of the books above, but it was an engaging little read.

The Bees

a weird one from 2014, picked up on a whim - it's literally about bees! fictionalized bees! with personalities and priesthoods and caste politics and everything! I cried about it to be honest. very plotty, somehow all of it neatly taking place within the Lifecycle of A Bee™️, which takes some real craftsmanship to pull off and make compelling as a narrative. since I'm an unrepentant Raksura fan, I was like 'wow...how Raksura coded...' knowing full well that Raksura are dragon bee people, not the other way around. also the Raksura could never be as toxic (complimentary) as these bees are. 😂 it's just good literature your honor.

honorable mentions:

Heavenly Tyrant

has not come out yet. but let's be real. it's on the list in anticipation. it's what she deserves.

The City in Glass

I love nghi vo's work, have read and adored all of the singing hills cycle novellas. it took a month for my library hold on this book to be available. and then I promptly got distracted by metal from heaven and the hunter's gonna lay low 😂 I will read it!!! the first eight pages were good! vitrine's voice is very good! I've just had a very busy end of the year interrupting my everything. (update: I read two more pages and it immediately and promptly popped off. whoops. guess I'm reading that next. whenever I have free time again...)

[mirai-e-jump]

Ohsama Sentai King-Ohger Photo Book: ~King of Kings~

Gira Husty Profile: King of Shugoddam, the most powerful country where the guardian god resides. Learning of king Racules Husty's goal of "prioritizing the unity of Chikyu, even at the expense of the people," he rebels against the world by playing the role of an "evil king" in order to protect everyone. His partner is God Kuwagata, and he arms himself with the KuwagataOhger armor.

Yanma Gast Profile: King of N'kosopa, country of technology. Born in a slum, he rose to the position of king with just his computer. He's a skilled engineer, and all of the equipment for the Royal Sentai was developed by Yanma. He's an ambitious man with a desire to improve, with many people looking up to and calling him "President" due to his yankii spirit.

Hymeno Ran Profile: Queen of Ishabana, country of fine art and medicine. While beautiful in appearance, she has an extremely selfish personality, and values "beauty" above all else. On the other hand, she has no hesitation in saving someone's life, and has the face of a doctor who brilliantly saves lives. She maintains a "selfish style" in battle, not caring about her surroundings, and fights using the King's Weapon: Scythe Mode.

Rita Kaniska Profile: King of Gokkan, country of ice and snow, they're the Chief International Judge who believes that neutrality is justice. They're always reserved and cautious, and don't show emotion, so they're often seen as a stubborn person……but, they actually have a compassionate side……? At the climax of the battle, they face the enemy with a cool style of "remaining immovable," unaffected by anything.

Kaguragi Dybowski Profile: Lord of Toufu, an agricultural country. He's always smiling and has a gentle and friendly personality. However, the truth is he's willing to use dirty tricks to protect his country, and has exceptional negotiating techniques to get things done to work to his advantage. He's concerned about his younger sister Suzume, who married Shugoddam's Racules.

Jeramie Brasieri Profile: Born to a father who was the sixth hero that saved mankind 2,000 years ago and a mother who was a Bugnarak, he has passed down the history of Chikyu for a long time as the "storyteller." His right arm is that of a Bugnarak, and he has a special ability to create strong webs from inside his body. His existence stirs up both the kings and Bugnarak, using words and actions that are difficult to read.

Racules Husty Profile: As king of Shugoddam, he united the five kingdoms with his unparalleled and overwhelming charisma, but was defeated in trial by combat with his brother Gira, and was dethroned as king. While Gira and the others were away from Chikyu, he became the king of Shugoddam and ruled the country as Shugo Mask……

Ohsama Sentai King-Ohger: Costume Guide The gorgeous costumes of the kings, which are reminiscent of the characteristics of each country. A guide to the current costumes and accessories worn by the characters since the beginning of the story.

Gira Husty (Top) Costume of Gira, who replaced Racules as king of Shugoddam. The cape remains the same, but the costume and boots underneath have changed!

(Middle) His recognizable oversized shirt and the bright red harness that highlight it. Red and black straps cross over the wide collar.

(Bottom) The brown boots were worn by Gira as he escaped during the beginning of the story. The necklace is designed with five pieces of red glass.

Yanma Gast (Top Right) Costume from the start of the new chapter two years later. The jacket has a design with a black belt hanging down. The cuffs have a zipper that can be opened and closed.

(Top Left) The wide pants are designed to be divided into upper and lower parts above the knee. The inner one has two lines on the front part. The color blue is used strikingly throughout.

(Middle) The cuff earring has ridges that grow alongside the ear, two chains, and N'kosopa's "King's Proof." The headphones have a cord connected to a switch.

(Bottom) Items that Yanma wears on his arms. The design of the shoes are silver with blue accents. They also have decorations that resemble headphones.

Kaguragi Dybowski (Top) A luxurious and gorgeous costume that just screams, "I'm the lord of Toufu!" The sleeves of the haori have a distinct pattern on both the front and back. The beehive like patterns are also a key point.

(Bottom) The footwear seen under his kimono are boots. Furthermore, the soles are shaped to be like geta.

Hymeno Ran (Top) From the new chapter, the shape of the sleeves and skirt have changed, and the large ribbon on the back is also one of its main features. The asymmetrical skirt produces cuteness and elegance. The tiara contains the "King's Proof."

(Middle Top) The previous costume was made up of a top, skirt, and corset. The skirt has volume, with the front being short and the back being long. The corset is laced up at the back.

(Middle Bottom) The sequin encrusted tights are the same design throughout the entire story. Also, the glittering shoes made entirely of gold are one of Hymeno's signature items.

(Bottom) Hymeno's Favorite Accessories: Hymeno has a large number of accessories, including earrings, necklaces, and bracelets, which among them she'll use at random. This is the commitment to beauty!

Rita Kaniska (Top Right) From the new chapter, Rita's clothes changed to a shorter length jacket. The metallic purple collar accentuates the black base color of the outfit.

(Top Left) The previous costume was a tailcoat type of long jacket. The black cloth is decorated with snowflake like patterns. The design of the purple collar and cuffs are the same as the costume for the new chapter.

(Bottom Left) The black gloves are one of the most distinctive features of Rita's costume. The bracelet decorated in the center has Gokkan's "King's Proof." There's a similar emblem on the cuff earring.

(Bottom Right) Rita is characterized by their all black outfit. Their knee length long boots are of course, also all black.

Jeramie Brasieri From the new chapter, an elegant cape has been added to Jeramie's costume. In the previous costume, his right arm had a longer sleeve. The top is asymmetrical with the left side being longer.

Handwritten Messages Check out the handwritten comments from the cast!

Sakai Taisei (Gira Husty)

"What do you respect about Gira, the character you play?" The fact that he tries to understand people's feelings!!

"If you were a king, what kind of country would you want to build?" A country where children can eat until they're full!!

"What do you think is the best part of Gira's costume?" The cape he got from his big brother!!

"Please give a message to Gira!" I want you to be happy!

"Please give a message to the king cast members!" I'm going to rule the world!!

"Finally, a message to the fans of King-Ohger!" You guys are the gears~ ^_^

Watanabe Aoto (Yanma Gast)

"What do you respect about Yanma, the character you play?" His sense of distance and respect for people.

"If you were a king, what kind of country would you want to build?" A country where the youth are the driving force.

"What do you think is the best part of Yanma's costume?" The sandals that I literally ran in for a whole year.

"Please give a message to Yanma!" I'm on top!!

"Please give a message to the king cast members!" Thank you for the past year!!

"Finally, a message to the fans of King-Ohger!" Thank you so much for your support. Now, you can also be a Royal Sentai.

Murakami Erica (Hymeno Ran)

"What do you respect about Hymeno, the character you play?" Her inner strength 💛

"If you were a king, what kind of country would you want to build?" A country without war.

"What do you think is the best part of Hymeno's costume?" The asymmetrical design!

"Please give a message to Hymeno!" I'm encouraged by your nobility!

"Please give a message to the king cast members!" Thank you all for making this past year so enjoyable. Really, thank you so much 💛

"Finally, a message to the fans of King-Ohger!" Filming for King-Ohger has finished, but we'll live on in everyone's hearts! Thank you so much for your support!!

Hirakawa Yuzuki (Rita Kaniska)

"What do you respect about Rita, the character you play?" The part where they never waver.

"If you were a king, what kind of country would you want to build?" A country where many different languages are spoken.

"What do you think is the best part of Rita's costume?" The chain attached to the jacket.

"Please give a message to Rita!" You've got humanity and are cute :)

"Please give a message to the king cast members!" We're family! Thank you so much for the past year!

"Finally, a message to the fans of King-Ohger!" Thank you so much for loving King-Ohger so much!

Kaku So (Kaguragi Dybowski)

"What do you respect about Kaguragi, the character you play?" That he'll dirty himself for the sake of others.

"If you were a king, what kind of country would you want to build?" Protein supplied.

"What do you think is the best part of Kaguragi's costume?" The emotions (design) on the sleeves.

"Please give a message to Kaguragi!" Be selfish every once in awhile.

"Please give a message to the king cast members!" Thank you all so much, we're family forever.

"Finally, a message to the fans of King-Ohger!" Thank you so much for your support. Let's meet again soon!!

Ikeda Masashi (Jeramie Brasieri)

"What do you respect about Jeramie, the character you play?" His vocabulary.

"If you were a king, what kind of country would you want to build?" Peaceful World.

"What do you think is the best part of Jeramie's costume?" It gives off the feeling of a prince.

"Please give a message to Jeramie!" Thanks ^_^

"Please give a message to the king cast members!" I was really happy with the six of us!

"Finally, a message to the fans of King-Ohger!" Thank you for all the love and good dreams.

[enchantresss97]

Dark Gravity - Part Six Finale part

Characters: Au!Eric Draven (Bill Skarsgård) x reader

Description: This is a Au!Eric Draven, no Shelly involved(although is another girl involved), no Roeg and no powers, other than that is still the Eric we know. He is powerful, dangerous, and infamous for his violent reputation, he’s someone people know to stay away from. A man whose name strikes fear in the hearts of many. His presence is commanding, intimidating. He’s not the type to open up, but when he locks eyes with you, there’s an undeniable tension that pulses in the air between you two. It’s hard to ignore the way he looks at you, the subtle flirting, and the dangerous charm that seems to surround him. You never imagined to meet him, but here you are, caught in a web of questions. Where will this lead? Can there be something more between you two? Will you end up friends, or is there something darker, more complicated in store? You can’t deny the tension, the attraction, it’s palpable. Could something truly happen between you and him? Only time will tell, but you can’t help but wonder: where will this take you?

Warning: (the warnings are for the whole story, not just this chapter) language, angst, drugs, alcohol, blood, violence, guns, murder, sex (at this point you know me), cheating.

Word count: 9930 yep, I know...

Ladies and gents, the moment you’ve been waiting for has arrived. The final part is here. Nearly 10,000 words long, because naturally, I had to finish it in my own style👀

THIS IS NOT EDITED!

Dark Gravity - Part Six

The car skids to a stop in front of the cabin, gravel kicking up beneath the tires. You barely remember the drive, just the chaos of it, Eric bleeding out in the backseat, Mark cursing, Lucas shouting directions. Your hands shake as you kill the engine. The silence that follows is suffocating.

Lucas is out of the car first, throwing the passenger door open and grabbing Eric’s legs. Mark moves fast too, hauling Eric up with an arm around his back. His body is limp between them, his head rolling, blood soaking through his clothes.

“Get the door,” Mark barks at you.

Your legs barely hold you, but you force yourself out of the car and stagger up the steps. The cabin is dark and cold when you shove the door open. No time for lights, no time for anything. Mark and Lucas barrelling past you, carrying Eric inside.

The table in the middle of the room, sturdy, solid wood becomes an operating table. Eric’s body slams onto it, knocking over bottles and an ashtray, but no one cares. His head lolls to the side, eyes barely open.

“Fuck,” Mark grits out, pressing his fingers against Eric’s throat. He exhales. “He’s still got a pulse.”

Lucas is already moving, tearing open drawers, pulling out a med kit. It’s not their first time doing this, not even close. They don’t panic, don’t hesitate. They’ve stitched each other up more times than they can count, learned how to do this because they had to. Hospitals were never an option.

Mark grips Eric’s shirt and rips it open, exposing the wound. “Bullet’s still in there.” His jaw clenches. “We need to get it out.”

Eric groans, his body twitching in pain, but he’s too weak to fight. You take a step closer, but Mark shoots you a look. “Stay back. Let us handle this.”

Your stomach churns, but you nod, fingers curling into fists.

Lucas dumps supplies onto the table. Scissors, gauze, forceps, stitching thread. “We need to stop the bleeding first,” he mutters, already working. His hands move fast, steady, pressing gauze against the wound. Eric makes a broken sound in his throat, his body seizing up.

Mark leans over him, voice low. “Stay with us, man.”

Eric’s lips barely move, but there’s a ghost of that fucking smirk. “You’re… so dramatic…”

Mark exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. Shut the fuck up.”

They work quickly, precision in every movement. The bullet has to come out first. Lucas digs in with the forceps, and Eric jerks violently, a strangled groan tearing from his throat. Mark holds him down, pressing hard against his shoulders.

Your nails bite into your palms. You can’t breathe. You can’t watch. But you can’t look away either.

Then—footsteps. Heavy. Fast.

The door bursts open, and four men stagger inside, breathing hard like they ran the whole way. Blood spatters their clothes. Their faces are grim.

Mark barely looks up. “What?”

One of them swallows hard. “They’re dead, all of our men, we are the only ones alive.” His voice is tight, raw. “Victor’s coming. He’s bringing his men.”

A silence heavier than anything settles over the room.

Lucas exhales, wiping blood from his hands. “How long?”

“Not long.”

Mark glances down at Eric. Still half-conscious, barely holding on. Then back at them. His expression hardens.

“Then we don’t have much time. Lucas, finish stitching him up. We don’t have time to be gentle.”

Lucas is already ahead of him, threading the needle with steady hands. The bleeding has slowed, but Eric is still losing too much. His body twitches under their grip, a broken groan slipping from his lips when the needle pierces his skin.

“Hold him down,” Lucas mutters.

“You still with us, man?” Mark says, not looking up.

Eric exhales a weak laugh, the sound rough. “Wouldn’t want… you crying over me.”

Mark grits his teeth, stopping himself for saying something.

Another  sharp groan rips through Eric’s throat, but this time, when his head rolls to the side, his gaze lands on you. His pupils are blown, his expression hazy from blood loss, but something dark flickers behind his eyes.

“You… look so fucking scared,” he murmurs, voice slurred. 

“You okay?” His voice is barely above a whisper, hoarse and uneven. “You’re… not hurt, right?”

You stare at him, stunned. Out of everything happening, out  of the blood staining his clothes, the bullets that nearly tore through him, the fact that he’s barely holding on. He’s orried about you?

“I—” Your throat is too tight to speak.

Eric exhales shakily, his eyes drifting shut for a moment before he forces them open again. “Did good… getting us out.” His gaze is still on you, though it’s unfocused, distant. “Fuck,” he mutters, blinking slowly. “Victor’s not done. He’ll keep coming.” His brows draw together in a sluggish frown, his fingers twitching like he’s trying to move but can’t. “You shouldn’t… be here.”

Something twists in your stomach. “And where exactly should I be, Eric?” you ask, voice quieter than you mean it to be.

His breath shudders. “Somewhere safe.”

His words shouldn’t affect you. Not now, not when there are more important things to worry about but they do. Because Eric is the last person who should be thinking about your safety. And yet, even in his half-conscious state, he is.

Lucas pulls the thread tight, sealing the wound, and Eric’s entire body tenses. His teeth clench, a strangled groan ripping from his throat before he slumps back against the table.

“That’s it,” Lucas mutters. “It’s done.”

After awhile the bleeding had finally stopped. The stitching was done. The room still smelled of blood and sweat, but at least Eric was breathing steady now. He sat on the edge of the table, shoulders slumped, a dark stain of dried blood covering most of his torso. His face was pale, exhausted, but his eyes were sharp again.

Mark handed him a bottle of whiskey. “Here. Take the edge off.”

Eric took it without a word, bringing it to his lips. The burn must’ve been brutal, but he didn’t flinch. His hands, still shaky, tightened around the glass. He let out a slow breath and then, like it was nothing, pushed himself up to stand.

You straightened immediately. “Eric—”

“I’m fine.” His voice was rough, but steady. His stance wasn’t perfect, he was still weak, his balance slightly off. But he was standing. He rolled his shoulders, testing his body like a predator assessing its own wounds. “We got time before they come.”

Mark watched him closely. “Not much.”

Silence settled over the room, thick and heavy. Everyone knew what was coming.

Lucas loaded a fresh magazine into his gun. “We need to set up.”

Eric nodded, already scanning the room like he was planning every move before it happened. The weakness in his body was clear, but something else burned in his expression now. Focus, calculation, something cold and unshakable. He reached for a gun, testing its weight in his palm.

Your stomach twisted. He shouldn’t be up. He shouldn’t be moving like this after what he just went through.

But Eric wasn’t normal. He never was.

The adrenaline was kicking in. And by the time Victor arrived, Eric would be ready.

The cabin turned into a battlefield before the fight had even begun.

Mark and Lucas secured the doors and windows, setting up barriers where they could. The men who had arrived earlier spread out, positioning themselves strategically. Guns were checked, loaded, and set within reach. The air was thick with tension, everyone moving with the quiet urgency of men who had done this before.

Eric sat on a wooden chair near the window, gun resting on his thigh, eyes locked on the dark woods outside. His shirt was still off, his bandaged wound stark against his skin, but he barely seemed to notice the pain anymore. The only sign of strain was the occasional clench of his jaw.

You stepped closer, lowering your voice. “Eric…”

His gaze flicked to you, just for a second. Then he exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. Without a word, he reached for you, his fingers curling around the back of your neck as he pulled you closer. His lips pressed against your forehead, brief, warm, and grounding.

“I know,” he muttered against your skin. “I know.”

Then he pulled away, his touch lingering for just a second longer before his attention snapped back to the dark woods outside.

You didn’t say anything else. What was there to say? You couldn’t stop what was coming.

Outside, the wind howled through the trees.

Then, in the distance, headlights.

“Shit,” Lucas hissed.

Eric straightened, fingers tightening around his gun. “They’re here.”

The sound of tires crunching against gravel grew louder. Shadows moved between the trees. The cabin, dark and hidden, felt like a powder keg seconds from igniting.

Eric rolled his shoulders, then turned to you. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned with something raw. “Stay close.”

Then, before you could respond, the first gunshot rang out.

Gunfire ripped through the air, echoing inside the cabin like rolling thunder. The scent of blood, sweat, and gunpowder thickened the air once again, turning it into something suffocating. Shadows moved in flashes. Men ducking for cover, glass shattering, bullets punching through wood and furniture.

Eric barely felt the pain anymore. Adrenaline burned through him like gasoline-fed fire, keeping him sharp, fast. He took cover behind the overturned table, reloading his gun with a swift, practiced motion. Across the room, Mark and Lucas were holding their ground, firing back at Victor’s men, but they were outnumbered.

A sudden movement caught Eric’s eye. Victor, slipping through the chaos, heading upstairs.

Eric’s voice was a command, low and insistent. “Go. Hide.”

There was no hesitation in his words. No time for fear. You barely had a moment to nod before Eric shoved you toward the bathroom, his hand firm on your back. You ran, feeling the weight of the situation in every heartbeat. The door slammed shut behind you, your breath coming in frantic gasps as you pressed your back against the cold tiles.

Behind you, the footsteps were loud, unmistakable.

Victor.

He knew.

You heard him before you saw him. Victor’s mocking voice cutting through the silence. “Well, well, well. Didn’t expect the pretty girl to make it this far.”

The door flew open with a violent crash.

Eric didn’t think. He moved.

Pushing himself up, he cut through the firefight, dodging bullets with near-inhuman instinct. He burst through the narrow hallway, following Victor into the bathroom.

He charged in, fury burning in his eyes, but Victor was ready. A clash of bodies, the sounds of fists pounding against flesh, grunts of pain and effort, and the sickening crack of bone. They were like two animals in a cage, brutal, savage, nothing held back.

Eric slammed Victor against the sink, the mirror shattering into pieces. But Victor wasn’t done. He drove a knee into Eric’s stomach, and Eric grunted, stumbling back. They grappled, their bodies twisting, a tangle of rage and desperation.

“Fucking die already,” Victor spat, but Eric fought back, shaking off the daze. Blood dripped from his face, but his eyes burned with fury.

“Fucker,” Eric spat

And before Victor could get a shot off, Eric was on him again, slamming his knee into Victor’s stomach. The force knocked the wind out of him, and the gun went flying.

In the chaos, both men struggled to their feet, blood spilling onto the floor.

Then, Victor managed to get a hand on his weapon, his finger tightening around the trigger—

But Eric was faster.

With a guttural roar, Eric shoved the knife that he found on the counter deeper into Victor’s neck. Victor’s eyes locked onto his, but there was nothing left in them, just pure hate.

In that final moment, Victor pulled the trigger.

The shot rang out, and Eric’s body jerked violently.

The bullet tore through his chest, the same place where he had been shot before, and he collapsed backward, his body crashing to the ground like a ragdoll.

Victor didn’t move. His body slumped into the bathtub, lifeless.

Eric stood there, chest heaving, blood dripping from his fingers and from his bandage. His grip on the knife loosened. His body swayed.

And then—

He dropped.

Your body moved before you could even think.

You rushed to Eric, cradling his head in your lap. His blood was warm, sticky on your hands, but you didn’t care. You needed him. He was still breathing. Barely.

“Eric,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

You choked back a sob, your hands shaking as you tried to stop the bleeding.

“No, no, no,” you whispered over and over. “You’re not dying. You can’t. I won’t let you.”

Eric’s hand reached up, weak but steadying. His fingers grazed your cheek, wiping away a tear that fell without your permission. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice thick. “Didn’t mean for you to get caught up in this. But damn… I never thought you’d care for a guy like me.”

“You’re everything to me,” you said, your voice breaking. “Please don’t go. Please don’t leave me.”

“Eric—” Your hands pressed against his wound, trying to stop the bleeding. His blood was warm, soaking through your fingers, spreading across your skin. “Stay with me.”

His breath stuttered. His grip tightened for a second, then went slack.

Panic gripped your chest. “No. No, stay awake.” Your hands cupped his face, forcing him to look at you. “Please. I—I love you.”

His eyes flickered, his gaze locking onto yours.

Something shifted in them. Something soft.

Eric’s lips parted, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, wanting to say something.

And then his hand went limp.

The life drained from his eyes, his chest stuttering before it stilled.

You screamed, the world around you falling into an abyss of darkness and blood.

You’re trembling, your body shaking uncontrollably, and your eyes refuse to focus on anything but Eric, lying there, still, broken, in your arms.

Then, the door slams open.

Mark stands there, his eyes wide as he takes in the scene. The look on his face mirrors what you already know: the horror, the disbelief, the overwhelming weight of the situation. His gaze flicks from you to Eric, and his face contorts in shock. He takes a step forward, his voice shaky but determined.

“We need to get him to a hospital. Now,” he says, though the urgency in his voice doesn’t match the frozen look on his face.

You can’t answer him. You can’t even bring yourself to speak. It feels like the world is ending, like everything is slipping away, and you’re helpless to stop it.

Mark doesn’t wait for you to respond. He moves quickly, his voice a bit more authoritative now. “I’ll get Lucas. We need to act fast. Stay with him, stay calm.” He turns and rushes out of the bathroom.

Your hands are shaking, and you don’t know what to do. It’s as if you’ve forgotten everything. What were you supposed to do? How were you supposed to help him?

A few minutes later, Mark returns with Lucas, both of them looking just as frantic as you feel. Another man follows them, his face grim and set, eyes scanning the room with the same urgency. Lucas kneels beside you, his hands shaking slightly as he places a hand on Eric’s chest, feeling for a heartbeat. There’s a pause, and then he exhales, as if he’s been holding his breath. “He’s still alive. Barely. We need to move him, now.”

Mark nods, quickly crouching down and helping Lucas carefully lift Eric’s body. The other man, without a word, grabs a blanket, throwing it over Eric’s body, hiding the blood, hiding the truth, at least for a moment. They’re preparing him for transport, and you can barely hold it together, your breath coming in short bursts as you try to comprehend what’s happening.

Mark turns to you, his expression softening just for a moment, but the urgency doesn’t allow for it to last. “We’ll take him out the back. No time for anything else. It’s our only chance.”

You nod numbly, unable to speak, too consumed by the gravity of the moment. You watch, helpless, as the men lift Eric’s limp body, moving with a practiced urgency. You’re still frozen, but you know you have to follow. You have no choice but to follow them.

They move through the back door of the cabin, trying to make as little noise as possible. Mark holds Eric’s body against his chest, Lucas watching from the side, ensuring they’re not spotted. They move quickly through the shadows, towards the car parked in the alleyway. The air outside is cold, the night alive with tension, but you can barely feel anything but the heaviness in your chest.

You barely make it to the car, your heart racing as you climb in beside Lucas. He’s already in the driver’s seat, his hands tight on the wheel, his jaw clenched in a mixture of fear and determination. Mark is in the back with Eric, holding his body against him, whispering something you can’t hear.

The car jolts as the engine starts, and Lucas doesn’t waste a second. He slams his foot on the gas pedal, driving like a maniac, swerving through the dark roads, barely slowing down as they approach the highway. The speedometer climbs higher and higher, the tires screeching as the car pushes forward, desperation and fear driving them all.

You can’t even form words, the silence in the car thick and heavy with your grief. You feel like you’re suffocating, the pressure in your chest too much to bear, the loss already beginning to swallow you whole. The thought of losing Eric… it feels like too much.

The car screeches to a halt in front of the hospital, the tires burning as Lucas slams on the brakes, bringing them to an abrupt stop. The headlights cut through the night like a beacon of desperation. The cold air hits you like a shockwave as you spill out of the car, your body shaking from the effort of trying to stay calm. You can barely focus, too consumed with the terrifying thought that Eric might slip away before anyone can save him.

The hospital staff is already rushing out before you even make it to the sidewalk. A nurse, seeing the state of Eric, immediately signals for help. “Get the stretcher!” she shouts. Within seconds, a team of medics swarms around him, pushing a gurney towards the car. Mark helps lift Eric’s still form, holding him carefully as they lay him on the stretcher. You can barely breathe, your heart hammering against your ribs as you follow them, barely able to keep up with the frantic pace.

The doors of the hospital slide open, and the noise of the sterile, fluorescent-lit hallway hits you like a cold wave. People bustle around, moving quickly, their faces tense with concentration as they prepare to deal with the emergency. A nurse takes one look at you, and without a word, she directs you to a waiting room, her voice soft but firm, “Stay here.”

“I’m going with him,” you snap, your voice shaking, but your resolve is unbreakable.

The desperation in your eyes must say enough because no one stops you after that. They let you in.

You follow, breathless, as they rush him down the hallway, your heart hammering against your ribs as the doors to the ER burst open. Everything is chaos—

Too bright. Too white. The fluorescent lights buzz above you, a low, relentless hum that scrapes against your skull. The world feels distant, like it’s slipping through your fingers, but you don’t try to hold onto it. You just stand there, staring through the glass.

Inside, they’re working on him.

Doctors move frantically around the gurney, their voices sharp, cutting through the heavy silence that presses down on your ears.

Someone shouts something short, urgent, but the words slip past you like water. Machines beep, alarms wail, gloves snap.

A nurse moves aside, and for a second, you see him. His body still, chest bare, skin too pale under the harsh lights and the only colour coming from his tattoos.

Eric.

Blood is everywhere.

On the sheets, on the doctors’ gloves, smeared across his chest. His body jerks violently as they press paddles to him, a raw, mechanical voice calling out—Clear!—before another brutal shock rips through him. His back arches, then slams back onto the table.

No reaction.

Eric isn’t moving.

A thick, plastic tube is shoved down his throat, his lips parted around it, blood crusting at the corner of his mouth. His eyes are closed. He isn’t breathing.

He looks—

No.

You won’t think that word.

Another shock.

The force lifts him, his muscles seizing, ribs straining under the voltage. The monitor wails, a long, unbroken scream of flatlining sound. Someone shouts something. A doctor throws something aside, snapping orders. Gloves streaked in red press down on Eric’s chest, pumping, pushing, forcing his body to keep fighting.

You can’t move. You can’t breathe.

Eric is dying.

A reflection flickers in the glass. You barely register it, but somewhere in the back of your mind, it scratches. A shape, unmoving.

A girl.

Small, standing down the hallway, her arms wrapped around herself. Long blonde hair spills over her shoulders, pale against the hospital’s fluorescent lights. Her eyes—deep green, too deep—lock onto yours, wide and unblinking. There’s something in her face, something hollow, something afraid.

Why?

Your gaze drops to your hands, your arms, your clothes.

Blood.

Seeping into the fabric, dark and dried in some places, wet and sticky in others.

Your fingers twitch.

Slowly, almost mechanically, you reach for your jacket and pull it closed over your chest, hiding the red.

A voice calls out. A name, maybe yours, maybe his. But you don’t turn. You just watch through the glass as they press the paddles to Eric’s chest one more time.

His body jolts.

And then—

A sound.

Faint, barely there. A blip of resistance against the silence.

Beep.

Your breath hitches.

Then another.

Beep. Beep.

The long, merciless flatline cuts off, replaced by an erratic, stuttering rhythm. Weak. Fragile. But there.

The doctors move in a blur, stabilizing, adjusting tubes, calling out numbers you don’t understand. Someone barks an order, and they push a cart forward, wheeling Eric toward another room. His face remains slack, unmoving, but the screen beside him flickers with life.

Your body sags against the glass, fingers slipping down the cold surface. A sob crawls up your throat, but it sticks there, refusing to come out.

“Holy shit,” Mark mutters beside you, but his voice sounds far away. Distant, like it’s coming through a thick layer of fog.

A hand lands on your shoulder. Warm, grounding but you don’t react. Your eyes stay fixed on Eric, on the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath the tangle of tubes and wires.

Not dead.

Not gone.

But not safe, either.

A nurse steps into the hall, pulling down her mask. She looks at you first, at the blood smeared across your clothes, at the way your hands are clenched so tightly your knuckles have gone white. Her expression softens.

“He’s alive,” she says, and for a split second, the world stops spinning.

But then she adds, “Your husband is alive. But he’s critical. We’re taking him to surgery now.”

Her words barely register. The room tilts slightly, the overhead lights swimming in your vision.

Then the words hit like a bullet to the ribs.

Your breath stutters, your body locking up. The nurse doesn’t wait for a correction just gives you a reassuring nod before turning away, disappearing down the corridor.

That word echoes in your skull, clanging against the chaos inside you. You don’t correct it. You don’t say anything at all. He’s alive. That all it matters.

“Hey,” Mark’s voice sharpens. “Breathe.”

You inhale, shaky and uneven.

The next minutes blur. Eric disappears behind double doors, swallowed by sterile corridors and too-bright lights. Mark and Lucas guide you to a set of chairs against the wall, but sitting doesn’t help. Nothing helps.

Your clothes are stiff with dried blood. Your hands won’t stop shaking.

You sink into the chair, legs too weak to hold you. The world feels unsteady, shifting beneath you like you’re standing on the edge of something you can’t quite name.

You sit there, motionless, staring at the space where Eric had been just moments ago. The nurse’s words still echo in your head, looping over and over again.

“Your husband is alive.”

She had said it so naturally, so easily, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. As if there had never been any doubt. As if it made sense.

Your husband.

The thought lingers, curling around your mind like smoke. You’d barely processed it then, too desperate to see him, but now it twists in your chest, stirring something deep, something raw.

You press your elbows against your knees, burying your face in your hands. Blood stains your fingers, dried and cracked at the edges, a stark reminder that this is real. That Eric almost died. That maybe he still will.

You exhale, shaky and uneven, and lift your head.

And then you see her again.

The little girl.

She’s still down the hall, but now she’s with her mom, or you think that the woman is her mom. She’s standing near the corner, peeking out cautiously. Her arms are wrapped around herself, her small fingers clutching the fabric of her dress. She isn’t afraid of you. She’s just watching, those big green eyes unblinking.

And then—those green eyes.

She couldn’t have been more than six or seven, her long blonde hair falling in waves over her small shoulders. But it was her eyes that caught you, a vivid, piercing green. The same impossible shade that burned through you every time Eric looked your way.

She was just a child, just a stranger in the hospital. But for a brief, irrational moment, you saw something else.A future, a daughter with his eyes. A family.

Something shifts in your stomach, deep and unsettling.

It’s ridiculous. It’s nothing. It means nothing.

But the thought lodges itself in your brain, and it won’t let go.

Maybe a little girl with green eyes and blonde hair would have been running toward him, calling him Dad.

You swallow hard, pressing your back into the chair.

It’s stupid. It’s nothing.

But still, your heart aches.

You don’t know how much time has passed. It doesn’t feel real.

Then, a voice pulls you back.

“You need to eat.”

You blink, sluggish, disoriented, and look up. Lucas is standing in front of you, holding out a bottle of water and a sandwich in plastic wrapping. His face is drawn, his usual sharpness dulled by exhaustion.

You shake your head. “I’m not hungry.”

He glances toward the hallway clock and scoffs softly. “It’s afternoon.”

Your stomach turns. Afternoon.

It doesn’t make sense. How could time have slipped away so fast? The last thing you remember, it was dark, sirens wailing in the night. Now, the hospital hums with life, daylight streaming through the windows. You’ve been sitting here for hours.

Before you can say anything, a nurse appears. You snap upright, pulse spiking, searching her face for answers before she even speaks.

“He’s stable.”

The words hit you like a crash, knocking the breath from your lungs.

Stable.

Lucas exhales sharply beside you, but you barely register it.

“His vitals have improved,” the nurse continues. “The surgery went well. He lost a lot of blood, but we were able to control it. He’s going to need time, but…” she offers a small, cautious smile, “he’s better.”

Your chest tightens, your fingers digging into the bottle. “Can I see him?”

The nurse hesitates. You can see the conflict in her face, the rules she’s supposed to follow battling against the raw desperation in your voice.

Then, finally, she exhales.

“Alright. Just for a moment.”

The room is dimly lit, the sterile glow of machines casting faint shadows against the walls. It smells of antiseptic, too clean, too sharp. The steady beep of a monitor fills the silence, rhythmic and unyielding, each pulse a reminder that he’s still here.

Eric lies motionless in the hospital bed.

Wires snake across his bare chest, disappearing beneath the blankets. His skin is pale, the bruises and stitched wounds stark against it. A thick bandage wraps around his shoulder and another one to his chest, where the fresh gunshots wound still lingers, another scars among so many.

Your fingers tremble as you reach for him. Slowly, carefully, you take his hand in yours. It’s warm, solid, alive. A choked breath leaves you, and your knees nearly give out.

He’s alive.

The relief is suffocating. It presses into your ribs, tight and painful, forcing the tears from your eyes before you can stop them.

You squeeze Eric’s hand a little tighter. “You scared me,” you murmur, voice unsteady. “I thought—” You stop yourself, shaking your head. “Just don’t do it again, okay?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t move. But the machine beeps steadily beside him, a promise that he’s still here, that he’s still fighting.

You lean your forehead against his hand, eyes squeezing shut as a silent tear slips down your cheek.

And you stay like that. Holding on.

At some point, the door creaks open. The sound barely registers until a voice follows it, soft but firm.

“You should rest.”

The voice is soft but firm, pulling you out of your trance. You blink, barely registering the nurse standing beside you. She gives you a small, understanding smile before her eyes drop to your clothes.

“And you should change,” she adds gently.

You follow her gaze.

Blood.

It’s his blood.

You swallow hard, your fingers twitching against Eric’s hand, gripping him tighter.

“I don’t want to leave him,” you say, barely above a whisper.

The nurse crouches slightly to meet your gaze. “He’s stable now. He made it through the worst of it.” She pauses; voice softer. “You won’t do him any good like this.”

The blood on you is dried, but it still feels wet, like it’s seeping into your skin, into your soul, staining something deeper than fabric.

The nurse touches your arm lightly. “Go home. Shower. Change. Come back. He’ll still be here.”

You force yourself to nod.

Slowly, painfully, you unwind your fingers from Eric’s. It feels like ripping yourself open, like leaving a piece of yourself behind as you step away.

When you step into the hallway, Mark and Lucas are there.

Lucas looks up first, eyes scanning you. He opens his mouth, probably to ask if something happened, but you beat him to it.

“The nurse told me to go home and change,” you say. Your voice doesn’t even sound like your own. “She said he’s stable.”

Mark nods. “That’s good.”

Lucas studies you for a second before nodding, too. “We’ll stay here.”

You exhale, gripping your jacket tighter around you, and without another word, you turn and leave.

The apartment feels different.

The moment you step inside, silence swallows you whole. The lights are off. Everything is exactly how you left it, but it feels wrong, like you don’t belong here anymore. Like you stepped into a place frozen in time, but you are no longer the same.

You move on autopilot, stripping out of your clothes the second you step into the bathroom. The fabric clings to you, and you hate it. You want it off, want it gone, want to erase every trace of tonight from your body.

You step into the shower and turn the water as hot as it will go.

It scalds your skin, but you don’t move.

You close your eyes, pressing your forehead against the cool tiles as the water pounds against your back.

You suck in a breath, but it’s shaky, like your lungs forgot how to work properly.

For a moment, he was gone.

And for a moment, you thought—

No.

You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head. No. He’s alive. He made it. You keep telling yourself that, but the fear lingers, wrapping itself around your ribs, squeezing tight.

You don’t know how long you stay there. Long enough for the water to start running cold. Long enough for your skin to feel raw from the heat.

Eventually, you force yourself to move.

You dry off, dress quickly in something clean. You sit down on the couch for a moment. Your knees pulled up to your chest, arms wrapped around them, staring at nothing. The apartment still feels wrong, like a place that belonged to someone else, to a different version of you who had no idea what the night would bring.

You should leave. You should go back to the hospital. But just for a second, you sit down, just to catch your breath, just to clear your mind for a moment before you go back to him.

Your head rests against the cushion. You blink slowly.

And then—

Darkness.

A sharp jolt rips you out of sleep.

You sit up too fast, the world spinning, panic hitting you like a fist to the chest.

Daylight spills through the windows. The soft, grey kind of morning light that settles over the city, stretching long shadows across the floor.

Morning.

Morning.

Your heart slams against your ribs.

“Fuck—” The word rips out of you, raw and sharp as you shove the blanket off of you. When did you even pull a blanket over yourself? It doesn’t matter. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

You shoot off the couch, grabbing your jacket, shoving your shoes on, moving too fast, your body still heavy with exhaustion but your mind racing. How could you fall asleep? How could you be so fucking stupid?

The hospital.

You need to get to the hospital.

You rush through the halls, your breath still uneven, your pulse loud in your ears.

When you spot Mark, you go straight to him. Lucas is beside him, both of them looking up as you stumble toward them, your words already spilling out—

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know how it happened, I just— I sat down for a second, and then I— I should’ve been here, I didn’t mean to leave for so long, I swear, I—”

Mark shakes his head, raising a hand. “Relax.”

“No, but I—”

Lucas sighs, stepping closer, and before you can start talking again, he cuts you off—

“He’s awake.”

The world tilts.

Your breath catches.

“What?”

Lucas smirks, just a little. “Eric’s awake.” His eyes flick toward the door. “And he wants to see you.”

The air leaves your lungs all at once.

Then, without another word, you turn and walk straight toward his room.

The quiet beeping of the machines fills the room, the sterile smell of the hospital air mixing with the faint scent of Eric’s skin. He’s awake now, his eyes flicking to you with that same intensity, though there’s something softer beneath the surface. Something… real.

His voice breaks the silence, rough and a little unsteady. “You look like shit.” The words come out with that familiar smirk of his, but there’s no malice in them. Just that sharp edge of his humour.

You chuckle softly, a little breathless. “Yeah, well, you look like you’ve been through hell.”

He chuckles too, but it’s more of a rasp, like he’s testing the limits of his own body, still fragile from the ordeal. He watches you, a glint in his eyes, as if trying to read every emotion flickering across your face.

You glance away, feeling the weight of everything that’s happened pressing down on you.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” you say, your voice quieter than you mean for it to be, but it’s the truth. The fear that had gripped you earlier when you didn’t know if he was going to pull through starts to bubble up again.

He leans forward, just a little, the shift in his posture pulling you in without him even trying. “You didn’t think I’d let you get away that easy, did you?” His tone is teasing, but there’s something more there. Something deeper.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, his gaze softening just a little. The teasing edge is still there, but there’s something else now. Something genuine, like he’s trying to reassure you.

He reaches out slowly, almost as if testing the waters, and you can feel your pulse quicken. His fingers graze your cheek lightly, then trail down to your jaw, sending a shiver through you. His touch is steady, grounding, but it’s his gaze—deep and searching—that pulls you in completely.

Without thinking, you close the small distance between you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that’s unexpected but everything you’ve been wanting. His lips are warm, just the right amount of pressure, and when he deepens it, you’re lost. Every worry, every ounce of fear you’ve felt over the past hours melts away, replaced by the rush of heat and the sweet taste of his mouth.

When he finally pulls back, just slightly, you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. He looks at you, his eyes a mixture of affection and something darker, something that makes your chest tighten.

But then, without warning, he shifts in the bed, his body slowly pulling away from you. You watch, wide-eyed, as Eric starts to swing his legs off the side, his movements shaky, unstable.

You grab his arm instinctively, panic surging through you. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Your voice is sharp, laced with concern. His body is weak, and you can see the strain on his face as he tries to stand, his legs wobbling beneath him.

He looks at you, a faint smirk on his lips, though it’s clear he’s pushing himself harder than he should. “I’m getting out of here.”

Your brow furrows, even more confused and alarmed now. “You’re not going anywhere. You can barely stand.”

He lets out a low chuckle, though it’s more out of frustration than humour. “I can’t stay here.” His voice is strained, but firm. “The cops are on their way. They’ll want to question me. That’s how it works with hospitals, sweetheart. They’ve already notified them.”

You freeze, his words sinking in. The police? Here? In this moment, it feels like the last thing you want to deal with, but his expression is all seriousness. He’s not kidding.

The door open slowly as Mark and Lucas come inside.

“You good?” Lucas says while gives Eric a bag with clothes.

We’re good,” you answered in Eric’s place, he being too busy to dress himself.

Lucas gives a nod, glancing at Mark. The two of them share a silent look before Mark steps forward, his expression serious.

“We’ve got the diversion set up,” he says in a low voice. “But it’s not going to last forever. We need to move fast.”

Mark gestures toward the emergency exit, and the four of you move quickly. The hospital is full of sound. Footsteps, voices, the incessant hum of machines but it’s easy to slip by unnoticed, the shadows seeming to swallow you whole.

You make your way to a back stairwell, and that’s when Lucas quickly pulls out his phone. His fingers fly across the screen, and you see him text something, maybe to one of their guys.

“The distractions in place,” he mutters. “They’ll cause a scene on the front entrance. Enough to pull security and anyone else away from the back.”

The diversion kicks in a few seconds later. A loud crash echoes through the hallway, followed by shouts and panicked voices. You don’t turn around, but you can feel the shift in the atmosphere. The tension in the air breaks for a moment as everyone’s attention is pulled toward the front of the building.

That’s their cue.

Mark leads the way down another set of stairs, his steps quick and deliberate. You follow, your heart pounding, Eric’s breath shallow beside you.

You reach a small back exit, the cool night air greeting you as Mark pulls the door open, looking around quickly to make sure the coast is clear. You all slip out into the alley behind the hospital.

You barely have time to process anything as Lucas pulls out a car key and unlocks a nearby black SUV. The engine rumbles to life as you all pile in, with Eric collapsing into the seat next to you, still pale but determined.

We made it,” Mark says, exhaling sharply. “That should give us enough time to get out of the area before anyone figures out what happened.”

Mark laughs from the front seat. It’s infectious, and before long, Lucas is chuckling too, and even Eric’s deep laugh fills the space between you, like a weightlifting off his shoulders.

Eric pulls you closer, his arm reaching across the back seat to bring you against him. His lips are on your neck before you can fully comprehend what’s happening. You shiver, the warmth of his body against yours sending a rush of heat through your veins.

“We fucking did it,” Eric mutters, his voice low and rough, sending a thrill down your spine. He grins like a man who’s just conquered the world, but his eyes tell a different story. They’re dark, almost wild with a mix of adrenaline and something else, something you can’t quite place but know is dangerous.

You glance at Mark and Lucas up front. They’re busy, pretending not to notice, like it’s nothing, like they don’t care that Eric has his hand in your hair, pulling you even closer. It’s like a switch has flipped, and everything feels like it used to. Reckless, unrestrained, the rush of living in the moment.

Eric’s lips find yours in a sudden, urgent kiss, deep and demanding. He tastes like the wild rush of the escape, like everything that’s been building between you two. The kiss is filled with everything you’ve both been holding back, a mix of relief, hunger, and an undeniable connection.

He groans softly against your lips, his hand drifting down to your thigh, his fingers pressing slow into the soft fabric of your jeans, between your legs. His voice drops, thick and dark, as he whispers into your ear.

“I’ve missed this… missed you…” His breath against your skin sends a shiver down your spine. “So fucking much. Don’t think for a second that I’m letting you go.”

You barely have time to respond before his lips are on you again, more frantic now, more desperate. His hand keeps moving on your core. You can feel his heart thumping in time with yours.

In the front, Mark and Lucas keep their eyes on the road, not acknowledging what’s happening in the back seat.

The car eventually pulls into the familiar street, and the noise of the city fades as Mark parks outside Eric’s building. The engine hums to a stop, but the moment feels like it could last forever.

Eric’s breathing is heavy, his lips still lingering on yours, as if he can’t quite let you go, but he pulls away just enough to give you a smirk.

“You good?” he asks, voice rough but full of satisfaction.

You nod, still lost in the heat of his kiss, of his touch, your pulse racing. “I’m good,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mark’s voice breaks through, sounding almost playful. “We’re here. You two better save the rest for later.”

Eric straightens himself up, adjusting his shirt as if nothing happened, though the look in his eyes says everything. He’s back. The old Eric, the one who was unstoppable, who lived for the thrill of the chase. The one you had to be careful of. But right now, he’s just yours.

The four of you head up to Eric’s place.

“You need something, you call” Mark says while Lucas gives Eric a bag full of painkillers.

They hang out for a few minutes, talking quietly, and then leave you two alone.

As the door closes behind them, the silence settles in, the city outside fading into the background.

As you walk toward the bedroom, you glance over your shoulder, making sure Eric is following

“Come on,” you murmur, guiding him gently toward the bed. “You need to lie down.”

“You’re bossy,” Eric chuckles, raising an eyebrow, but he obliges, slowly easing down onto the bed with a sigh. His movements are slow, deliberate, and you can see the pain etched across his face, how bad everything hurt, every move he makes he’s hissing in pain.

“ I like it.” He says reaching over to the bedside table and grabs the bottle of painkillers, swallowing a couple with a grimace before settling back against the pillow. His gaze meets yours, warm and appreciative.

You smile, settling down beside him. “Well, someone has to keep you in line.”

“Let’s watch something” you say  ce Reaching for the remote, you scroll through the options, trying to pick something lighthearted. Something that can take his mind off of everything. Finally, you settle on a romantic movie, one that feels fitting for the soft, golden light streaming through the window. The sun is setting, casting a warm, amber glow across the room, and the curtains flutter ever so slightly, the air carrying the soft scent of the outside world.

You lean back, careful not to jostle him too much, your shoulder gently brushing his as you settle in. He turns his head slightly, his hand finding yours almost instinctively. His fingers lightly trace over yours, the touch soft but somehow weighty, like it holds more meaning than either of you are willing to admit just yet.

Eric’s thumb gently moves along the back of your hand, his touch light but constant. He doesn’t speak for a moment, just enjoying the stillness of it all. Then his hand gently slipping around your waist, pulling you even closer. The touch is tender, almost reverential.

“Do you really like this movie?” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. His lips linger there, gentle and sweet, and you find yourself melting into him even more, every little touch making you feel like you’re exactly where you need to be.

You look up at him, catching the glint of affection in his eyes. 

Before you can respond, his lips are on yours, soft and lingering. The kiss is sweet, the kind that says more than words ever could. But soon, it deepens, the sweetness turning into something much hotter. His hand moves from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as his mouth presses more insistently against yours.

You kiss him back just as fiercely, your fingers sliding into his hair, tugging him closer. The room seems to disappear around you as the kiss deepens, the heat between you two intensifying, raw and needy. The movie, the sunset, everything else fades into the background. There’s only the two of you lost in the sensation of each other, in the fire that has reignited between you.

As you straddle him, your legs sliding over his, the intensity between you two heightens. Your breath hitches in your throat, heart pounding in anticipation, the space between you shrinking until there’s nothing left but the press of your bodies, the heat radiating between you both. Your legs rest on either side of his, your knees gently framing his waist, feeling the weight of him beneath you.

The touch of his hands on your back is electric, sending a current through you, every inch of skin that connects to his is a spark, and the closeness feels suffocating yet exhilarating, a dizzying mixture of love, lust, and the raw desire that’s been building for what feels like forever. 

Your hands move instinctively, pulling at the fabric of his shirt, fingers trembling as you strip it off. Your eyes trail over his chest, your eyes are drawn down to his torso, to the bandages wrapped around him. The sight of it, raw, exposed, and real stirs something deep inside you, a surge of protectiveness and tenderness. The clean white bandage stands out stark against his skin, marking the injury, the thing that could’ve taken him from you, but also a reassure that he’s here, with you, alive.

Eric leans in, kissing you deeply, the heat of his body matching the fire in his kiss. It’s intense, raw, but beneath it all is tenderness. Something unspoken, a deeper connection that goes beyond the physical.

Between kisses, his hands move to your waist, lifting gently your top, removing it from your body. You both continue till you’re both completely naked.

As you pull away for just a moment to catch your breath, your eyes meet his. His gaze is intense, dark with desire, but there’s still something vulnerable in it, something soft that calls to you. You move your eyes from hisnto his hard cock. His chest rises and falls rapidly as if he’s fighting the urge to take you.

Slowly you wrap your hand around his cock, moving your hand up and down from the base to the tip.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse while his watching your moves.

You don’t stop, you keep moving your hand faster this time. A soft low moan escaped Eric lips. Small drops of precum start to form at his tip.

Suddenly he removes your hand pulling you closer, moving you on top of him, your body presses against his.

“Sorry baby, no time for this, I need to be inside you now. I need to feel you.” He says wrapping his hand around his cock, moving slowly to your entrance.

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice low and guttural, when you let yourself down on his cock. You begin to move, slowly at first, teasing him. His head falls back against the pillow, eyes half-lidded, watching you with a hunger that makes your stomach flutter and your pulse race.

 His hands find your hips, guiding you, controlling your rhythm, but you take control again, moving in slow, deliberate rolls of your hips, feeling the weight of him inside you, filling you in ways that make your whole body ache for more. You feel the heat of him beneath you, the way his chest rises and falls with each strained breath.

His lips crash against yours, deep, urgent, and almost too hungry. His hands move between you, fingers sliding down your skin, tracing the curve of your body before pulling you in closer, making you grind harder against him, the friction of your bodies raw and electric.

His hands slide down your body, gripping your thighs as he pulls you even closer, thrusting harder into you. The raw sound of skin meeting skin fills the air, and you can’t help but moan louder, your body rocking against his in perfect rhythm, desperate, needy, unrelenting.

You gasp out his name, and he laughs softly, darkly, the sound laced with something primal that sends a shiver down your spine. “Every time I more, it hurts like a bitch,” he says, a smirk pulling at his lips despite the pain. 

You hesitate for a split second, worried that he’s pushing himself too far, but before you can pull away, he grabs your wrist, his grip tight, not letting you move. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he growls, his eyes locking with yours.

His words hit you like a wave, and you fall into him again, your movements becoming more frantic, more desperate as the pace quickens, every motion causing his body to jerk beneath you.

“Ride me, baby,” he commands in a rough whisper, his voice thick with lust. “Ride me until this pain wears off. Until the only feeling is your pussy wrapped tightly around my cock.”

The raw intensity of his words sends a shiver through you, and with a deep breath, you push yourself up, bracing your hands on his chest for support. Your body moves, a slow grind at first, feeling every inch of him deep inside you, but then you begin to move faster, harder. You feel the way he starts to tremble beneath you, how his fingers dig into your skin, pulling you closer, urging you on. Each time you rock against his cock, the sensation sends waves of heat through you.

As the pace between you both builds, the tension in the room becomes almost unbearable. The heat between your bodies intensifies, and with each movement, you feel yourself getting closer. His hands grip you tighter, guiding you on his cock.

Eric’s eyes are locked on yours, his lips parted, and you can see the strain in his face. They way his jaw clenches as he tries to hold on, torn between the pleasure of the moment and the pain that’s still lingering in his body. His hands tighten on your hips, moving you faster, harder. “God… you feel so fucking good…”  His groans breathes, his voice thick with lust, the intensity of the moment breaking through everything else.

You can feel it too. The slow burn inside you, the heat growing stronger with every thrust, every roll of your hips. Your body starts to tense, that sweet, familiar pressure building, the edge so close you can almost taste it. The air between you is thick, your breaths shallow and erratic, and all you can focus on is him. His touch, his moans, how his cock feels inside you, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

His eyes are half-lidded, watching you as you move against him, and suddenly, his voice comes out hoarse, almost desperate. “Say it again.”

For a moment, you don’t understand what he’s asking. You don’t stop, though. Your body continues. You lean in to kiss him, a mix of passion and sweetness, but his hand grips your chin firmly, pulling you back to look at him.

“Say it,” he repeats, voice strained. “Say that you love me again, like you did in that fucking bathroom. Say it, baby… ’Cause I fucking love you.”

The words hit you hard, a rush of emotions flooding your chest. The depth of his voice, the raw need laced in his tone, makes your heart skip a beat. His hands tighten on your hips, holding you even closer. You don’t even hesitate. You breathe it out, raw and truthful, your voice shaking as the words spill from your lips.

“I love you, Eric.”

The moment those words leave your mouth, everything intensifies. You move against him again, your body rising and falling in a rhythm that mirrors the emotions pouring out of you both. The tension, the rawness, the intimacy, the pressure building. And then, it hits you, the build, the rush. It’s as if the world fades away completely, leaving nothing but the overwhelming intensity of your connection, you left out a soft moan while the orgasm it hits you, you feeling iy through your whole body, making you to clench your pussy around his cock.

His body tenses beneath you, and you feel it, every single inch of him tightening in pleasure and pain, a mix of both. His breath catches in his throat, his hand gripping your body harder, pulling you closer, as his hot seed spills inside you. Eric’s moans become louder, his groans deeper. “Fuck,” he growls under his breath.

Both of you fall, crashing into that blissful moment of release, your bodies trembling together, a deep, guttural moan escaping Eric’s lips as he loses himself in the sensation. It’s as if time stops, and all that exists is this one shared moment of pleasure, of love, of everything you’ve been through together.

The aftermath is quiet, serene, the weight of it all settling in between you. His hand comes up to cradle your face, his thumb gently brushing against your cheek as you both try to catch your breath, hearts still pounding.

“I don’t want to let you go, never.” he whispers, voice thick with emotion.

You smile softly, leaning into his touch, your heart full. “You won’t have to, I’ll always be here. Always.”

Eric chuckles softly, his lips brushing against your forehead as he kisses you gently. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with gratitude, but also a little disbelief. “Thank you for choosing to love me. Thank you for accepting me… the way I am. For seeing me, not the mistakes I’ve made. Not all the shit I’ve put myself through.”

You look up at him, your hands cupping his face as you gaze into his eyes. Those green eyes that have seen so much darkness, yet now hold something softer, something more real. You can’t help but smile, your lips curling with affection. “I will always do that,” you say quietly. “I’ll always choose you. I love you, just the way you are. Everything you’ve been through, all of it, it’s part of you. And I’m with you for all of it. I’m here, Eric. I always will be.”

He closes his eyes for a second, taking in your words as if they’re exactly what he needed to hear. His voice is thick with emotion when he speaks again. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he says, his fingers gently tracing the lines of your face. “But I swear to god, I’ll never let you go. You’re my home. You’re my fucking everything.”

“I love you, Eric,” you whisper again, just because you need him to know. Again and again.

“And I love you,” he replies, his voice firm, certain.

You both fall into a peaceful silence, the weight of your words hanging in the air between you, more powerful than any action or kiss could express.

The room is bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, the warm breeze shifting the curtains. The TV hums in the background, playing a movie neither of you have followed.

Eric is beside you, warm, solid, alive. His fingers trace lazy patterns against your skin, his arm holding you close. Your head rests on his shoulder, his scent still clinging to you.

For the first time in forever, there’s no threat, no fear. Victor is gone. Eric is here. You are here. And the weight in your chest has finally lifted.

Your mind drifts back to the little girl in the hospital, the green eyes, the stupid thought you pushed away.

But now, with him safe, his lips pressing softly into your hair, his touch easy.

Maybe, just maybe it’s not so stupid after all.

“Hmm?” Eric hums, his voice low, lazy. “Did you say something?”

You smile against his skin. “Nothing.”

He just pulls you closer, kissing your forehead grip tightening around you like he knows what you’re thinking.

And with that, you both lay together, knowing that whatever comes next. Whaterver life throws at you, it doesn’t matter. You have each other. And that’s all that matters.

Forever.

_____________

@paraficwriter @clairesblouse

A/N: Before anything else, I want to take a moment to express my gratitude. To each of you who liked, commented, or shared—no matter how you showed your support. It has meant the world to me. What began as a simple anonymous message quickly evolved into an idea I couldn’t ignore. Initially, I envisioned a single one-shot, but the story kept unfolding, demanding more. I told myself it would be two parts, then three… and yet, here we are, at part six. In truth, if we count the length of the final sections, it could have easily been nine or ten. None of this would have been possible without you. Your encouragement kept me going, and for that, I am endlessly grateful. Also, I want to say that this is my first fic. I’ve only written one-shots before. So this journey has been incredibly meaningful to me. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for being a part of it. I hope the story lived up to your expectations, I can’t wait to hear your final thoughts on this story! ❤️

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six

[glmentoring]

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[annabelle--cane]

I think comparing 160 vs 200 brings out a lot of the differences in jonah's style of manipulation vs the web's style of manipulation. 160 is all about completely removing jon's agency, literally seizing control of his body and revealing that all these little coincidences were part of a master plan all along. jonah likes a big grand display of power, he wants everyone to know that he's the one in charge and he really needs to express that his agency is meaningful. 200 is all about engineering a situation where jon does all the legwork and chooses what the web wants, coercing him into sealing his own fate. there are plenty of discrete moments across the show where the web literally controls people, but mostly it works on a principle of just setting up game pieces in a way where it can predict every move the players will make.

[numbpill]

indieweb directories & search engines to submit your site to

(✿◕‿◕)♡ if you have a personal site, blog, or neocities page, getting listed in small web directories and alt-search engines can help others discover your site. here’s a list of indie-friendly places where you can submit your site.

✧ small web directories

• yesterweb webring – a webring for sites embracing the old web ethos. submit your site to be part of the loop.

• melonland directory – an indie web directory where you can list your personal website.

• sadgrl’s directory – a curated list of user-submitted personal sites.

• omg.lol directory – a community-driven directory for personal websites.

• neocities browse page – if you have a neocities site, make sure your page is listed under a category.

• webrings.club – submit your site to different indie webrings to connect with like-minded sites.

✧ alt-search engines that index small sites

• wiby.me – an old-web style search engine that prioritizes small, hand-coded websites. you can submit your own.

• searchmysite.net – a search engine for independent, non-commercial websites.

• mojeek.com – privacy-focused search engine with its own independent index.

• whoogle – an open-source search frontend for google without tracking, often used by self-hosters.

• searx instances – decentralized, privacy-first search engines that sometimes index small sites better than mainstream search engines.

✧ misc directories & listings

• indieseek.xyz – a directory for personal websites, blogs, and creative projects.

• linklane.net – a manually curated directory of interesting small web pages.

• brutalistwebsites.com – if your site has a brutalist aesthetic, you can submit it here.

• blogroll.org – a directory for blogs and personal sites with a classic web feel.

if you know any other good directories or search engines for small sites, drop them in the replies! (◕‿◕✿)

—

ps- i am currently facing homelessness and recovering from a situation with an extremely cruel and abusive ex partner if anyone wants to help out or donate my ko-fi is a good place for themes and resources i’ve made if you’re interested!! thanks

[ariemfox]

it was the multi-layered symbols + parallels in the story & the engine for me...

the heart of the machine is the stories, which is the tardis. spoken by the brain (which encloses the heart)/the doctor (the storyteller+traveller)/the time-travelling. the many faces glued to the brain - some screaming = the many faces of the doctor. the callback to 'we're all just stories in the end'.

the barbershop and the tardis. using hair or the webs of time/history's progression to tell stories. our hair and our histories showing the truth of our personalities in style and story. the story of the slave girls making maps with their hair braids -> making a map to the heart of the machine.

the parallels of the barber to the master in the revenge against the gods/time lords. tecteun stealing their own narrative of the origin of the time lords from the doctor - the time lords only exist through gallifreyans telling their stories. the gods on earth only exist through people on earth web-weaving their stories.

world wide web, we're all connected - stories bring community, the way each culture braids it's hair connects us to each other. we can tell stories with hair and make maps, we can time-travel.

abena's parallel to the doctor. abandoned and trapped with a parent - anansi, tecteun - who does not care for them, failed by everyone else. a child that's used for their own parent's benefit - abena with her father's bet, the doctor with tecteun harnessing regeneration.

the parallels to previous episodes. 'the long song' and 'lux', with gods being overloaded with power, to kill them with their fatal flaw. with 'lux', more emotion made them more three-dimensional - more individual power made the stories play out three-dimensionally in 'the story and the engine'.

the theme of trapped, abandoned children, with the timeless child arc & 'space babies'. the alone little black girl that belinda saw being played by the actress for baby poppy in 'space babies'. a little black girl that didn't really fit into the narrative, but was there nonetheless. the reminder that the doctor was dropped into this universe as a lost little black girl, who never really fitted into the narrative either.

the six-letter stories and the robots of 'the robot revolution' never hearing the seventh word - as if stories don't exist past that point to machines that rely upon chains of commands/binary.

& so much more i probably haven't mentioned. the fucking layers, man <3

i am worshipping u, innua ellams <3

[moonyskarma]

𝒯𝙝𝔢 𝒮𝙝𝔞𝚍𝙤𝚠 𝒮𝙥𝔦𝚍𝙚𝔯

◀ FILE ACCESSED: LEVEL 9 REQUIRED ► METAHUMAN DOSSIER: SPIDERMAN A.R.G.U.S. REGISTRY CODE: X-319J-CH-VOID

ALIASES: Spiderman / Shadow Spider / The Spider CIVILIAN IDENTITY: West, Charles "Charlie" Calloway AGE: 23 KNOWN AFFILIATIONS: Flash (Charles Leclerc), Team Flash, CCPD LOCATION TRACKED: Central City CURRENT STATUS: Active

PHYSICAL PROFILE: • Height: 5'8' • Build: Athletic, high muscle density (noted for enhanced strength) • Eyes: Dark brown • Identifying Marks: Minor scar, left oral commissure (non-inhibitory); mask conceals facial identity effectively. • Movement Style: Agile, non-linear; often utilizes vertical terrain. Confirmed enhanced reflexes. • Suit: Matte black adaptive suit with web-distribution technology and reinforced under layer. Not A.R.G.U.S.-issued.

PRIMARY ABILITIES: • Enhanced Physiology: Superhuman strength (class 10), stamina, reflexes, and healing factor. • Wall-Crawling: Adhesive grip via neuro-responsive extremities. • Spider-Sense: Extrasensory awareness of immediate threats. • Web Deployment: Internally engineered, wrist-mounted cartridges. Customizable web types (standard tensile, impact dispersal, ensnarement) • Combat Training: Improvised street combat, acrobatic evasion, and pressure-point targeting.

SKILLSET & SPECIALIZATIONS: • Forensic profiling, behavioral analysis (certified) • Tactical intelligence and urban reconnaissance • High proficiency in field improvisation and stealth pursuit • Access to CCPD crime scene data and surveillance through internal credentials (flagged by ARGUS audit; under review)

PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE & BACKSTORY: Psychological Profile: • Subject exhibits patterns of trauma-rooted hyper-independence. Displays marked reluctance to delegate or rely on others—early case files indicate complete operational solitude for first phase of activity. • Notably anti-lethal but not pacifistic; engages targets with calculated brutality when deemed necessary. Repeated field reports highlight consistent use of force intended to incapacitate rather than eliminate. • Maintains high tactical intelligence and demonstrates combat-specific hyperfocus, especially in urban terrain. Emotional triggers noted: child endangerment, abuse of power, institutional failure. Exhibits signs of complex trauma and internalized guilt response—subject is a classic moral absolutist operating in moral grey. • Behavioral alignment: Anti-heroic, trending toward cooperative vigilante. • Integration into Team Flash has promoted marked behavioral shifts—less isolation, increasing reliance on allies (notably Flash and Cisco Ramon). Subject remains emotionally reserved but is capable of deep loyalty once trust is established.

Background Summary: • Subject was adopted as a young child into the West family under sealed circumstances; birth records list "Calloway" as original surname. Details regarding biological parents remain classified or unknown, though metahuman lineage is suspected. • Early adolescence marked by above-average intelligence, academic aptitude in forensic science and behavioral criminology, and notable disciplinary issues related to authority resistance. Currently employed by CCPD as a criminologist. • Initial vigilante activity predates official metahuman registrated by ~10 months. Operated nocturnally under masked alias "The Spider", avoiding detection while targeting individuals who eluded legal consequence. Patterns consistent with personal vendetta overlaying systemic justice response. • Following first contact with The Flash, subject's strategy evolved—shifted from solo vigilantism to tactical cooperation in metahuman apprehension efforts. • Subject remains unregistered in the official Central City vigilante database, though Team Flash records identify him as a consistent field agent in meta-level incidents.

THREAT ASSESSMENT: • Threat Level: Yellow (Conditional Watchlist) • Subject poses no direct threat to civilians or sanctioned meta operations under typical parameters. Actions are guided by a strong internal moral code, though not always in alignment with ARGUS or CCPD protocol. • Tactical efficiency, unpredictability, and emotional volatility under specific triggers (e.g., child endangerment, abuse of power, sexual abuse) warrant continued surveillance • Field Classification: Containment Risk Tier II — Standard intervention protocols apply; use of lethal force not authorized unless subject breaches metahuman containment policy. • Despite cooperative stance, subject has not submitted to full ARGUS evaluation.

SECURITY CLEARANCE NOTES: Access to full dossier contents restricted to Level 9 operatives and above. Any unauthorized attempts to duplicate, transmit, or disseminate subject data will trigger immediate lockdown protocol [Ref. ARGUS Regulation 16.3c]. Subject's full metahuman potential remains under evaluation; redacted portions accessible only by Director Waller or ARGUS Field Oversight Division.

[SECTION REDACTED – 03.16.XX / AUTHORIZATION: W. WALLER] Biological origin and medical anomalies flagged for meta-genetic analysis. Subject denies knowledge of pre-adoption trauma. Further investigation pending.

. . . back to the circus 🎪