#removing a log from property

[chrisstumps05]

Skid Steer Grapple Bucket in Action

[toxicanonymity]

The Spread 2: The Window

THOMAS HEWITT X F!READER

WORD COUNT: 3.8k | IN THE SPREAD UNIVERSE SUMMARY: Tommy takes care of you, his captive. He wants you to be okay, but he also has primal needs. WARNINGS: I8+ Dubcon (captivity/Stockholm) unsafe P in V, mild injuries from prior restraints, fingering, cum eating, thumb sucking. See also masterlist. SIZE & HAND KINK - Tommy is much larger than reader, can lift/maneuver her. He is canonically 6'5" and thicc. A/N: divider by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Tommy kept you in the shed. It was a humbling, being at his mercy for your survival, but he attended to your basic needs better than you might have thought. He even unboarded a damaged window to let in some sunlight. From the inside of the shed, he nailed a sheet over the window frame so you could peek out without being seen. Through the old, dirty glass, you could see a tree stump, some logs, and in the distance, the garage where you had been laid out shackled to the table. 

—-

In the yard, Tommy chopped wood on the tree stump. It was something to behold – his hulking body bending and flexing with each swing of the ax. His sheer mass. Watching him work, a tingle grew between your legs, and as soon as you felt it, your face heated up. You tried not to watch, instead inspecting the sheet's frayed bottom edge. After the echoes of wood-splitting stopped, you peeked out to see if he was coming your way, but he wasn’t. 

He was removing his button-down shirt, a scene that stirred the heat of your core. His upper body was left in a stained white tee that stretched obscenely over his middle, his biceps, and his herculean back. 

He resumed splitting the firewood. His weight would jiggle with each impact of the blade. You found yourself hoping his shirt would ride up so you could see just a little more of him, but the shirt was too long. You weren’t even sure if he wore boxers or briefs. What did it matter to you? It was a curiosity, really. All of him was. Such a man, a big, burly man, and something so primal about him. 

The memory was hazy — your first physical experience with Tommy, when you were shackled to the big table. You had been delirious with fear and confusion. But you vividly recalled his head between your legs and the way he feasted on you, intruding his tongue, searching for more to drink. And you remembered how hard you came, even if you didn’t really want to. 

You could have tried not to think about this. But the alternative was thinking about whether and how you’d ever get out of there. The world outside the shack was terrifying-–the strange, faded world you and your friends had stumbled into. 

The property was full of hazardous scrap metal, broken glass, and barbed wire. You didn’t have any shoes. It crossed your mind to push out the window—another hazard in itself—-but the shed was a safe haven in the middle of an apocalyptic hellscape. If you could teleport home, sure, you would, but the thought of what lay outside the shed made you content to stay put for the time being. You had a feeling Tommy wouldn’t let you go anyway. He didn't say so. He didn't say anything at all. But it was the way he had yanked you back to him when you merely crawled toward the garage door. There was no way he would let you go, as long as he noticed you leaving. 

You told yourself the danger outside was the only thing keeping you there. You told yourself Tommy was a bad man, or at best, a dangerous man. It was certainly safer to have him on your side. It was safer to have his protection. You tried to ignore the throb between your legs when you watched him. But you couldn't stop yourself from conjuring the sensation of his massive hands wrangling you to your feet, hauling you over his shoulder, gently nestling you into the wheelbarrow, covering you with blankets. It made your chest flutter to think about. With fear or desire, you couldn't be sure. 

A while after Tommy finished his chore, the squeak of the wheelbarrow approached the shed. He unlocked it and pushed it open. The rays of light that poured in were full of dust. He froze for a moment, squinting at the sight of you in his shirt, huddled in the corner. You squinted back at the way his torso stretched his stained t-shirt. Finally, he nodded at you with a soft grunt and began to bring in the freshly chopped wood. 

Each piece of wood looked like a twig, the way his hand wrapped around it. As he stacked the logs, the sweet stench of his sweat began to reach you. You felt very aware of your lack of panties and the way every scent hung in the air in this small space – Tommy’s sweat, the wood, the char on his apron.  

When he was finished with the wood, Tommy lingered in the shed, wiping his hands off on his pants and looking at the stacks he made. 

“Good job, Tommy,” you told him and watched his face soften. 

The floor quivered under each step as he thudded toward you. He faced you and cautiously squatted, still looming over you even in his more compact state. You watched his eyes as they scanned your body. When his gaze lingered on your ankle, you realized you were idly caressing skin that had been rubbed raw from the metal cuff he shackled you with in the garage. 

You withdrew your hand from the injury and pushed the shirt tail down between your legs, covering yourself as you reflexively tugged your knees closer to your chest. He gave a dissatisfied frown – you couldn’t see much of his mouth through his partial mask, but it colored the rest of his face. He held his enormous hand near your ankle, then glanced up at you hesitantly. 

You nodded, and he grazed you so lightly you could barely feel it at first. Your foot looked so small and delicate, framed by Tommy’s hand. His thumb brushed over the discoloration. You winced, not in pain but Tommy huffed. His brows knitted together as he looked up to study your face. Only a moment after your eyes met, he looked down and shook his head at himself, then hesitantly brushed your ankle again, but not directly on the bruise.    

“It’s okay,” you offered. “You didn’t mean to.”

He slowly nodded, but didn’t meet your eyes again. He lowered his knees to the floor, kneeling at your feet to inspect the rest of your body. 

The other ankle wasn’t as bad, only a small mark. Then he looked at your arms. He took your hand in his and his eyes almost seemed to smile at the contrast of your delicate fingers in the cradle of his palm. He caressed his way up your wrist and arm, looking for damage. Your heart raced, and your insides swelled with need. No damage on that side.

He moved to the other side. He held your hand for a moment, but started at your shoulder this time. His fingers were feather-light on their way down your arm and made your hair stand on end. The exploratory caress drew a soft sigh out of you. Tommy glanced at your face when he heard it. You cleared your throat and looked away, throbbing as his fingers continued their path. His hand froze when he found a small but pronounced scrape on your wrist. He exhaled sharply through his nose, then his eyes weakened. 

“It’s okay,” you reassured him,adjusting the shirt tail between your legs with your free hand as you felt yourself getting wet.

He held your wrist and gently caressed it, then let you have your hand back. You put your hands together and rested them between your legs, holding down the shirt tail. His gaze followed your hands, and his eyes narrowed. He looked at you for a second then tugged at the shirttail (his shirttail) that was providing what little modesty you were allowed. 

Your heart skipped a beat and you moved your hands out of the way a little too fast, offering him access between your legs. He adjusted himself, and you ached at the thought of his cock. His breathing was shallow under the leather that covered his nose. He slowly, gently lifted the shirt, occasionally glancing at you for permission. He unbuttoned the bottom two buttons and you marveled at how those huge fingers made quick work of it. He pushed the shirt open at the bottom and out of the way. 

He scooted back without taking his eyes away, and bent forward to inspect you. A lock of curls fell in front of his eye and he brushed it back, securing it under the tie of his mask. His head was now between your legs, and he braced an elbow on the hay-covered floor.  His thumb brushed your inner thigh where it met your torso and you twitched in anticipation of his tongue lapping at your folds. How ravenous he was the day before. But Tommy took his time. He gently caressed your outer lips, one at a time. He lay his hand gently on your mound. He traced your inner thigh creases, eyes studious, concerned. 

Then he nudged your legs further apart to make room for himself and braced both elbows on the floor. He used his thumbs to gently spread your outer lips. You held your breath as he simply gazed into his feast. He grunted and his face flushed. You let out a tiny shiver of pleasure and his eyes lept to yours with concern. You felt your face heat up. 

He was worried he had hurt you there, too? You were moved by his apparent concern. You felt bad that he felt bad—for putting you in a sleeper hold, shackling you to a table, and having his way with you. Your face bristled when you thought of it that way.

Why did you feel sorry for him? You were just a toy he didn't want to break. 

Still, you reassured him, “I’m fine.” He studied your face and nodded, then sniffed.

You should have been relieved when Tommy didn’t force his mouth on you again, but your heart fell when he sat up on his knees. 

Tommy hesitantly approached your neck with one hand, and you nodded. He traced your vein. His thumb brushed over the front of your throat, and his fingers lingered where your neck met your shoulder. Then, his other hand came to your shirt, and he unbuttoned the rest of it. His fat fingers were so nimble. 

Your nipples sharpened as the last button came undone. He looked at your face again, and this time it felt like more of a warning than an ask. He nudged the fabric apart, over your breasts. He inhaled sharply at the sight of them, but he didn’t let his eyes linger for long until they were pouring over your torso looking for other signs of damage from his ravishing. He ran his fingers and palms over your chest, your tummy, your sides, making your flesh erupt with goosebumps as his eyes scanned each area. Then he inhaled slow and deep as his attention returned to your breasts. 

Without looking up, he cradled one breast. He closed his eyes for a moment as he felt the shape of it in his hand. He gently kneaded it. You bit your lip and closed your eyes. Then you felt his hot breath on your tit. You opened your eyes to see his pupils blown out under heavy eyelids as his lips approached. He took your nipple into his mouth and let his eyes close again as he tongued, then sucked it. He seemed to suck as much of your breast into his mouth as he could, grunting softly, before focusing back on your nipple, and suckling at it. 

The mask made it hard to breathe through his nose, so he would break the seal of his mouth every couple of seconds before latching on again. He couldn’t seem to get enough, but his mouth was gentle. The pleasure zapped through your chest, down your torso to the floor, where you knew you were making a mess by now. He sucked, and tongued, and moaned, “Mm,” at a pitch that told you his voice must be sexy if he ever spoke. “Mmm,” he moaned into your breast again,and then a moan slipped out of you. 

When he opened his eyes, he glanced up at you before releasing your tit. His mouth hung slightly open. He adjusted himself and inhaled a big chest full of air. Your thighs opened slightly, and it didn’t go unnoticed. He palmed himself over his pants and when he took his hand away, your breath hitched at the thick, curved shape sitting on his enormous thigh. 

—--

Tommy looked around for a moment, seeming to consider the situation, which was that your legs were spread with him between them. 

He reached between your thighs and gently caressed your folds with the backs of two fingers.. The quietest growl escaped his chest. He rubbed himself once over his pants, then he straddled your leg and approached your cunt palm-up. His thick, dark eyelashes fluttered as he looked down at his hand engulfing your pussy. His four fingers barely fit between your thighs. A finger prodded ever so slightly at your entrance, and your hole fluttered needily, making him grunt. You tensed as he wriggled his ring finger inside to the first knuckle. How did you feel so full already? He braced one hand on the wall behind you, and slid his digit further into you with a barely audible gasp. He held his finger there for a moment, enveloped in your snug, throbbing warmth,with you melting under his touch, fully relaxing back against the wall.  

Tommy loomed over you on his knees. As he fucked you with his finger, your half-lidded eyes were fixed on the massive erection on his thigh. He prodded your hole with another finger and his hips pushed forward as he tried to wedge it inside with the other. You gasped as the second finger stretched you wide. You whimpered and he withdrew the second digit. He didn’t have to, but it wasn’t what you really wanted anyway.

You found your hand reaching for his thigh. And at first contact, your chest opened up, flooding you with desire. You traced the hard shape in his pants, and the stiff warmth under your palm made you twitch and swoon. It made you needy and sleepy. He moaned, then shuddered and slid his wet fingers out of your cunt. 

He glanced behind himself at the door, then unbuttoned  his pants and pulled down his underwear. 

With you slumped down against the wall, and Tommy on his knees, his massive cock was almost at eye level and you couldn’t look away from it. He held it in a loose fist, and looked you over. He tilted his head, then let go of his cock, letting it bob heavily as he leaned forward and scooped you up with his hands under your arms.  He brought you into straddling his folded knees. His cock brushed your folds as his arm wrapped around you, and he held you close. He smelled like fire and man. 

He clumsily tried to pull you down without taking care to make sure it was lined up just right. 

“Wait,” you whispered. “Just a second,” and you made a move to try to help him find the right place. 

But he grumbled and held you tighter. He reached under you with one hand, still holding you with the other. He got his tip into place, then with his massive arm around you, he forced you down on his cock, dividing your walls which were still a little tender from the first time. He groaned as he bottomed out as deep as he could be. You whimpered with the burn and were grateful for the prelude – his painstakingly light touch and feral suckling had made you so wet.

Your body adapted, and soon, the overwhelming feeling was one of being occupied, your insides perfectly rearranged to fit him just right. He held your hips, dwarfing your torso with his massive hands. He held you all the way on his cock, his chest expanding with deep breaths. His cock twitched as your walls slowly welcomed his monstrous girth. 

After holding you impaled on his cock for a minute, you briefly spasmed around it. He took a deep breath through his mouth, letting it out as a growl. He began to move you up and down on his shaft, using his hands. It felt like you were split in two. He moved you faster and faster and you whimpered as he bounced you like a rag doll on his massive cock, making your gut dizzy with pleasure the faster he went. You held on tight, gripping his tight t-shirt, then putting your hands around his neck, nestled under his dampening hair, against the cool sweat of his skin. 

He got up on his knees and braced a hand against the wall behind you, holding you steady with his other arm. You held on tighter. He thrust into you as he held you steady. He used you as a sleeve for his pleasure. As his massive length pummeled into you, he grunted and sighed. His muffled, feral sounds touched something deep in your core and lit it on fire. The sweat of his shirt wafted into your nostrils. His hair grazed your head as he pounded you. 

He stopped, fully seated within your warmth, and nudged his shirt off your shoulders so you were totally nude. Then he began moving you slower, up and down his length. You could feel each vein of his cock as it dragged heavily, pushing itself through your soft, snug channel with each stroke. Your hips moved, grinding you against the softness of his pelvic area. You wedged your hand between the two of you and he flinched at the feeling of your knuckles digging into his belly. He snatched your hand and moved it. 

His grip became bruising as he took back control. He moved you at a jackhammer pace and your chest opened up with butterflies as you got closer and closer. He grunted and snarled and you hung onto the edge of bliss until you couldn’t, and you fully unraveled around his cock, whimpering and moaning with each contraction. He fucked you through it until you finally whimpered, “Tommy.” He growled and held you still. He tilted his head at you. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the strong musk, the sweat, the char, the wood, as your body drew itself back together. 

With you still on his cock, Tommy bent forward and laid you down on the hay-covered floor. It scratched your back, but your body was buzzing so warmly you didn’t mind.  

—

He slowly withdrew his length, then he held it in his hand, and you marveled at it-–thick, veiny, dripping. Wild, dark hair wet with a faintly white blend of his precum and you.

He hadn’t cum yet. You wanted him to. You wanted so badly to see him cum. You could smell it, practically taste it.

He braced one hand on his knee and with a barely audible groan, he stood up, pants still undone. You felt a sense of loss as he moved away.  

Tommy glanced toward the window, then turned away from you. He squeezed his cock and pulled his underwear up over it. 

“No,” you protested. “No, you don’t have to—come back,” you pleaded. “It’s okay.” You got up on your knees. He watched you skeptically, chest heaving. You wondered if he hadn’t cum in front of anyone before. “I would like to,” you started, then cleared your throat. “Please put it in my mouth, I’d really like that.”

He looked at you, frozen.

“Please,” you repeated, then wet your lips and stared at his cock. 

He slowly made his way back to you, and you opened your mouth. “I can–” you offered, but he didn’t let you suck it. He brought the tip to your lips, but kept his fist around his length, pumping it slowly. It squelched obscenely with each stroke. 

When precum beaded at his tip, your tongue darted out to collect it. He growled, and his free hand seized your jaw, holding your mouth still and open as he continued pumping his cock. Then, when he could hang on no longer, he pointed it into your mouth. He came with a rumble in his chest and a low groan from his throat. The first, thick rope hit the roof of your mouth. The next went directly to your throat. And by the sixth ribbon or so, it was dribbling onto your tongue, thick, salty, and heady. You were salivating and could hardly wait to swallow. 

He dropped his tip onto your tongue and it sat there heavily for a moment while he breathed. You dared to wrap your lips around it until he quickly backed up, taking it away, with a thick string of drool connecting you for a moment. You swallowed and wiped your mouth with the back of your wrist. His face was pink as he composed himself and stuffed it back in his pants. 

You sat back on the floor, and he did a double take. He knelt down again and laid his hand on your mound. He scanned your body like he had hurt you all over again.  

“Tommy, I’m fine,” you assured him. “I promise, I’m good.” He squinted at you. “That felt good,” you repeated, nodding, face burning. “Good, Tommy,” you whispered.  

He nodded back hesitantly. 

He left and didn’t lock the door. While he was gone, you put his shirt back on, didn’t button it, but wrapped it around you. He returned with a few more blankets. He picked you up and laid one down under you. He folded one under your head, and used the last one to cover you.  

As he finished tucking you in, a drop of sweat fell from his hair onto your neck. He brushed it off with his thumb. And as he began to take his hand away, you reached for it. You brought his hand to your mouth and wrapped your lips around his thumb. Your tongue collected the salty drop of perspiration. And as you swallowed it, you sucked his thumb more into your mouth. As you gently sucked his massive thumb, your eyes closed, and when you opened them again, he was looking at you softly. You released his thumb, and he gently cradled your jaw in his hand. Then he slid his fingers down to your neck. He could have squeezed or snapped the life out of you with no effort at all, but you knew he wouldn't. All he did was admire you, softly stroking your delicate skin for a moment. Then, when he took his hand off your neck, he brushed his thumb down your chin. 

He braced his hands on his hefty thighs and stood up. He adjusted his mask as he slowly left the shed. Once he was outside, you heard the padlock click into place, and then the squeak of his wheelbarrow fading into the distance.

Thank you for reading!

Your engagement helps a lot in motivating me and letting me know what you enjoyed so you might see more of it.

[thevanillerose]

COWORKER | YANDERE!CALEB x READER | LOVE AND DEEPSPACE

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own anything except my own writing. All properties belong to their respective creators. CONTENT WARNING: Yandere / Death / Violence A/N: I downloaded this game just for this man and he was even hotter than expected. I'm cooked.

You never expected to see him again. Not in this lifetime.

The last memory you had of Caleb was burned into your mind like a scar—flames licking the late afternoon sky, the acrid scent of smoke, the sound of the explosion that shattered your world. You had screamed his name until your throat bled. 

He was gone. Nothing but a necklace.

So when the docking bay doors of the Farspace Fleet hissed open and the Colonel stepped onto the deck, tall and cloaked in shadows, the air in your lungs simply stopped.

He wore a black uniform pressed to perfection, with gold trimming that caught the sterile lighting. His coat billowed slightly behind him, heavy boots echoing against the metal floor. His cap obscured part of his face, but not his eyes. 

Those violet eyes. Your world narrowed into that singular color—the same shade you used to see when he smiled and promised to come home.

“Don’t miss me too much, pipsqueak.”

He didn't speak at first. He only looked at you.

Your voice wavered. "Caleb...?"

He stopped, then removed his cap.

It was him. Though, his face had changed. Leaner, older. His smile was faint and unreadable, and his eyes seemed a little more flat, colder than you recalled. Darker. Everything was darker about him. 

Nonetheless, it was still Caleb. In a way.

"You remembered me," he murmured.  You took a step forward, then froze, unsure if you were dreaming. "You're…alive."

He gave a curt little nod, and then finally smiled. Just a little.  "I'm back."

And that was all it took to break the dam. 

You ran to him, crashing into his chest with a sob, clutching the front of his coat like you might vanish if you let go. He didn't return the embrace. Not right away. But after a long, lingering moment, his arms wrapped around you. 

His grip was tight. 

Too tight.

…

Three Months Later…

Your hands hovered over the interface, eyes flicking between data streams and transmissions from the outer quadrant. Working in Intel for the Farspace Fleet wasn’t what you’d imagined for yourself, but Caleb insisted. You had wanted to join Recon like you used to dream about together as kids—running missions, piloting ships—but the Colonel said it was too dangerous.

Around here, if the Colonel said something, then that was that. Better to put up and shut up, rather than face wrath.

You were lucky to be granted a post here at all, he said. With your record, you owed it to yourself to stay safe. And more than that, he owed it to Gran, to keep you that way. 

So now you sat behind a desk, surrounded by rows of monitors, analysts, and support crew. It wasn’t glamorous, but it mattered. And, truthfully, you were just happy to be close to him again. Even if he was colder now. More distant.

Sometimes you wondered if it was really still the same guy you grew up with. The Caleb you knew always had such a warmth to him, a puppy dog innocence that you found endearing. Sure…he could be clingy. And a bit of a worrier. Too much of a worrier, when it came to you. 

But he was just protective. It made sense, right? You two had known each other for so long…

You looked up as a voice interrupted your thoughts.

"Need a second pair of eyes on this?"  The question came from Milo, a quiet, observant man from your division. He was a bit tall and clumsy, nerdy in a stereotypical way, but not unattractive. In fact, from the rumors you’d heard, he had a couple of female fans in the office. Maybe more than a couple.

He smiled gently as he handed you a datapad. "Colonel’s patrol log from last week. There’s some anomaly in the movement pattern. Thought you might spot something I didn’t."

You smiled back, accepting it. "Thanks. I’ll take a look."

He nodded and returned to his desk, but not before giving you a soft, almost sheepish glance. It wasn’t the first time. And you were starting to notice. He lingered too long sometimes. He remembered every detail about how you liked your reports formatted. He made excuses to talk to you.

You weren’t so naïve to think it was a coincidence. You also weren’t sure how you felt about it. You were still trying to process everything with Caleb.

Colonel Caleb.

He had changed so much, and yet...when it was just the two of you, sometimes you caught glimpses of the boy you once knew. He'd cook for you on late nights, sliding a plate across the counter without meeting your eyes. He'd tease you lightly in the elevator or call you by the old nickname only he ever used. When it was just the two of you, it felt much more familiar.

But there were moments, too, when he would freeze, staring just a little too long. His mechanical right hand would flex beside his hip, a tension in his jaw you couldn’t decipher. You'd ask him if something was wrong, and he'd always smile that empty, too-calm smile.

"Everything’s fine," he would say. "As long as you're safe."

That evening, the lights in your quarters flickered as you entered. You barely had time to set your bag down when the console chimed.

"Incoming call from: COL. CALEB."

You accepted it, brushing your hair behind your ear. "Hey."

His image appeared on screen, still in uniform. He was alone in his office, the lights low.

"Busy day?" he asked. At first, he had that boyish look on your face, the one you remembered fondly. The one which made you feel a little more at ease. His violet eyes were soft and downturned like a cute little dog. 

You smiled faintly, feeling comfortable. "Yeah. Some signal interference in the west quadrant. Milo and I were reviewing your logs. He caught something strange."

There was a pause. Just a breath. But it felt heavy.

"Milo," he repeated, his voice unreadable. "He’s been helping you a lot lately." You hesitated, sensing a shift. "He’s just a coworker." Another pause. Caleb’s jaw flexed.  "Of course."

You opened your mouth to change the subject, but he spoke again. In an instant, a switch had flipped. 

"I want to see you. Come to my office. Now." You blinked, bewildered. "Is…is something wrong?" He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Not at all silly. I just miss you."

…

The halls of the flagship were quiet at this hour, lit by the pale glow of emergency strips. You passed the occasional officer, but no one met your gaze. When you reached Caleb’s door, it slid open before you could knock.

He was waiting, standing beside his desk, arms folded.

"Sit," he said gently, gesturing to the couch. You obeyed, nerves prickling. The room felt too still. The warmth you thought you had sensed earlier seemed to have all but vanished. 

"Do you trust me?" he suddenly asked, walking over. You looked up, surprised, all innocent eyes. "Of course I do, Caleb."

He sat beside you, close enough for your knees to touch.  "Then don’t lie to me.”

Staring at him, you cowered back against the couch cushions. Lie to you?

“I saw the way he looked at you. How he’s been looking at you.” Your heart skipped. That confirmed it then, that’s what this was about. 

"Milo? Caleb, he’s just—"

His hand reached for your face, interrupting you, gloved fingers tracing your cheek with surprising gentleness. Still, you flinched.  "I know every part of you. I remember the way you used to cry when the thunder scared you. The way you always held my hand under the blankets. I know the scent of your skin when you’re nervous. I know when you’re lying."

You tried to speak, but he leaned closer, eyes locked on yours.

“You know you can trust me, right, [Y/N]? I just want you to be careful…”

Your breath caught. "Caleb—"

“-Because in this world, you can’t easily trust anyone, okay? You don’t know what people might really be like behind the masks they wear…”

While his words weren’t wrong, your brow furrowed. It was really hard for you to picture Milo that way, he seemed hapless.  “Caleb, I don’t think–” you reached up to pull his hand away, but he shifted his thumb so it hooked against your jaw, and held a little tighter. Your fingers hovered, but didn’t touch him. You shuddered.

“...Promise me, [Y/N]. Promise me you’ll stay away from other guys like that. At least…” Caleb hesitated, before his expression steeled again, “At least not until we both know we can trust them. Yeah?”

His hand finally moved, and drifted down your torso softly, against your chest before he seemed to realize and he pulled it back sharply. He breathed, a shuddering, weary breath.  “...You’re not like anyone else, [Y/N]. You’re special. That’s why I need your word, okay?”

He looked at you straight, waiting for your promise. Your throat felt tight, but you swallowed, and nodded. “...O…okay, Caleb. Okay…”

…

That night, alone in your quarters, you thought about Caleb. About Milo. About how the tension had been building ever since your reunion.

It had come to a head today, and you didn’t like it. You didn’t like the way he held you, stared you in the eyes with none of the softness you were once used to. You didn’t like the…implication…of what might happen if you didn’t do as he said. 

You remembered the way Caleb used to act when you were kids—always showing up, always hovering when you talked to other boys. He never said anything outright, but you could feel it. The possessiveness. The suspicion. He made it a point to insert himself, anywhere and everywhere, to keep them away. 

Nobody messed with him either. Not even the neighborhood bullies, who he’d done a sufficient job of ‘teaching a lesson’ after they’d tried to target you one time. He had been bigger. Stronger. Scarier.

And these days? Even more so. 

Back then, you thought it was sweet. Like you had a guardian constantly looking out for you. A gravity-gifted guardian. 

Now...it felt heavier.

…

The next day, you bumped into Milo outside the commissary. Literally.

"Oh, sorry—!" you began, but Milo caught your arm to steady you, and you froze up. You’d been about to skirt around him, hurry along, but- "You okay? You look pale."

God, he’s so nice. Why does he have to be so nice?

You forced a smile, shrugging his hand away despite feeling it was rude, "Yeah. Just—didn’t sleep much."

He hesitated, pulling his arm back like he feared he’d overstepped. In Caleb’s eyes, he would have. Yet he still tried to extend his kindness. "If you ever want to talk about it...you know…I’m around."

In front of you, you saw him collapse into a sheepish, red-faced reaction, shifting foot to foot. It stung a little to have to be so curt with him, but you needed this conversation to end, and sharp. Before he saw.

You nodded, gave a quick thanks, and abruptly took your leave. Milo lingered behind, bewildered. 

You might have felt relieved.  You didn’t realize Caleb had been watching.

…

That afternoon, the atmosphere in the Intel room shifted. You felt it before you saw him. 

Silence fell like a curtain as Caleb entered, his presence a wall of cold authority. His boots struck the floor, weighty, deliberate. 

He walked straight to your desk, past staring eyes and quiet workers, all of them too on edge to even dare speak. Heaven forbid they did. 

When he reached the back of your chair, his tall, broad shadow fell deeply over you. It cloaked you in a chill, but you tried to remain calm and composed, looking ahead at the screen. You stared hard at the numbers and letters flickering in front of you. They were starting to clump together, meaninglessly.

"I need to see you in my office," he said, and the way he spoke was so neutral and detached, it was as if he wasn’t speaking to you at all. Just some stranger, someone of zero consequence. 

Kind of shocked by his tone, you slowly looked around and up at him. You expected him to lean down maybe, drop the act and make his request softly. 

He didn’t. He stared down at you, cold and hard, gaze narrowed. 

You swallowed and stood, following him out without a word. Eyes followed you the whole way.

When the doors slid open to his private office, you stepped inside—and froze.

Milo was there. Restrained on his knees by invisible force, in a column of compressed gravity. His eyes were wide with fear, teeth grit to endure the pressure and the pain.

You stared for a moment, meeting his terrified eyes, before stumbling backwards, hands hovering before your mouth. 

"C-Caleb—what the hell is this?!"

The Colonel removed his gloves, placing them calmly on his desk. "I warned you." "What are you talking about?!" "Milo," Caleb said with icy precision, "was never just a friendly coworker. He was planted here. Embedded in Intel to get close to you. Because of the Aether Core."

Immediately, Milo tried to cry out something, eyes bulging, head quivering, but all he could manage was a grunt of agony as the weight dragged him crushingly deeper towards the ground, compressing every organ.

You flinched. "That’s classified—" "Exactly. And he knew. He tried to earn your trust, waited for the perfect opportunity. Probably had some backdoor installed in our systems already."

You looked back at Milo. "That can’t be true."

"You don’t believe me? You would trust him over me?"  "I—Caleb, please, let’s investigate—"

He tilted his head, blankly. “I did. I’ve already seen the evidence. It’s conclusive. So…"

Caleb raised one hand. The air around Milo twisted.

"NO! Caleb, STOP—" "You need to understand," Caleb said softly, eyes never leaving yours. "Anyone who tries to hurt you…will pay the price."

Gravity compressed with a sickening crack. Milo didn’t even have time to scream. You covered your mouth in horror, stumbling back. It didn’t matter how many Wanderer attacks you’d witnessed, you’d never seen anything this horrifying before.

And it was Caleb who was responsible. Caleb, of all people.

Caleb stepped forward, catching you by the shoulders before you could teeter off your feet. His hands were warm. Comforting. As he pulled you close you simply couldn’t fathom how these same hands had just done what they had done. 

"Shhh," he whispered. "It’s over now. You’re safe. As long as you’re with me, you’ll always be safe. I can promise you that, pipsqueak.”

You stared at him, tears streaming down your face, jaw agape, pupils small with shock. How he could use your charming little nickname now, after that…was sickening. "...You killed him."

"He was going to hurt you. I protected you."

You wanted to scream. You wanted to run. But something froze you numbly to the spot, and Caleb only pulled you close, arms wrapping tightly around you, firm enough it was like a warning. His next words confirmed as much. 

"You’re mine," he whispered. "No one else's. Just mine."

Something horrifying dawned on you then. It wouldn’t have mattered if Milo was innocent or not. It wouldn’t have mattered if Caleb made up that story to frame him or if it were the truth after all. Because he was another man, another person, who had dared to try and get close to you. And that was enough.

That was enough to turn him into a villain. A ruthless, cruel villain. 

In his mind though, he must have been a hero. A hero who would keep you ‘safe’.

Even if it meant destroying the world around you. Even if it meant destroying anyone else in it.

Like my writing? I can write for you! Check out my WRITING COMMISSIONS! BONUS SPRING SALE! 25% OFF! UNTIL 11/04!

A/N: Milo from Atlantis got stuck in my head for some reason recently (or maybe it was the one time Cole Sprouse cosplayed him on here, either way...). So...he's here? I guess?

[writingbyshiloh]

Third Time's the Charm

Request: Hii,if your request are still open can i request something for Gen V?Can you write something where Jordan and fem reader are childhood best friends and Jordan had always been in love with her but they feel insecure because they don’t know if reader will like them in both forms romantically?So when,in ep 3,Jordan dad goes like “Y/n and Jordan will be husband and wife” reader goes “Maybe we will be wife and wife”because she loves Jordan just like they are?

AN: Reader wants to be the first supe president (just to explain why they’re at the gala), I changed the timeline of the ep a tiny bit. I have another request about meeting Jordan's parents but that one might be more angsty.

CW: fem!reader, kissing, no beta, Jordan's parents are just their warning. The start is all flashbacks so I may have slipped on the tense a few times, no beta

WC: 2.0K

Jordan Li was your first kiss. Twice. The first time was in kindergarten, when they tried to kiss you and you smacked them with your Queen Mauve lunch box. Your second first kiss (the one you consider your actual first kiss) was done by you while playing truth or dare at 14. After picking a dare, you were asked to kiss the best-looking guy in the group. You shrugged and picked your best friend - Jordan. 

At age six, they were there when you broke your ankle trying to see if you could fly (you couldn’t). When you did get powers, they were the first person you told.

When Jordan came out to you as bigender, you did an internet deep-dive, trying to understand as much as possible.

Jordan listened to every interaction you had with your high school crush while quietly dying inside, wanting you to be happy. When your high school boyfriend cheated on you and then dumped you for the girl he cheated with, Jordan was there, ready to sink hours into their Xbox to keep you distracted.

The worst week of your life was when you didn't speak to Jordan for 9 whole days. You got into a petty argument where you called them self-absorbed and they called you clingy. The fight snowballed into yelling arguments and ended with you receiving a cold shoulder from Jordan. 

When Jordan got their wisdom teeth removed, you camped out in their room, snuggled under their duvet with them to watch Property Brothers for two days straight. You even made sure they took their painkillers on time and used ice packs.

Every fight with their parents, you were outside in your car ready to pick up Jordan to stay with you. Once you showed up at their house at 6:03 am, eyes blurry with sleep and still in pyjamas. Jordan was crying, bob haircut looked messy from sleep. You drove them to Vought-A-Burger, still half asleep and ate greasy breakfast sandwiches in your car until Jordan stopped crying. 

Jordan was even your date to prom, taking photos with you in their masculine form to get their parents off their back. Once their parents were happy, you snuck them back to yours, where you stashed their prom dress. 

You both even applied to God U together. Too nervous to check your acceptance, Jordan checked yours and you checked theirs. Sitting across from each other on your bed you both log in before giving the laptops to each other.

“Okay, three, two, one…” you counted down, opening Jordan’s laptop. Your eyes scanned for any promising words like congratulations, or welcome. "Accepted" was the first word your eyes caught but you need to fuck with them.

“Jord… I’m so sorry.” You start. Their face falls, and you feel like a dick for doing this. But the opportunity is too good to pass up. “That you believed me! Because you got in!”

They lunged across your bed to see what the screen says. You saw Jordan's eyes scan the same letter you just read, picking out the same words. 

“You’re such an asshole!” they told you, rolling their eyes, gently hitting your arm with the back of their hand

You’ve never been shy about showering Jordan with compliments. Saved in screenshots never to see the light of day, Jordan has kept some of them. 

You: OMG!!! Jordan you’re so pretty. I’m so lucky to call you my friend. 

You: You’re so handsome!!! I love your hair slicked back! If she doesn’t agree you need to drop her. 

You: ur a solid 9/10. Lost a point for not giving me a sip of your drink yesterday lol

Jordan Li has been in love with you since age 16. Probably earlier, if they want to admit that to themselves. You’ve only ever expressed interest in men so they kept their feelings to themselves, not wanting to make you uncomfortable, figuring it was better to have you as a friend only than not at all. 

In your first year, you were even roommates. While Jordan flourished in crim, you bounced between majors before settling into politics.

Every time you brought some frat guy to your shared dorm, Jordan died inside. Trying to get over their long-standing crush, Jordan did the same.

When Jordan made number 2 on the top five, you celebrate with them. Maybe a bit too hard that night.

You were there when their ranking dropped after the death of Brink. A man you only met twice, but you would do anything for Jordan. Especially given how hard you fell for both versions of them last year.

“I’m going to try to tag team with your dad, get some points for you and keep him engaged, yeah?” You ask over your shocker. Jordan is behind you, ready to help with zipper duty for your dress.

“You don’t have to.”

You let out a small scoff. “Dude. I’m doing poli supe. Schmoozing with rich people is like half our courses. Zip me up please.”

“How long have you known Jordan? You seem to be a good couple.” The man you and Jordan's dad suckered into a conversation asks. He's sitting beside Jordan's parents, while you and Jordan are on the edge of some fancy pit or table. 

“Well, these two have known each other pretty well over the years. Jordan tried to kiss her when they were kids, and she hit him with her Black Noir lunch box.”

“It was a Queen Mauve lunch box, actually.” You say with a laugh.

“And she called him ‘Jojo’ for probably the next two years out of spite.” Kayla laughs. It's a special embarrassment when your parents tell stories about your childhood. All the stories are about you but it's been so long ago you can’t remember any of it. Jordan looks worse off, slouchy posture against the banister, while you sit next to him. Part of you wants to tell him to sit up straight, but you figure you can play the grief angle better this way. 

“Oh, and remember when Jordan got his wisdom teeth out? You guys were inseparable. I think I still have the photo of you two passed out watching TV!” Kayla gushes, reaching for her phone to find the photo.

“We all thought you two would be president and First Gentleman.” Dad insists. Your smile is fake and tight, knowing if Paul pulls out prom photos, you would have to quietly fling yourself out of a window. 

Maybe you drank a bit too much liquid courage. Maybe the tension between them and their parents was getting to you. To give Jordan some space, you took their parents for a tour of your classes, knowing they’ll be talking to your family when they go back to Rochester.

Jordan shifting doesn’t even cause you to raise an eyebrow, the subtle sound just blurs into the background.

“Or president and First Lady.” You blurt out, four pairs of eyes darting towards you. “First supes in the Whitehouse? It would be political dynamite.”

“You like this version of Jordan?” Dad asks with bewilderment.

“Of course. I like Jordan because of how smart and driven they are. I like Jordan because of their weird sense of humour. It doesn’t matter what they look like.” you say, trying to prove it to their parents, but also to them. You’ve picked up on their crush many times, too kind to say something that would embarrass them or hurt them. It’s only recently how much you found yourself staring at fem Jordan and wanting to kiss her too. 

“I’m going to go and mingle some more.” says the man, Brad or Rob maybe. You forgot his name right after you met him. His words are like a bucket of cold water was dumped over you. You don’t confess your feelings to Jordan just to Jordan, but in front of their judgy parents, and a possible donner. You need to go. 

You stand and straighten out your dress. 

“I’m going to go too. Other donors to talk to. Go Jordan!" You finish with an awkward laugh and even more cringy go team! gesture by yourself. 

You didn't lie to Jordan and their parents. You did go and talk to other donors but it twists your stomach every time you bring up how amazing their grades are, or how skillful they are at fighting. After donor number three gives you an answer that technically was “we’ll see” but heavily implied to be "yes for Jordan” you went to hide in the bathroom. You have enough battery left on your V-phone to keep it going for most of the night. Tomorrow you can talk to Jordan and hope you don’t fuck it all up. 

You barely look up when the door opens, already have done too much for the day to care who it is. 

‘Hey, can we talk?” You snap to attention at the voice. Of course, you know that voice. It's Jordan, still feminine presenting. 

“Fuck, Jord, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have spring that on you. I promise I’ll just go back and try to get you some votes, you’re going through a lot.” You say, in a rush to get the words out, desperate not to fuck up you’re friendship. The rim of the sink is hard against your back but you can’t help but shrink into it. 

“Did you mean it?” They ask, still keeping a distance from you.

“Yeah, of course, I don’t want to ruin this friendship.”

“No, what you said in front of my parents.” 

Oh right. Your confession. Fuck. It's already out there, might as well keep it going. 

“I may, uh-” you curse yourself for leaving your drink outside the bathroom, wanting something in your hands to stall. “-have a crush. On you. My best friend.” You twist your hands together, wishing Jordan didn’t look so pretty. If your heart beats any faster you may go into cardiac arrest. 

It's Jordan that indicates your third first kiss. It's gentle, and fast, like the second one. She pulls back quickly, but you run your fingers through her hair and pull her closer. The intensity from the first first kiss is still there, only this time you both share it. Her hand smooths up to your face, thumb stroking your cheek in a silent invitation to open your mouth. You comply, and tilt your head into her palm. Her tongue sweeps into your mouth and you can taste the champagne they were drinking. 

The sound of the door opening makes you both jump.

“Stall?” You ask, voice low and hushed. You squirm out from where she has you between the sink and her. You push the door open to the nicest-looking stall, desperate to keep kissing Jordan. They follow your lead eagerly, one hand wrapped around your shoulder to keep you near. 

Dipping their head, they softly kiss your jaw before moving onto your neck. You silently thank the other two women arguing in the bathroom so that your gasp goes unnoticed. Giving Jordan's hair a small tug, you pull them back up to you. The shit-eating grin they flash you makes you want to almost get caught again. 

Your free hand moves to their waist, trying to get as close to them as physically possible. 

You pull back slightly, wanting so desperately to get lost in the moment, but the commotion in the other stall is distracting. Plus you’re nosey.

Jordan frowns when you pull away, eyes scanning your face for something they did wrong. You shake your head and tip it over to the stall.

“The fuck?” They mouth to you, hand still around your shoulder.

You gently push Jordan against the door to give yourself space to squat down. You see two pairs of feet in the stall across the wall. You hear the voices quiet down, before the sound of someone peeing. You frown slightly, weird fetish to do at a memorial gala but you hear rumours about students into more fucked up shit. 

“We should get outta here.” You whisper to Jordan. 

“Weird place for our third first kiss.” Jordan whispers back. You reach around them to unlock the stall door. Third first kiss. You replay the words in your head, a warm feeling blooming in your chest. 

You gently push them out of the stall, trying to keep your laughs quiet as you both scurry past the other couple in the stall. 

[kasagia]

I love you... I am sorry III

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x fem!witch! reader Summary: Your past is catching up with you, Aleksander regains his full powers, and everyone around you says you're losing your mind. Too bad that they didn't notice that you went mad agea ago. Aleksander Morozova's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Part 2 ~•♤♤♤•~ Part 4 ~•♤♤♤•~

"How did you do that?" Ulla asks you as you both hunt for food in the forest. You move slowly through the trees, keeping an eye out for any movement in the bushes in the distance or the audible sound of a deer or a wild boar.

"What?" You ask, stopping. You close your eyes and focus on the sounds around you. You place your hand on the tree trunk next to you and focus on its energy, the tips of its leaves fluttering in the wind and the veins in its roots. You open your eyes when you locate a deer nearby and nod to the black-haired one to follow you.

"Dragging Aleksander here with us. Mother was convinced that we would go alone with Alina and her retinue. And yet he actually ordered them to take him with us on this journey."

You shrug at her words and prepare your bow when you manage to spot deer tracks in the snow. You slowly follow the trail, telling Ulla to be quiet. A few seconds later, a whistle pierces the forest as you hit your target with an arrow.

"I'm not inside his mind. I have no idea what made him decide to come with us." You sigh, feeling the woman's gaze on you. She throws the small game you'd hunted earlier over her shoulder and helps you carry the deer to your camp.

"That's the kind of crap you're telling my mother. I know perfectly well that he changed his mind because of you. You avoid being around him like the plague when he doesn't have a gag, and he keeps looking at you like a desperate, furious, kicked puppy. Just blurt it out and say what you did."

You want to roll your eyes at her, but you keep any hint of your irritation to yourself. Your hand instinctively goes to your bare neck—the place where the glass heart pendant once rested. And Aleksander's blood. You don't know what he did with it, and honestly you don't want to know.

Lately you've been overcome by... a feeling of emptiness. Numbness. Not of your limbs because the magical properties of the heart necklace have left, but... of your soul. You've had it a few times before, usually during the winter-spring equinoxes. Ordinary people had the biggest endorphin surge then. You, on the other hand... let's just say you found your way better in the darkness and shadows of the longer nights... not because of one Shadow Summoner.

"He annoys me. I don't need to be around him anymore, so I don't. Besides, I'm almost certain that he's planning my painful, long, torturous death this way. At the hands of the volcra or his nichevo'ya—I'm not sure yet." You shrug and fall silent as you approach the camp.

You frown when you see that the fire is almost extinguished, and there is not a single living soul around it. Strange. Very.

"You two are like two stubborn donkeys. When will you realize that you really…"

"Stay behind." You tell Ulla and release the deer. She gasps from the sudden burden but makes no further sound at the sight of you acting strangely.

You approach the fire and use your boot to sweep away the ash that was left there from the burnt branches. You wrinkle your nose and uncertainly reach for a log to throw it into the fire. You crouch over the barely burning hearth and blow, throwing in a handful of dried herbs from your hip bag, causing the fire to suddenly ignite with a living flame. And in the process, you remove another witch's spell.

You gasp as you are suddenly pinned to the ground, a hooded figure looming over you, now holding a dagger to your neck. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Baghra, Alina, her loyal friends tied up next to the Aleksander, right where you left him.

You snarl as the witch presses the dagger to your neck, drawing your attention back to her.

"Jelena. We haven't seen each other for a long time. How long has it been? An age? Two?"

"What betrayed me?" She asks dryly, completely ignoring your attempts at decent conversation. Rude. You mentally prepare yourself for a fight with her.

"The seal under the ashes. If you can't cast a spell without drawing your weird markings, just don't do it." You mock her as she presses the dagger to your skin

You hiss in pain, crimson-black blood running down the column of your throat, drawing the younger witch's attention. Jelena bulges at you, her hand on the dagger trembling as she surveys her handiwork.

"You are vulnerable. It can't be real…" She mutters to herself in shock, scanning your blood as if it were a living stream of water in the desert.

"Not so vulnerable." You gasp and use your magic to throw her off of you. You sigh, pressing a hand to your neck and feeling the sticky blood on your fingers. "I still have a few tricks up my sleeve. So if I were you, I wouldn't taste me. What do you want?"

"Kill you. Just like practically all of the witches from Ravka and Fjerda."

You snort at her obvious statement, watching in relief as she tucks the dagger into her boot. It's nice that for old times' sake she decided not to slaughter you with such a primitive tool. Ulla's searing gaze reminds you that you need to be quick with her if you don't want the young Morozova to enter this interaction uninvited.

"Oh please. I'm not that popular." You joke, earning a slight twitch at the corners of her mouth. You sigh, sitting down by the fire and nodding for her to do the same, ignoring the stares of your forced companions. Especially the one with exceptionally dark irises. "I thought you had finished your hunt for me a long time ago?"

"It's nothing personal. The Great Witch has a bounty on your head. And I need the money they offer for your head. I happened to be passing by and heard your name. I decided to try my luck."

"And they say it's a bad thing to gossip." You mock your bonded companions. "Since when does Reyana want me dead?"

"The leadership in the coven has changed since you were gone. Reyana is dead. Luke has taken command."

"That son of a whore..."

"Believe me, I hate him more than you. But I need this reward, Y/N." She says, sending you a serious, meaningful look. You sigh, knowing exactly what you need in exchange for her 'loyalty' to you.

You stand up and go to Nikolai's bag, rummaging through his things, pulling out a pouch of gold and playing with King Ravka's coins, looking from under your lashes at your old companion.

"How much does he value my head then?"

"5 thousand gold bars for your heart. And thousand for your head."

You scoff at the absurdity of the amount. You fiddle with the purse a little, casting a spell of limitlessness on it. You sigh, closing your eyes as you use up a significant portion of your powers on such a… trivial thing. You knew perfectly well that Jelena didn't have the strength or resources to acquire such a spell. None of the lesser witches did. But you were no ordinary witch…

"Nice. Maybe I could give them to him myself; it would be more rewarding than watching over those spoilt children." You mumble, sitting down by the fire and throwing the purse at her.

She raises her eyebrows, turning it over, trying to spill all its contents. When she sees that the coins are not running out, she raises her eyebrows, gives you a wicked, wolfish grin, and puts it in her bag.

"Since when have you been dealing with kings and queens?" She asks curiously, nodding at the people she has trapped.

"Since when circumstances force me." You mumble and dig into the pocket of your coat. You lean in and hand her a roll of paper, text starting to appear on it. “Here. An illusion spell. Strong enough to trick Luke into thinking you gave him my head and not some farmer or criminal’s.”

"He'll kill me if he finds out I've deceived him. Why would I help you and make him believe you're dead?"

"Who said you knew it wasn't me? Sell him a story; you can lie, right? You'll have your money, and I'll have peace... for a while. We both know I'm stronger than you. You would never win anyway. So take advantage of my generous and good heart and leave. Or I will make sure you won't be able to."

"Smart. And cunning. But watch yourself. There are many besides me who will try. And when no one succeeds… Luke himself will come for you." She warns you and stands up, dusting the dirt off herself.

"Oh I know. And I can't wait." You promise her, the dark, cold tone of your voice sending shivers down the young witch's spine.

"By the way, your boyfriend is cute. I understand now why you killed half of our coven for him." She adds with a wicked smile, nodding her head in Aleksander's direction. "If he didn't stink of you so much… I might still be tempted." She says, licking her lips.

"He is centuries older than you." You growl at her, fighting the blush that wants to bloom on your cheeks at her words.

"Has that ever stopped us?" She asks cheekily, waving at you before disappearing into the fire she started. You giggle, finally letting yourself lose control.

You take deep breaths and press your hands to the ground as a trail of blood begins to run down your nose. Damn necklace. The lack of it has weakened you more than you thought it would.

“What the fuck was that?” Ulla asks, being at your side sooner than you’d like.

You take a few ragged breaths, feeling her gently brush your hair away from your face and soothingly rub your back as shivers run through your body. You were too old for this shit.

"The past. And too much use of magic. Don't worry, lapushka. It'll pass… in a few hours." You assure her and place a hand on her shoulder, standing on wobbly legs. "Take care of these idiots. I need to take a nap for a while." You say and trudge to your tent.

Aleksander's glance is duly ignored by you.

“Will you stay for dinner?” Aleksander asks you, trying to control little Ulla who was running around the room, already setting the table for three.

“Will you stay forever?” His little sister asks you, completely ignoring her brother. You laugh, amazed at how happily she welcomed you just hours after you first met.

You kneel down to be at her height and send a few dust butterflies her way, cleaning the table that has been unused for a long time.

"I will stay as long as you want me to." You declare solemnly, to which Ulla throws herself into your arms with joy, chattering about how she will finally have someone suitable to play with dolls, because Aleksander, with his too low voice, is not suitable for pretending to be a princess.

You smile, stroking her dark hair. You lift your head to take a glimpse at your lover, but instead of seeing that beautiful, tender look he gave you whenever you and Ulla had one of these interactions, he looks at you with a blank, distant gaze. And from the shadows gently swirling in the corner of the room and his clenched fists, you can tell that nothing pleasant is on his mind.

"Ulla, go get some bread from the kitchen. Y/N, she must be starving after this exhausting day." The girl nods on command and runs excitedly for food. You know perfectly well that her obedience will not last long. She will disappear the moment her excitement dies down. "Don't promise her such a thing."

"Why? Are you bored of me already?"

"Because we both know perfectly well that sooner or later you'll leave us." You open your mouth to start arguing with him, but he continues, not giving you the opportunity. "You... won't be living as long as we will."

"Aleksander..." You mumble and try to put a hand on his shoulder, but he pulls away from you before you can.

He grips the back of the wooden chair, barely sparing you a glance, and your heart aches to see him going back down the old paths of isolation Baghra had led him down.

You won't let him do that though. Not after he's claimed you as his. You walk over to him and gently cup his cheek in your hand, briefly appreciating the way his delicate stubble teases your skin before you pull him in for a kiss, momentarily dispelling his dark thoughts and the shadows he's unwittingly let loose.

You loved kissing him. His soft lips against yours, the quiet sighs every time you tenderly caressed his cheek, his hair, the way he trembled under the smallest act of your undeniable love and tenderness. You loved him. Madly. To death. Sometimes so much that it worried you how much power he had over you. Almost as much power you had over him.

"I promise you. I will find a way. I AM finding a way. And I will stay forever. Even if I have to claw my way into eternity, I'll fucking do it because I love you. More than anything in this saint-forsaken world." You whisper shakily and press your lips to his in a silent promise.

Aleksander wraps his arms around you, enveloping you in a tight embrace as he presses you against his chest, hiding you from the world in the safe warmth of him around you. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, allowing himself to be vulnerable with you - rare moments that you hold close to your heart.

"I... just don't give her false hope... and me." He mumbles against the skin of your icy neck, sending shivers down your spine from his warm breath.

"My dear Shadow Summoner... I will never leave you. I promise. Nothing will take me away from you. Neither Baghra nor death." You say, stroking his hair and pressing a kiss to his temple.

"I would be careful with Baghra." He mumbles a quiet warning against your ear, and you giggle, pressing kisses along the line of his jaw.

"I am not scared of shadows anymore." You promise him tenderly and capture his lips in a gentle, slow kiss, enjoying the way he entwines his hand in your hair and pulls you as close to him as possible, as if he wanted to make sure that really no force would tear you away from his embrace.

"I love you. I will always love you." He whispers against your lips and rests his forehead against yours, inhaling your scent deeply.

"I love you too."

Your bubble of peace only lasts for a moment. A few seconds later you hear quick, small footsteps as his sister returns.

"I found honey!" She exclaims happily and places the jar in the middle of the table, right next to the bread.

You give her a smile, ignoring Aleksander's embarrassed blush and destroying his attempts to explain the small supplies of their pantry by announcing that you're going fishing tomorrow. After all, they had to eat something.

As it turned out later, you had never been happier than that night, eating bread with honey in the company of the two people most important to you.

"So? Who was that?" Alina takes you out for a chat as soon as you leave your tent.

You look around the clearing, seeing Zoya and Nikolai sitting next to each other with bowls of food, Ulla writing in her book next to a still-tied Aleksander, and Baghra watching it all from a distance with a sneer on her face. It's a good thing Feydor, Ivan, Genya and David had the decency not to stare at you like the rest of them did when you went closer to the campfire for food.

"I have no idea what you're on about." You mumble, rubbing your aching temples and with a grateful smile you take the plate of food from Ulla. Deer. Oh the irony.

"No? So who immobilized us all 4 hours ago?"

"Maybe Ivan was having a bad day." You say evasively, biting into the meat. You really had the feeling that you were going to kill more than just that deer today. You wonder how much the world would miss Alina Starkov.

"Y/N…" Ulla starts, giving you one of her damn looks that you can't refuse. Bitch. She must have learned that from her brother.

"You have your past and I have my past. You don't need to know anything more."

"But our past does not threaten our mission." You raise an eyebrow at Alina's words and cast a significant glance at Aleksander - your first in weeks. You freeze as his dark irises stare back at you.

Another mistake you made today. You think to yourself as you let yourself drown in the blackness of his eyes. And you see many things there. Betrayal, pain, rage, but also... concern. For reasons obvious only to saints, he cared about what happened today. He really cared.

Before you can escape to the safe materials of your tent walls, Ulla unties the gag and ropes binding Aleksander. (The condition he was here under – he was to have shackles blocking his powers and a gag if he tried to throw another fold. They only took them off when you were nearby to eventually stop him.)

Your delayed reflexes cause you to stand, but you don't get very far before his cold, commanding voice echoes through the camp.

"Stop."

You freeze. Your heart beats a few times, but you don't turn to him yet, your gaze goes to the forest path that could take you far away from here and this uncomfortable conversation.

"Don't even try." It's like he reads your mind. A second later, he's standing right behind you, grabbing your arm and forcing you to turn to face him. You lift your chin, giving him an emotionless look, silently hoping he can't feel your heartbeat through his grip on your wrist. "Who was that?"

"My friend. Old one. From my last coven." You answer as briefly as you can, trying to ignore the way he stares at you intensely, as if he wants to rip the true, better answer out of your soul through your eyes.

"That's what I heard. Same with the part where she talks about how you killed half of them for me. Why?

A shiver runs down your spine, your heart clenching at the dry, indifferent way he asks you the question. So you do the one thing you do best – you enter a self-defence mood.

"None of your fucking business." You growl, practically spitting angrily in his face.

He raises an eyebrow at you, the tension between you so palpable that out of the corner of your eye you see Alina nodding at the others to move away from the two of you, clearly taking them out of the potential path of your mutual rage.

And good. You've never desired more to hit him ever before. To sink your claws into his heart and make him suffer as you did. To send him the darkest curse you have in your books. To leave him as miserable, as abandoned, as hurt, as angry as you have been all these centuries without him.

He deserves that for being a hypocrite. He... he had no right to worry about you when he was acting like this. So cold to you. Like nothing ever connected you. Like you where nothing to him.

"Everything you do in my name is my damn business. But let's move on to more pressing matters, why on earth was she able to hurt you? Why were you bleeding? I thought you were beyond… that you were insensitive to any attack."

"It's none of your damn business anymore." You repeat firmly, seething with rage that he has the nerve to be outraged at you for allowing yourself to be hurt. Like you're begging Jelena to put a dagger to your neck.

"Y/N..." Ulla's warning fades beneath the rush of shadows across the clearing.

His burst of power is so sudden and so fast that you can't block it, not with so much emotion churning inside you. And the bastard took advantage of the moment perfectly.

As if from a distance you can hear Ulla and Alina's screams as she tries to shine her light through his shadows, but Aleksander is stronger even than the Sun Summoner with her amplifiers.

Which is logical. He's had centuries of practice.

Without your necklace, all you can do is stand there, dazed by the sudden darkness around you. And though his shadow creatures growl around you, though you should be looking around frantically for a way to escape from him, all you can do is look into his eyes as he maneuvers you and pins you to a tree with his body.

You see many things in his eyes. Fury, rage, spite, and resentment, most of all. He wraps his hand around your neck, tightening it, reopening the wound that had somehow healed itself during your brief nap.

He watches the blood run down the column of your neck, staining his fingers. His grip on your throat tightens. You grunt and snort, fighting for air, but he doesn't seem to notice at all. He stares at your red and black blood, completely ignoring your gaze.

"Go on. Kill me. Do it." You hoarse into his face, his grip on your neck tightening.

Shadows circle around you like crazy, you can hear the others' cries in the distance, but they're effectively muffled the moment he leans down and rests his forehead against yours.

You freeze, completely unaware of what's going on. How can he be so hateful towards you one moment and then… hold you so gently, like you're still the only thing in this damn world that matters to him?

"You're a damn poison. A plague. How many times... how many times when I think I've finally gotten rid of you, you come back and…" He sighs, and you feel his breath tremble slightly as he traces the wound on your neck with his index finger. "I've dreamed of killing you as many times as I have of having you in my arms again."

The confession catches you off guard a little. You wonder if he wants to sweeten your death with sweet lies, but you know Aleksander. He doesn't lie. He just avoids the truth that's inconvenient for him, but he's never lied to you... unlike you.

"Same here." You mumble as your noses brush.

His lips so close to yours, memories of the days when you had every right to press your lips against his, to feast on him like he was the best delicacy in all of Ravka. He was still... just not yours anymore.

"I hate you." He whispers, shattering your heart into another thousand little pieces.

"I know." You answer, swallowing hard. After a while he pulls away from you. No hesitation. No trembling. As if pulling away from you was as easy as pulling away from a stranger. A slip in his composed stance. That was all you could count on.

The lack of his hands on your body, the cold without his touch becomes something much more uncomfortable than his gentle strangling of your neck. You wonder what would be better, death by his hand, as he holds you, or without him, living each day alone with the ghostly memory of his touch. Indeed, there are fates worse than death.

"Never again… never give it to me again." He says and pulls your necklace out of the pocket of his kefta. The glass heart with his blood rests on your neck again. He gently lifts the material of your shirt and hides it under it, covering it with his hand. Your heart beats like crazy under his palm. Pathetic how small and helpless you felt under his slightest touch. How desperate you were for him like a dry well for water. "I don't want… don't leave me. Not you."

"But you hate me." You mumble, unable to meet his gaze. Not if you want to maintain some dignity and not cry in front of him.

"And I've known you too long for you to die before me. Just like everyone else."

If he knew that with each such confession your heart was dying in longing for him, he didn't seem at all merciful today to spare you them. Or maybe he just didn't want to be merciful to you anymore.

"I have no intention of dying after you." You respond with a challenge of your own, congratulating yourself internally as you see his gaze harden and his hand involuntarily clench into a fist. It felt good to know you could hurt him as much as he could hurt you. That you still affect him...

"You killed those witches… to gain the spell to create this. Yes or no?" He asks, his hand tightening on the glass necklace hidden under your shirt.

You swallow, looking away from him. He’s having none of it. He grabs your chin and forces you to look at him properly, to confront the pieces of your past you’ve desperately wanted to keep from him.

"Yes." You mumble, unable to stop yourself from leaning into his touch.

"You are a monster." He responds, stroking your jawline with his thumb as he looks at you with a faraway gaze, thinking intensively.

"Everyone with as many centuries lived as we do is one." You state, undaunted by his accusation.

All was fair in love and war.

And when you were at war with Ravka, Fjerda, with the whole world against you, when he and Ulla were everything to you... what else could you have done? Nothing. If you could turn back time, you would go back and do the exact same thing.

Love could make you crazy, reckless, selfish, monstrous, but if you could live another day with Aleksander... you would do the same and worse. Much worse. You could do anything in the name of your love for him.

Even kill yourself.

Even live for him forever.

"Who is chasing you?" He asks, but seeing you turn your head away from him again, he cups your cheek and forces you to look at him properly. He leans in a little, his fingers unconsciously caressing your skin, which burns from his touch. And you want, no, you CRAVE more. So much more… "Y/N."

Your name falls like a whispered prayer from his lips, so tender, so different from the way he treats you now, so similar to the way he whispered it in the middle of the night and pulled you into the safe embrace of his arms.

You almost cry. You almost cry for him; you almost cling to him, crying your heart out, explaining to him the sacrifices you've made for him, how many enemies you've made by giving him your heart and yourself completely. But you don't. No, knowing he'll pull away from you the moment he gets the information he needs.

You weren't that much of a masochist.

"It's none of your business. I'm not yours. And you're not mine either."

You don't know who you're reminding of this, whether it's him, yourself, or both of you, but after your words he goes back to his cold demeanor towards you.

"You're right. Sometimes I forget about it." He pulls away from you as if burned.

You feel him shrinking the number of his shadows, letting his power hide again. After a moment, a blinding light appears instead of his shadows, and then you are back in the clearing, Aleksander, as usual, an ocean away from you.

"Good job, Alinochka." He praises her, giving her one of his smirks that once made you melt. Now it makes bile rise in your throat.

You know perfectly well that he's saying this specifically to hurt you, to show you the truth of your words. To prove to you that after all these centuries he has moved on and is truly no longer yours.

But that didn't mean it hurt any less.

And when you see Alina staring at him with the same inscrutable, angry, and lovesick gaze you had all those centuries ago at the beginning of your relationship, you know one thing.

You were slowly getting tired of apologising to him for loving him.

It's been ages. It felt like ages. I hope you enjoyed it! Any comments/messages/hearts are greatly appreciated and thank you so much!!! If you want to, let me know what you think 🥰🖤🖤🖤

Taglist (I hope everyone who wants to be here is here): @aoi-targaryen @chelseyyouraverageluigi @watersquirtpewpewboomm @summersummoner-pat @barnes70stark

@zeeader @the-desilittle-bird

@thepassionatereader @budugu

@sinistersnakey @diaries-of-a-hopelessromantic

@aryhyuuga

@oh-thats-cute

@meadows5

@dreamtheatre

@sinistersnakey

@lovelydoveval

@shatteredheartofdarkness

@m-ichelles-world

@ariesmai

@flostvs1508

[anim-ttrpgs]

Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy Beta March 1st Update

We have just recently released the March 1st update to the public Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy beta on itchio!

This is one of the shortest spans of time between two big beta updates, but the changelog is still pretty expansive, a lot of quality-of-life stuff, clarifications, typo fixing, lots of focus on bug-hunting in general, so overall this version should be much easier to understand.

The biggest new additions are a bunch of new art pieces, and we finally finished the Module Writing Guide in Chapter 7, so you can use all 10 steps to help you get your Eureka Mystery Module Game Jam submission ready.

Now, we can finally start moving forward at speed again on copy-editing.

Full changelog below

CHANGE LOG 

Copy-editing Progress: Thoroughly copy-edited up to p. 302. Half-ass copy-edited up to p. 322.

Don't forget, we also released Eureka adventure modules “The Eye of Neptune” and ��FORIVA: The Angel Game” into free beta on itch.io!

WHOLE BOOK

Removing Examples of Play for time and more importantly page count reasons. There is a small chance they may get added back in. 

CHAPTER 1 

Added an example of very rare circumstances where Ticks can just pass from a task without a roll or Scene change. 

Adjusted some phrasing in “Be Prepared to Lose”

Added “Approaching this Game” section

Added that if a Tier of Fear fear comes up mid-session that your investigator does not have on their sheet, you add it to their sheet in the tier that it makes sense right there mid-session. 

Made it more explicitly clear that failed and partially succeeded investigative rolls should not give false information.

CHAPTER 2

Edited a mistake in the Chemistry Skill 

Clarified that a character cannot have multiple instances of the same Trait 

Clarified that even with the Did You Know Trait, an investigator can still gain bonus Investigation Points from other Traits. 

Fixed a typo in the optional fears in the tiers of fear section

Slapped in a section that better explains how the character sheet works, will fix this up later

Clarified that My Glasses Trait gives a Contextual bonus and clarified Go With Your Gut

Moved “Creating NPCs” from Chapter 7 to Chapter 2.

Really cleaned up “Creating NPCs” and “Morale” and made it much more clear

Added Sunscreen to item list, for vampires. 

Added a toolbox to the item list.

Added an option for trivial items to cost 1 Tick instead of a Wealth Roll. 

Raised the price of campers and RVs

Added a section of the item list for additional property

Split First Aid Kits into three separate items, representing different levels of preparedness. 

Added Emergency Medication, such an epinephrine, to item list 

Added prescription medication to item list

Added clarification that unless stated otherwise, most items include the means to use them, such as cameras coming with film. 

Clarified that the WP price of vehicles includes the fuel to power them

Added more drugs

Added a paragraph about how WP costs are decided and how one might adjust them for different places or time periods. 

Added a note about legality for weapons other than firearms

Increased the WP cost of certain electronics 

Added remote control drone to item list

Added a separate item list section for Medicine.

CHAPTER 3

Clarified Epicenter Initiative and fixed typos

Added a lot more bullet point summaries

Clarified falling damage.

CHAPTER 7

Finished the “Setting the Stage” section

Cut “Connections (Optional Rule)” for now. We might put it back in later, but the thing that this rule does is something that most groups have little trouble doing on their own, and we really need to reduce page count.

Moved “Creating NPCs” from Chapter 7 to Chapter 2.

Reordered chapter 7

Removed “Character Moments (Optional Rules)” for now, might put it back in. 

Removed “Car stalling Out” Might put it back in. 

Removed “Clues direct the party” and “Clue redundancy”, might put them back 

Finally completely finished the mystery module writing guide but it still needs editing

Clarified that converting some “investigation” modules from other games is not as easy as it should be. 

More art has been added.

CHAPTER 8 

Fixed typo in the Wolfman “Unstoppable” section

Fixed it so that the Wolfman “Just Built Denser” section does not make wolfmen inherently be super tall

Fixed typo under the Curse section of Changeling

Clarified how the Manifest Weaponry Mage Ability interacts with other Traits.

New hunting table entry added (this one was from a submitter, those slots are still open, you can email us about getting your own custom hunting table entry at anim.contactus@gmail.com)

Added another new fan-submitted hunting table entry. 

Fixed typo in “Where Does the Blood Go?”

Clarified Telekinesis mage power and gave it an effective range.

Clarified that dogs can’t own dogs. 

Even further clarified that talking dogs are dogs. 

Fixed typo accidentally saying that there were four types of investigators. This was because Mage used to be a separate category on its own.

Changed the default modifier for the Composure roll that vampires must make upon being exposed to sunlight the first time each Scene from +3 to +5. They will still potentially lose a lot of Composure to sunlight because this roll is also modified by the huge negative modifier that is affected by how much coverage they are wearing, but when starting at +3 it was taking way too much Composure for the monster type that has the least options for restoring Composure. 

More art has been added.

[saintship]

humbly would like to request konig seeing s/h scars on his s/o for the first time :’)

fun fact i got dumped one time over em one time, my ex saw em on my thigh and was like “yeah no”

First of all I’m hunting this fucker down, what the hell??

People who get stranger’s IP’s do your shit

I’m so sorry that happened to you, that little boy did not deserve you, I hope you enjoy<3

SIDE NOTE I saw a headcanon on tiktok saying “König is NOT shy” And I kinda loved that so I tried to explore it a bit

Warnings: S/H scars, revealing of traumatic events

König x Reader

Outer Patrol

Of all the assignment you cycled through, outer patrol was the easiest on the eyes. The forest surrounding the base consisted of thin birch trees packed together, so that slivers of sunlight would reach through and grace the east grounds. Your favorite was the early morning outer patrol with König—he shared your fascination with the forest, and slung a loose arm around you when it had been truly freezing last winter.

Now, in the warmth of July, the sun casted its light aggressively through the gaps of branches and leaves, the humid air clouding your thoughts.

The sticks and leaves crumpled under both of your boots, König bringing up the rear on the narrow path.

“Do you think there are bears out here?” You murmur, looking carefully through the gaps of the trees.

“Nein. We make too much noise..” König pointed out. The camp certainly made itself known during artillery drills.

You hum, letting the air settle in silence again. Suddenly, you stopped in your tracks, causing König to nearly topple you over.

“Hey!”

“Sh!” You hold up a gloved hand, staying as still as possible. Slowly, you lifted the other to point ahead of you, where a fox pawed at the ground, investigating the lush grass.

“That’s not a bear.” König’s whisper nearly made you laugh, but you swatted his shoulder instead, smiling.

“He’s so cute..” you whisper. The fox lifted its head, spotting the two of you and bounding away quickly.

“I guess it’s not too loud for him.” You turn around and walk backwards to face your partner as the path widens ahead.

“Maybe we’ll see kits in the spring.” König said softly.

“Aw..” You cooed at the thought, smiling.

The path continued, but there was a faint fork that led off to the right.

“Have you seen this?”

König shook his head.

You pushed back a branch, stepping through the threshold. The path was littered with overgrown ferns, bushes, and a few fallen logs you had to vault over. Finally, the path opened to a clearing, where a small stream expanded into a large pond nestled underneath a trickling waterfall. The rocky ledge slanted down, the falling water sparkling beneath the late morning sunshine.

“Oh..my god..” you breathed. You turned to see König’s reaction; he was transfixed on the water, his eyes shining under the dark paint and hood.

“This is insane..” you knelt by the water, removing a glove to feel the temperature. “Not bad. I bet people used to swim here.”

Suddenly, König’s pager buzzed, and he was broken from his trance to retrieve the device from his hip.

“König, outer patrol..” He greeted.

“Price is tellin’ me to inform everyone off base to not come back until the afternoon; apparently we’ve got more people than we’re supposed to have on the property, and the hounds are here earlier than he thought.”

Simon’s voice rang gruffly through the transmitter, sounding irritated.

“So just don’t come back for a few hours, yeah?”

“Ja.” König replied.

“Thanks, Ghost!” You called from where you knelt at the water.

“Whatever.” The line clicked, leaving them alone with the sound of running water again.

“Well, we couldn’t have been in a luckier spot to stay put.” You stated, pulling off your backpack. You set down your gun next to it and hugged your knees, watching the water.

“That is true.” König conceded. He shed the bulk of his gear, along with his weapon, but remained standing, wandering along the shoreline. He knelt for a moment, seemingly inspecting something, before standing again and tossing a stone sideways, the rock skidding a total of four times before plunging into the water.

“Woah!” You got to your feet, walking over to him. “You could go Olympic..” You found a stone that seemed thin enough, turning it over in your ungloved hand.

“Just turn your hips. Put your soul into it.” König instructed, enacting his ridiculous stone-skipping stance. You laughed a bit, but followed his direction, skipping the rock twice.

“Ha!” You threw your arms up, connecting your hands with König’s for a double high five.

“Not bad..” He chided.

The sun rose in the sky over the next hour, you and König perfectly content with skipping rocks, wrestling, and splashing each other. All the movement combined with the beating sun made for a layer of sweat underneath your uniform.

“Wish we could swim; I’m melting..” you laid on your back dramatically, feeling the warm stones through your shirt.

“Why not?”

“Because, we have work, and someone might- hey!” You sat up, gaping as König lifted his shirt. He was careful to keep his hood on, but dared to strip of his pants, boots and socks.

“What are you doing?” You couldn’t help but smile at his tenacity.

“Just to my waist!” König gestured to his bare torso, his black briefs and hood being the only fabric left on him. You watched as he waded in, the muscles of his back enough to have a warmth climb your neck. You look away, feeling uncertain about ogling your coworker.

“It’s so nice!”

You turned back to see him hip-deep, running his hands back and forth along the surface. The definition of his chest and shoulders was criminal, accentuated by the patterns of light reflecting off the water’s surface.

“Come on!”

“No way!” You grinned, trying to hide the sense of dread the idea brought onto your mind.

“I am willing to use force!”

“Oh, god..” you sighed, removing your boots and socks. You waded to your shins, rolling up your pants so they didn’t get wet. The water was cool, washing away the sweat prickling on your legs. “Happy?”

“I don’t think so..” He sang, wading back to the shore. The water cascaded down his lower stomach, along his thighs. You found yourself furiously studying the pebbles at your feet, rendering you unaware of König’s attack.

He lifted you from the water with damp hands, ready to drop you in the further depths. You yelped, laughing but terrified of coming back with a soaked uniform.

“Alright! Alright!” You shouted. “I’ll get in, crazy!”

A gentle laugh rumbled from his chest, which sounded right by your ear as he set you down. You had felt the muscle of his chest through just a layer of fabric; the thought enough for you to avoid his eyes.

With all the laughter, you almost forgot the reason you didn’t want to undress in the first place. While König returned into the water, you pulled off your shirt, your sports bra being the only covering for your chest. The high-waisted underwear that you wore so your belt didn’t dig dents into your skin acted as bottoms, but you were hesitant to remove your pants. König noticed your labored breathing, returning to your side again.

“You don’t have to..if you really don’t want to.” He said gently, holding out a surrendering hand.

“No, it’s not..I just..” you sighed, irritated, and sat down in the sand.

“Is there something bothering you?” König’s gentle question shouldn’t have made you shrink the way it did.

“I’m sorry I pressured you, I didn’t-"

“König, it’s not your fault.” Your words escaped a bit snappier than usual, your shame building into frustration. “It’s..there are parts of myself you haven’t seen. Things that might upset you.”

König continued to look in your eyes, his concern drifting to confusion.

“There is nothing I would hold against you..” he assured. “If you want to do this, you shouldn’t hold yourself back, it’s alright.”

His words grounded you. He was right; a bodily feature is not grounds for hiding yourself away for the rest of your life when you don’t want to.

You nod, finding it easier to just get to it. Your belt came off first, the sound of the sliding leather deafening in the air of trickling water and chittering birds. Sliding your pants down your legs, the scars stretching over your thighs seemed especially defined under the sunlight. You discarded your pants, resisting the urge to cover yourself. You heard an intake of breath from König; a noise of realization.

“That is why you didn’t want to?” He asked gently.

“Scars like these don’t sit well with most people.” You murmur. Standing, you wade fully into the water, letting the water come up to your shoulders. König followed quietly, the same depth with his height letting the water only reach his sternum.

“I don’t think of you differently.” He admitted softly. “I’m honored you trust me to share something like that..I believe you have nothing to be ashamed of.”

You study his eyes for a moment, the water around you soothing your worries. “Really?”

König nodded, then let the silence stretch its legs between the two of you for a moment.

“Do you wanna go under the waterfall?” König asked.

You smiled. “Your hood will get wet..”

He hummed in realization. “I suppose you’ll have to go under for two?”

You laugh gently, swimming toward the waterfall with a splash at his chest. The water fell gently, soaking your hair and cooling your scalp.

“That’s nice..” you murmured, your eyes closed. “They’re totally going to know..”

Opening your eyes, you spot König already looking your way. The water is deep enough here that the edge seams of his hood are dipping into the water.

“I think it was worth it..”

You know he doesn’t mean it was worth it to escape the heat. Or threaten to dunk you underwater, or watch you tilt your head back under a glittering waterfall. You’d admitted something raw—deeply personal. There was a tie that bound you now, separate from that military based trust that everyone shared. With the others, you’d devoted the sacrifice of your body; your role in the fight. But to one Colonel, you had devoted your mind.

[gothic-aesthetic-gal]

Old Scars (Part 23)

Ledger!joker x reader

Fem!reader is kidnapped by the joker and his henchmen while just trying to get a moment's reprieve from her boring, soul-destroying job ✨️

Tw: I mean, we all saw TDK, right? I'd say this is on the same level/rating. Kidnapping, violence more generally.

Part 23 -

I hurriedly changed into jeans and a t-shirt, pulling on my hoodie and a baseball cap. My feet were relieved to be in sneakers again as I gathered up the cardboard box I had set by for this part of my operation. I assembled and taped it, sticking the address on the top. Then I hurried down to the 24 hour internet café and printed off a false FedEx invoice for the property opposite my target, before hailing a cab and riding it to Fiskin Avenue. I had my handgun stashed in my beltline, but it didn't do much to alleviate my anxiety at how badly wrong everything could go in a matter of seconds. The crushing weight of what I had to achieve was terrfying as I stood in front of the open door to the old building, my heart was in my throat and I felt like I was going to throw up I was so scared.

I stepped inside and walked as confidently as I could into the offices, just like the guy I'd threatened for information had said. There was no one inside to my absolute joy, and it was stupidly easy to get into the room with two desktop PCs inside. I could tell Alexe wasn't anywhere near as powerful as the major players in the city -The ones like Maroni. If he was, there would have been some security. It was becoming so clear that there was a new-money arrogance to Alexe, and a self-assurance that no one could take him on.

I had hoped that I would be able to copy some of the files to a USB stick or CD, but quickly realised my terrible oversight. Of course the computers were password protected. After trying the obvious things like 'password1234', I began to panic. Instead I hurriedly crouched beneath the desk and decided to take the part itself.

I popped out the side panel of the first tower and disconnected the wires to the DVD drive which sat in front of the part I needed to access. I unclipped it and removed it with trembling hands. Then I slid off the cover and connectors to dislodge the hard drive and withdrew it. I stuffed it inside the cardboard box.

It didn't take to long to slot everything else back into the right slots and clip the cover back on. I moved on to fhe second one, expecting to be discovered any minute. As soon as I had the second drive and the computer towers were back together, I realised another potential hitch in my plan. If they tried to use the computers and realised the drives were gone before the raid, someone might get wise to the fact there was more going on. What if they tried to get rid of the girls or move them on? There was a rising lump in my throat as I considered this.

I decided to try and buy time in case anyone did attempt to log on by deliberately turning off the power at the wall and cutting into the cables. I did my best to make it look like a rat had chewed into them. Then I turned the power back on and stood up with the closed package in my hand.

I cautiously slipped back out of the room, closing the door behind me and heading for the entrance hall. I was about five paces from it when a voice called out.

"Hey, what are you doing here?"

For a moment I considered running but knew doing so would arouse suspicions and lead to a chase. No, the best thing to do was act calm and unassuming. I turned around smiling. I'd make them attribute it to stupidity rather than malice.

"Ah, sorry. I got this parcel to deliver and I got the wrong address. Which side is 37?"

The burly man approached, looking skeptical.

"Here look," I said, placing the package on the desk and fumbling in my pocket to withdraw the fake invoice.

I held it out and he snatched it from my grasp, scanning over it. His prickly demeaour dropped by a fraction as he handed it back and held open the door so that I could exit onto the street.

"It's the opposite side of the street," he said, with a look that clearly conveyed he thought I was far too dumb for my job.

As I squeezed past, I felt like I was going to spontaneously combust from the insane amount of stress. My legs were like jelly as I walked away but no one ran to stop me. So I just kept walking. One foot in front of the other. I just kept on walking until I had rounded two corners and frantically flagged down a taxi.

🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏

I laughed in giddy shock as soon as I made it back into the safety of my hotel room, locked the door and jammed the chair under the handle again. Immediately I flicked on the TV to try and drown out the sound of someone's music coming from the room above me and people shouting down the hall. I flopped down onto the bed, kicked off my shoes and pulled my spoils - the hardrives - out of the box, turning them over in my hands for a while in disbelief. It felt like a dream. I truly expected to get caught... I had been extremely lucky so far. I would be dropping one off at the DA's office, and one at a location only Renée Montoya would know to collect it from. If the DA had a copy, and her, then it was more likely this couldn't be swept under the rug again, and after what was still to come, I'd make sure peoples' eyes were on them all.

I sighed as whatever cheesy nineties sitcom was running on the TV. I was watching, but not really taking it in. I just had to hope and pray that the Ibanescus didn't realise what had been taken from them, and who by. One of them had seen me, afterall, and if someone tried to access the computers, they would soon be able to see what had happened. Everything was about timing. Only some of it could be controlled...

I laughed a little to myself, thinking life is rather like that. Timing. Always sbout timing...

Missing the bus could put you in the path of an oncoming car, or a lover... make your day, or break it. How long did any of us have left? Who should be counting the seconds? How late is too late?

Time is a great healer, or so they say. It's also a thief. It waits for no one. It's the most valuable thing a man can spend - and once lost, never found again. If you waste time, time wastes you. What's the secret to all good comedy? Timing; without it, your jokes won't land. Time was not on my side, but it also wasn't against me. I had to hope I could pull it off, that was all I could do. Blindly, if I had to.

Again I sighed and laid back on the bed. I was exhausted and whether I liked it or not, I would need enough sleep to stay sharp for the grand finalé of my plan. I had several hours to kill, so I might as well try to rest, however paranoid I felt that the Ibanescus, J, or even the cops, were after me...

I curled my body up into a foetal position with the hardrives clutched to my chest and a knife beneath the pillow. Exhaustion would take me into my subconscious, but danger still loomed over me. Before I knew whqt was happening, I was falling. Like Alice down the rabbit hole.

I found myself in a desolate place. A decimated landscape. It was all mud as far as the eye could see, the only breaks in the horizon were the bark stripped poles of blasted trees. The sky was as red as a wound while I struggled through the mud. Across duck boards and around great tangled spools of barbed wire, until I came to a dug out - a scar in the ground. Seeing a ladder, I clambered down, slipping and falling from the fourth rung into yet more mud. It covered everything. A reddish clay, caked on every surface.

The angry sky began to pour rain down over me in a torrent of misery and I wandered the maze of trenches stretching out in front of me. I was ankle deep in water. Still I saw no one. Suddenly, ear splittingly loud, the sound of machine gunfire hit me like a wave. The ground rocked beneath my feet and the air cracked with the sound of shells exploding nearby.

Terrified, I squated and threw my arms over my head. The most primeval part of me was scared, scared like an animal. Scared like I wanted to find some cave to crawl into. Still I saw no one. No evidence of the war that was apparently raging around me. A warzone where the soldiers where absent. With renewed terror I ran, darting round corners, over sandbags, splashing the mud further up my legs.

In the sly way that dreams do, everything suddenly changed. I found myself in a totally different place and was slow to notice. Accepting it as normal. Before me now was a towering staircase. The room was dimly lit, but I could make out that it was at least five flights. The steps were narrow and supported by old metal girders and ornate railings, spiralling into delicate designs. I felt that something was at my heels and lurched forward, scrambling up the steps, at times on my hands and knees, as I stumbled, my limbs still slick with wet mud.

As I finally made it to the top floor, the crispness of the cold nighttime air hit me. It was a kind of clocktower, I could tell from the enormous shadowy husks of the bells, metal giants compared to me. I skirted around them towards the clockface. The clicking of the internal mechanisms and the movement of the hands was incredibly loud and I paused for a moment in the glow of the enormous round pool of light it cast. How strange it was to be stood on the wrong side of time like this.

Jarringly, with a fluttering of heavy fabric, a large figure dropped from somewhere above me down to my level. He landed with a thud on the wooden platform. A cloak as dark as the shadows around him splayed out like a black ink blot. As he drew himself up to full height I cried out in startled fear. He rushed forward which only made my terror rise. I scrambled away from him, not wanting to turn my back. I was going too fast. Before I knew what was happening I had crashed through the glass face of the clock tower.

As my body ruptured the glass, I tried to throw myself forwards, somehow managing to grab ahold of the balcony stonework of the floor immediately below. The wind whipped at me as I dangled over a drop into oblivion. The city cars crawled like ants below me and I screamed as terror overcame me.

My limbs trembled as I clung desperately to the ledge, the rough grit of the stone scoring into the skin of my fingers and palms. My feet scrambled for purchase against the sheer face of the tower and I desperately tried not to let my right shoulder drop over the edge; I was propped up at the elbow and through sheer force of will beginning to drag myself up, up and over. If I could get enough of my torso back inside, I could make it. I cried out with the exertion and the pain in my arm as the muscles strained in protest.

As suddenly as the mysterious batman had dropped into the picture, he had semmingly vanished again. Dissipated like mist over the river.

Now I could make out a different silhouette. Of course, it was him. I couldn't run away this time. There he stood, in his purple pinstriped dress pants and blue shirt, looking even more dishevelled than he usually did, with his trouser braces hanging loose at his side and his tie undone and flapping in the wind. His tangled, green-tinted hair waved around him as he started directly at me, eyes peering out of the all-too-familar black circles.

"Help me!" I called out in total desperation.

He slowly advanced, as thunder rumbled around the black sky, briefly silencing the ever present noise of Gotham city. He knelt down about a pace in front of me, and I clawed at the air, aiming for his outstretched hand. Drenched in the rain and mud, I was a wretched creature. Like Adam reaching out for the hand of God. Like Victor Frankenstein's creation, seeking his guiding hand.

"Please-" I begged.

I had no strength to say anything else. Another flash of white lightning illuminated his face as he remained just out of reach. His expression turned my stomach. It was stoic, callous even. I redoubled my efforts to save myself at the sight of his dead eyes. Suddenly his hand closed around my wrist, and he pulled a little, offering me just a little additional strength. A spark of hope. I began to rise a little further towards salvation, so close to the point of safety. I pushed harder, thinking I could get up and over to safety.

My eyes met his, hoping to see something kinder in them this time. Instead, I was met with a faint glimmer of sadistic amusement and I noted the corner of his mouth twitch upwards. I watched in despair as a real grin joined the permanent red smile.

I knew then. I was wrong to think he would help me.

His arm which had been pulling upwards, slowly stopped, leaving me dangling, watching my struggle. He was enjoying it. I knew what was coming and there was nothing I could do stop it. He was like a cat toying with a mouse. His grip began to loosen. I stopped struggling. I didn't scream. A hint of disappointment flashed in his eyes at my attempts not to give him what he wanted. I was spoiling the sadistic satisfaction he was withdrawing from the moment. He looked down at me again, this time with the same disappointment that a child might regard a broken toy with.

Then he let me go. I began to fall. Time seemed to slow almost to a stop as I lurched down, watching him silently as I did. He began to laugh. Even as I fell, and couldn't see him anymore, it was like it followed me. It was so loud. Ringing in my ears. Poking its way into my brain.

Tag List

If I forgot anyone or you want to be removed from the tag list - please let me know! 💕

@dis0rderly-cl0wn-nerd

@dance-like-a-clown

@furisodespirit

@heath-ledger-jokers-wife

@sunfyrejoker

@lightsabergirl

@clowning--around

@ruby-da-archangel

@harleenqvinn

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@ostricx

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@mikuley

@robin-the-enby

MASTERLIST CONTINUED II ⬇️

Dividers by @strangergraphics

[dertaglichedan]

Georgia man sentenced to nearly 500 years for facilitating dog fights, abusing animals

A Georgia man was sentenced last week to 475 years in prison for facilitating dog fights and abusing animals, which included 107 dogs seized at his property in November 2022, authorities said.

It's the longest known sentence involving dog fighting anywhere, state animal crimes resource prosecutor Jessica K. Rock, also a special assistant U.S. attorney based in Georgia, said by email Monday.

Rock said by email that defendant Vincent Lemark Burrell, 57, denied being involved in dog fighting in court. It wasn't clear whether Burrell would appeal. His attorney did not immediately respond to a voicemail message Monday evening.

The case launched in 2022 when an Amazon delivery worker reported to authorities that several dogs were tied up with heavy chains on the defendant's property in Dallas, Georgia, about 30 miles west of Atlanta.

On Nov. 8, 2022, Rock, Paulding County sheriff's deputies and local marshals were on hand to search to the property with a judge's permission, according to Rock and officials' statements.

Sheriff's officials said in a statement at the time that the dogs were pit bulls, though canines described as such are often mixed-breed. In a statement Thursday, the district attorney's office did not mention a single breed.

Prosecutors ultimately alleged 107 dogs were on the grounds with signs of abuse, including some observed as underweight — with the grounds apparently lacking food, water and shelter — and many dogs restrained with logging chains in close proximity, "a tactic that serves to build dog aggression," the Paulding County district attorney's office said in its statement Thursday.

Burrell was arrested the day of the search based on allegations of facilitating dog fights and animal cruelty, the sheriff's office said in a statement after the search.

Another group of dogs among the 107 at the property was found in a basement living with urine and feces on the ground, the sheriff's office said.

Evidence at Burrell's property linked him to dog fighting, the DA's office said in a statement Thursday. The evidence is alleged to have included a treadmill designed for dogs, a breeding stand, a break stick "used to pry open the jaws of a dog during a fight," documents linked to other "known dog fighters," a first aid kit for injured dogs, veterinarian-only medication and sales contracts for dogs.

Prosecutor said in the statement that a veterinarian examined the dogs and found some with removed teeth and scars from fighting.

The county seize the dogs under a federal warrant, and they were ultimately taken in by a nonprofit organization, Friends of the Forlorn Animal Rescue, NBC affiliate WXIA of Atlanta reported.

Among the dogs found was Baby Shark, 8 weeks old at the time, authorities said. In photos with prosecutors last week, she showed off her adult size and smile. Rock alleged Baby Shark was one of the dogs intended for illegal fighting.

Prosecutors K.C. Pagnotta and Jessica K. Rock pose with Baby Shark.

"He was breeding them for the purpose of dog fighting and so she would’ve ended up in that life had we not taken her from him," she said by email.

Superior Court Judge Dean C. Bucci sentenced Burrell to 475 years based on his conviction by a jury last week on 93 counts of dog fighting and 10 counts of cruelty to animals.

"The judge sentenced him to the maximum amount allowed by law," Rock said.

[cryoverkiltmilk]

The prosecution of the New Jersey Onceler is back underway. Viva la Tree Law!

KINNELON — A borough man who allegedly hired landscapers to cut down 32 of his neighbor's trees appeared in municipal court on Tuesday, in a dispute that has drawn "national and international" attention to the normally quiet Morris County town, according to the judge in the case.

With a discovery deadline of Aug. 31, Judge Andrew Wubbenhorst set a trial date of Sept. 22 for Denise Drive resident Grant Haber, who faces a trove of local ordinance violations for each of the trees cut down on the property of his next-door neighbor, Samih Shinway.

The case went mostly unnoticed by the public until a third court date last month, after a Twitter feed by a friend of the borough forester went viral. "Someone thought it would be a good idea to take the Zoom notice that was only intended for people who had involvement in the case and put it on social media," Wubbenhorst said Tuesday.

The judge said he was told that posting resulted in "hundreds of thousands of views, if not millions of views, and people trying to get into our [Zoom] court session, totally disrupting the court session," the judge said. "That's why we're here today in person."

Some of the people who were able to log into the conference, Wubbenhorst said, "were trying to disrupt and were actually very abusive and insulting to the court. Seeing that this case apparently has gotten not only national but international notoriety, I don't really think it's fair to the defendants and their counsel to have such interruptions and confusion in a virtual setting."

Prosecutor Kim Kassar said he needed more time to consult with expert witnesses before discovery could begin. Wubbenhorst, noting the volume of charges and public attention involved, cleared Tuesday's court calendar to focus on this case.

Only one of the charges is considered a criminal offense, in this case an alleged violation of a state statute "covering unlicensed entry of structures; defiant trespassing and peering into dwelling places."

Facing charges along with Haber are two tree service operators he hired: Ronald Fallas, doing business at Choco Tree Service in Newark, and Greg Brancaleone of Father & Son Tree Service in Kinnelon. All of the defendants were represented by attorneys who declined comment.

Cleared for a view?

Shinway, Haber's neighbor, said he took the woods on his property seriously: Before the tree-cutting incident, he'd retained the services of an arborist to help keep the forest healthy, he said. But on Feb. 27, Shinway said, he came home to the sound of chainsaws coming from the back of his land. He had to use an ATV to reach the site where the trees had been cut. Oaks and birch trees were among the targets of the landscapers, who stopped after Shinway confronted them and called the police, he said.

Shinway said the workers told him they had been hired to remove the trees to improve the area's view of the surrounding valleys and New York City.

When Shinway asked why they ignored the "No Trespassing" signs posted around his property, they responded that they had been told that the property's owner had given permission for the work.

Potential fines

Haber and the landscapers each face up to a $1,000 fine per tree. The additional cost to clear, replant and fully rehabilitate the land was reportedly estimated by a local tree expert to possibly be more than $1 million.

Both the Haber and Shinway properties include luxury homes on seven-acre, mostly wooded lots where trees limit backyard views of the New York City skyline and a nearby reservoir. Shinway speculated the motivation for the tree-culling may have been for "a better view."

Shinway said both properties are among the many million-dollar homes in the wealthy, heavily forested suburb of New York City, 33 miles from midtown Manhattan. He said the only contact he had with Haber prior to the tree-cutting was to discuss a fence on the Haber property he believed crossed onto his land.

"I just let it go," Shinway said, adding he did post "no trespassing" signs on his property after that.

One of the trees cut down had such a sign still affixed to it, he added. The cut trees also included oaks, hickory, birch and cherry, Shimway said.

A typed response

Shinway said after the incident, Haber sent him a typed letter that in his view fell short of an apology.

"It was impersonal," he said of the letter. "Stating they love nature, it wasn't done maliciously and the tree company that did it, the person was ill, and everybody's got families, something along those lines."

Shinway said he has not yet retained an attorney or considered filing a civil suit.

In-person, the court session only drew a small group of media and about a dozen residents, many of who were angry about what they said was the township's poor stewardship of their forested areas, claiming authorities had given tree-removal approvals to many property owners in violation of local ordinances.

"Look at all the trees being cut down for views of the Kakeout Reservoir, New York City, bigger toxic lawns, pools and whatever pleases us," said 54-year Kinnelon resident Mary Derstine before the hearing began. "I hope and pray we wake up in time so our children and future generations can know what a tree looks like, can breathe and have food to eat. Politicians, corporations and greed must not destroy our living planet."

[americangirlstar]

Sims 4 Builds - Caroline Abbott's House + Livingston Farm

In Sackets Harbor, New York, Caroline and her small family live in peace until the War of 1812 breaks out; with Papa captured and taken across Lake Ontario, Caroline's family finds themselves taking in boarders, and temporarily housing their cousins who fled from Canada. The Livingstons eventually move to their own farm, a cheap place with a bit of a thief problem where they could use Caroline's help. No CC.

Gallery ID: blackwoodsis. builds are also tagged under #americangirl, #americangirls, and #carolineabbott.

Information on each build under the cut.

Caroline Abbott's House

Meant for a 40x30 lot. Pictures are from Brindleton Bay.

Exterior is based heavily on the Sackets Harbor Historical Site.

Lot Traits include Great Soil, Homey, with the Off-the-Grid challenge.

The interior of the house has four bedrooms, two bathrooms, a study, a parlor, a kitchen, a dining room, and a storage room, as described in the books.

In the original stories, Inkpot pees and chases rats outside, due to litterboxes not really being a "thing" until the early 1900s. But we support Indoor Cats in this household, so we have a litterbox lmao.

The root-cellar is placed behind the house, with the well in the back corner and a laundry line in the front.

The garden is semi-planted already, and includes all kinds of plants mentioned within Caroline's story: three apple trees planted in the front yard with wildflowers, basil and parsley. With mushrooms growing by the well, the backyard garden has spinach, carrots, onions, green peas, green beans, tomatoes and potatoes. The oversized crops are pumpkins and lettuce.

Livingston Farm

Meant for a 40x40 lot. Pictures are from Brindleton Bay.

Lot traits include Great Soil, Eco Lot, with the Off-the-Grid challenge.

The Livingston log cabin is one-room, with a loft that Lydia (and supposedly Oliver) sleeps on. The cabin includes an off-the-grid kitchen. Beside it is an outhouse, the cow shed, and the springhouse on the back of the property. A laundry line and woodworking bench are also placed outside.

The animal shed pasture has lots of prairie grass... but also garlic. Watch out or you'll get rotten milk, Caroline!

There's some space left in the garden for whatever you want to plant, but what's already planted are: bell peppers, carrots, green beans, green peas, onions, parsley, potatoes, spinach, tarot root, and tomatoes. Oversized plants are pumpkins, watermelons and lettuce. The book mentioned cucumbers but Sims doesn't have that, so I replaced them with the bell peppers. There are also bits of asparagus in the far corner; though you can't plant them in this game, they were kinda important in the book so i placed them there to just kinda sit. You can probably remove them if you want to make use of the full garden.

[ourfatherwhoartinhell]

A Dark Redemption // [Part II]

Prompt | "Mountain being found by Ivy in the woods, not summoned"

Word count | 1.7k

⚠️ Warnings | Mountain is kind of a spooky bitch at first, very possible OOC Ivy, story has a bit of a horror vibe.

Plot Summary: Livestock have been going missing from the back pasture, Siblings have been telling stories of a 'demon' in the woods. Terzo sends Ivy to investigate, only for the ghoul to find the woodland creature and give him a chance at redemption.

A/N: Sorry this part is a bit long! 🖤 xo Emery

[Prev][Next]

The night was clear. The stars shone brightly as they decorated the sky, like freckles over the earth. Ivy looked up to appreciate the sight as he stepped outside, shutting his eyes as the warm summer breeze tickled past his pointed ears. He leisurely strolled towards the forest that lined the property line of the Ministry, not at all afraid of what he could - or would - find lurking in it.

When he stepped through the treeline marking the edge of the woods, Ivy switched to a more ghoulish appearance. Not only to ward off any unwanted trespassers, but also because it made his abilities much easier to use. His enhanced eyesight making quick work of the dark, his ears picking up the faintest sound of bugs crawling upon leaves on the ground, his nose searching for anything out of the ordinary, but ultimately finding nothing.

Ivy continued his search through every acre of land. Inspecting every tree, checking inside logs, and exploring the burrows left behind from Earth - who used to make them when he got overwhelmed. He was determined to find the sheep thief.

Reaching the black lake, Ivy decided to stop and take a breath. He emerged from the treeline and walked over the stones surrounding the water. He sat on a rock close to the water's edge, studying the mist rolling over the top as the morning hours approached. Ivy didn’t want to head back to the Abbey with nothing, so he prayed for guidance. To find a simple lead or a clue - something, before the sun arose to begin another day of fear. The ghouls hated seeing the Siblings afraid, Ivy more than most.

The ghoul huffed in frustration, and stood to finish his search. However, when he turned towards the woods once again, he heard crackling in the trees. The Sister who was attacked? She was right, these woods did have eyes...

and they were staring right at him.

Glowing orbs of green met dark amber as the two entities studied one another. Ivy tried to look intimidating, but not aggressive. He didn’t quite know what he was dealing with yet. The ghoul couldn’t make out any of the creature's distinguishable features. It didn’t look to be all that large upon first glance, the dark being’s narrow eyes resting only a few feet above the forest floor.

“Hello.” The ghoul said tenderly. “I can see you.”

The creature snorted and shifted, leaves and twigs crunching as it slowly paced the perimeter of the brush.

“I’m no one to fear. Can you understand me?” Ivy said, never once removing his gaze from the swirling green looking back at him. The wind picked up and a warm breeze caressed his face, blowing the creature's scent right to him.

“You’re–” Ivy’s dark eyes widened, and he sniffed the air once again. “uǫ ɒꙅꙅɘm ɒꞁᎸꙅɒ?” You’re a ghoul?

The opposing eyes mirrored the look of surprise before ducking behind a large tree, clearly startled. A series of confused snorts and grunts could be heard as the creature processed the new information. It sniffed the air as it crawled closer to the edge of the woods, now curious of the ghoul.

Its chest rumbled like thunder, echoing off the trees as it sized up Ivy. This new ghoul didn’t speak using words, but through guttural sounds and demonic chitters. 

‘Why can I understand you?’

“It’s going to be ok. I know you can’t understand when I speak in this tongue, but I’m here to help.” 

Ivy spoke calmly and took a step towards the strange ghoul. Reaching out a friendly hand, the sudden movement startled the creature and it ran further into the forest, faintly touched by the glow of the morning sun.

Ivy decided that was enough for one day, he would return to the Abbey and come back tonight. Not wanting to scare the poor ghoul more than he already had. This was the breakthrough he needed.

Returning to the Abbey, Ivy wished the Siblings a ‘Good Morning’ as he passed on his way to the den. Wanting to avoid Papa, he naturally ran into Terzo just before the door of the den.

“Dark morning, Papa.” Ivy said with a smile, trying not to sound suspicious.

“Ivy, good morning,” he said, tiredly. “I heard you went out to the forest last night, did you find anything?”

Ivy twiddled his toes and clasped his hands in front of him, never being overly good at lying. Especially to Terzo. “Uh, not yet. Actually, I’m going to head back tonight to… to finish looking! Yup.”

Terzo raised a brow quizzically, but he was too tired after staying awake all night to notice the ghoul’s dubious tone. “Okay, keep up the good work.”

Ivy nodded and waved, waiting until Terzo disappeared around the corner before rushing inside the den. He quickly shut the door and leaned back against it, taking a couple deep breaths.

What am I going to do? It killed Missy, Papa wants him dead!

Ivy squeezed his eyes shut and threw the back of his head against the door, trying to figure out what to do next. He couldn’t just leave the poor ghoul out there! 

Aether, the pack’s resident morning person, took in the sight of a very distressed Ivy as he walked past. 

“You ok? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” The large Quint teased.

“Yeah, I just… need some sleep, I think.”

Surely a fresh set of eyes and a rested brain would help. So, that’s exactly what he did.

That night, Ivy informed Terzo that he was once again making the journey into the forest. However, this time he knew where to look. 

It didn’t take long for the Earth ghoul to find the devilish being. Ivy came to a halt once he reached a familiar clearing in the dense thicket. It wasn’t a large area, but he knew a lot of the Siblings liked to picnic here. Even Terzo and Omega would find themselves enjoying the area from time to time, laying and star gazing through the opening in the trees.

Ivy walked to the centre, listening for his new friend and waiting for him to appear. It didn’t take long before the ghoul could sense he was no longer alone.

“I told you I would come back.”

Those green eyes materialized between the trees once again, standing closer to the edge than the previous night. Once again the creature spoke in hellish chitters as it stared.

‘You aren’t afraid?’

“No. Of course not,” Ivy spoke softly, using the devilish language they both could understand. “We are the same.”

‘We are not the same.’ The creature’s chest thundered aggressively as the trees shook, branches swaying in the aftermath.

Ivy’s eyes softened. He would never be able to completely understand how scary and confusing this must be for the new ghoul. Someone had clearly summoned him by accident and left him to fend for himself. All he knew was the ways of Hell - the ways of pure survival. 

As the creature paced around the edge, Ivy noticed the ghoul’s horns as it momentarily passed through a ray of moonlight.

“You’re an Earth ghoul.” He stated.

‘I am. As are you.’

“Could you come out into the open so I can address you properly? No offence, but I’m starting to get dizzy with you pacing like that.”

‘As you wish’

The demonic creature emerged into the clearing, dimly lit by the light of the moon. Ivy wasn’t sure he had ever seen a ghoul like this before. The hellish entity took 2 mighty steps towards the smaller ghoul and Ivy wondered if he had made a mistake by coming alone.

Since the new Earth ghoul hadn’t been taught how to glamour his appearance, in front of Ivy stood the largest ghoul he had ever seen. 

He was almost as tall as the trees that surrounded them. His skin was a dark brown with muscles like strong vines as they draped around his body. The many branches sticking out from along his back helped to sell his forest camouflage perfectly. The ghoul’s horns were like giant antlers; at least 2 feet long, they extended from what could only be described as a mask of bark which covered his entire head and face. It came to a point like a beak, expertly hiding rows of viciously pointed teeth. The ghoul had typical long claws which extended from his fingers, however they looked as though the tips had been previously singed. His large feet were similar to the roots of trees, strong and stable as he stood in the clearing.

Ivy could do nothing but stare as the unglamoured ghoul revealed his true form. He knew this one would give Alpha or Omega a run for their money if they ever met, but Ivy never felt afraid. The ghoul looked like a complete eldritch horror, with Ivy only measuring up to the size of its leg. Yet, the smaller ghoul could see kindness in its eyes, which peeked through the slits in his tree-like mask.

The giant knelt before him as Ivy tilted his head. The demon mirrored before sending vines to wrap around the little Earth ghoul’s neck.

‘You are not afraid?’ It said as the vines squeezed tighter. A hint of humour could be found in his delivery, like he was perhaps playing with his next meal.

“No.” Ivy said warmly, not a hint of fear to be found. Though he realized this must've been how that one Sister got her bruises. The ghoul used vines to drag and strangle its prey like a snake. “But I did just notice the bit of brown swirling in the green of your eyes. It’s very pretty.”

The giant ghoul’s expression quickly turned to shock, as though he was violently snapped out of the darkness that possessed him. He managed his version of a smile behind his mask and released the vines, retracting them into his skin.

“I’ll meet you here every night.” Ivy promised as he looked up at his new friend. “I’ll help you not get killed, and I can give you purpose.”

‘Then here I will wait’

Ivy placed a hand on the ghoul’s knee, between the two large branches that shot into the air. “Do you have a name?”

The large Earth ghoul happily made a series of demonic chitters.

“That's very fitting. I don’t think the humans can pronounce that though.” Ivy pondered. “What about… Mountain? ‘Cause you’re large and pretty like a Mountain.”

‘I like that.'

"Then, Mountain. I will see you tomorrow and we can begin your lessons.”

[Next]

[ungrateful-revolutionary-bastard]

--------------------------

Crosslands Printer Heist Saga, cont.

Continuation of this post, with @commgroundstone

--------------------------

>>Connecting to the Omninet..

>>Encrypting broadcast..

…

>>Encryption Complete

>>Connection secured, details below.

>>Current Solar System - [REMOVED]

>>Location - Crosslands

>>Mission - [REMOVED]

>>Broadcasting video file..

--------------------------

[Vesna, upon hearing the footsteps, quickly glances around to gauge her options. Boxes, palettes, backtracking.. She has the camo cloth, but that can only do so much. So, making a quick decision, she quickly vaults the boxes, dragging Mulry with her. She's not risking the maid's own safety as a result of trying to help her so long as she can prevent it.]

[Soon after crouching down, Vesna sends a signal through her hardsuit, activating the camo cloth from which her cloak is made. She detached the cloth from the hardsuit, the material already beginning to activate, before throwing it over herself and Mulry. She keeps crouched down behind the crates, staying near perfectly still and silent.]

[Soon, the footsteps sound once more, slowly approaching. The individual can be heard grumbling still, muttering something indecipherable. They stop before the crates for a few seconds, before muttering something else indistinct, and moving on down the hallway. The sound of their armor hitting the floor can be heard for some time due to the sound environment.]

"..There. Now let's get goin', eh? I'd prefer to keep this little.. adventure.. short and sweet," Vesna whispers, deactivating the properties of the cloth once she feels the guard has moved far enough.

--------------------------

>>Video log terminated.

>>The Hunt Goes On.

--------------------------

[gargusscp]

Sandy

Conceptual exploration drabble based on @zal-cryptid's upcoming Misfits in Toyland comic. How far can we extend the ideas of toys and play? Let's find out.

*****************************************************************

What’s in a grain of sand?

History, for one.  What once stood as a great solid mass worn from itself by the attritions of wind or water over ungodly ages, broken into millions and billions and trillions of component parts.  To most who walk these shifting tracts, there is no evidence once here stood an outcrop, a plateau, a cliff; merely now a different texture to the ground beneath their feet, beneath consideration unless a grain sticks somewhere unwanted.  The studied mind, however, one familiar with erosive sciences and larger distributive patterns, they might discern the rough nature of what once was from a grain.  Not on its lonesome, not divorced from its context, definitely never a fully accurate picture, but a near-microscopic grain of sand still betrays its origin to some degree.  Shape, texture, hardness, size, solvency, all these properties in comparison against its neighbors.  Such a tale to be told, the shadow of a mountain hidden in part within something measuring less than a millimeter.

And with a history, why not a mind?  No such thing as zero to God, as the man said, and in total accumulation even a pinch of sand between fingers amounts to an awful lot of near-but-not-quite zeroes.  Interrogate one grain properly, and so many pieces of the story appear.  Do the same with the next, and the next, and the next, there manifest more hints, further clues.  Now gather a group in one palm, consider their collective quality, walk a dozen paces down the beach, take another scoop, compare them.  And then another, and another, and another.  Slowly the picture grows, definition sharpening, details clarifying, fogged vision swimming less violently with each focal adjustment.

Now, a similar exercise with the typical mind’s home in a brain.  Poke at one neuron, followed by its neighbor, and carry on in the established pattern.  A few memories here, behavior patterns there, governing rules for a particular internal system down that way.  Scrape some gray matter away, presume some futuristic means of examining its contents and function without inflicting damage by said removal, and it is very much a kind with the grain of sand.  Molded and reshaped by years of electrical impulses and chemical uptakes and releases, communicating with its fellows in a plasticine dance of formation and adaptation.  Carbon mastered into a deliberate shape, made wet and conductive and warm, housing joys and rages and despairs untold.

Why not silica as carbon? Why not a grain of sand as a neuron?  Why not a beach as a mind?  It is, after all, your best guess for what you are.

You cannot rightly say you think about these matters very often.  All told, you don’t think much at all.  Most hours, you simply are, a distributed mass of silicate uncountable, unfeeling, unthinking, unaware.  Or at least, unaware in the moment.  When consciousness does come, you find the experiences of the sand somewhat accessible in memory, recollections of a late night’s chilled gale, or a particularly forceful crashing wave, the patter of bird’s talons and occasionally something like stalking hooves.  To some extent, you must exist when you cannot think, experiencing the world in a strange dreamless sleep, logging experience in a manner more actively retrievable than garbled dreaming interpretation of outside stimuli in more normative REM cycles.

Either way, these are not the thoughts of a mind with nothing but time on its side.  You process ideas and inquisitive lines quite quickly, thank goodness, but active thought and awareness only come in fits and starts.  Sometimes a scant few minutes, on average an hour or so. Even with the seconds so precious, however, it is always helpful to start by organizing and relitigating this particular track.  In an existence alien as this, time spent considering the possibilities in a single grain and the oddity of your life grounds you in a most comforting way.  Even if you are ground, after a fashion.  Grounds need their grounding in self-awareness too, you know.

It is good to indulge whatever thoughts come along.  You suspect Descartes might disagree with your supposition that thought does not necessarily imply existence, but old Descartes never had to work out his philosophy for only a few irregularly scattered moments while also being a beach, now did he?  Object example there: random bout of pettiness against a centuries-dead thinker.  Feels nice to let those thoughts flow, like sand kicked about by the breeze or lapped by the waves.  Once, long ago, you tried forcing your thoughts down particular avenues, clinging to questions like, “What the fuck is happening?” or “What am I?  Who am I?  Where am I,” loops of, “Oh my God, no, oh my God, no, oh my God, no, oh my God, no!”  Painfully stiff and limiting, those.  A touch of grounding exercises for a moment or so, and then onto free forms.  So much better.

The sun seems nice to you this day.  Somewhat wan, as if hidden behind a thin cloud layer, yet sufficiently penetrative to warm the atmosphere much as it can in these frigid environs.  The waves bite hard as ever, alas.  Had you the mobility and inclination, you’d not risk even their shallows.  On some distant stretch of shore, you can sense the winds blow harder than one might find tolerable.  Here, at the locus point, they are relatively still.

Now, who’s out today?  Who stirs your sands?

In their usual spot, the trod of two have settled to pile the rough start to a sandcastle.  Perhaps a crude sculpture, or mayhaps a humble mound.   Their constructive efforts vary so from day to day - at this instant, you can feel a larger set of fingers scooping at your surface with greater vigor than the smaller, nimbler pair, but early goings rarely indicate their final intentions.  At the least, their activities seemingly focus on collection rather than digging, so there is little chance either will bury their fellow today.

There is digging some feet further away, however, the familiar scrape of uncoordinated hands pawing away a shallow hole.  If previous experiences hold, soon a small weight will be deposited within, the hands’ owner will sit upon the sand, adjust the weight some, and then remain still for some hours. These you might lose in the stillness, consistent unmoving presences being difficult to focus upon, though you expect some small chance footsteps will wander from the first site to this, followed by a sprinkling of grains atop and around the weight, and then uncoordinated scuffing before the approaching feet retreat with a quicker step.  Such happenings are not uncommon.

Down by the water’s edge, where awareness of the sands that are you blurs against the sands that are not, a soft, broad nub draws aimless patterns.  Grains of yourself stick to this far readier than the others, regardless whether they be damp or dry.  If the figure responsible for these whorls and swoops so quickly erased by the tides finds such accumulations irksome, the rhythmic kicking of their feet and slapping of their opposite palm belies no bother.  You already anticipate the pad of larger, softer feet rushing in to drag this figure up to less wave-besotted heights. For now, the hands of the rescuer merely content themselves at your backshore, seemingly preoccupied with the shuffle and count of... pebbles? Yes, that seems right.

One typical visitor, the tiny feet with a dragging ringlet about them, is not here today.  While you only truly detect them when they stand far from the others and kick about in something like a brief, private dance, you feel some disappointment at their absence.  Thankfully, it passes quickly, as it always must and does.  The others provide so much stimulation on their own.

So the seconds and minutes and hours pass.  A longer visit, then, perhaps the gathering making a whole day on your shores. Indeed you do lose feeling on the unsteady one and their weight until their brief business with the larger builder, and indeed the body in the surf is dragged away only to totter back and resume their doodling before the seafoam several times over.  As happens about half the time, the smaller hands’ instincts win over the larger, and you feel the contours of a castle rise above your surface, holes poked for windows and something you can only presume is a stick serving as flag jammed in the apex.  These expected repetitions on established patterns are just so delightful as the rare breaks.

The feet which plod to rescue the doodler eventually drag them only a little ways from the waves, to a wet but not actively drenched height, and begin tracings in their own hand, purposeful strokes diagramming something too complicated to understand through the lessened yet still present haze.  The weight’s companion drags it a little closer, and spends some minutes flecking individual grains which linger from the earlier assault.  The castle is not scattered to the wind with a sudden, forceful kick, but remains standing as hands mismatched in size rest upon your surface, shifting and occasionally squeezing in a manner indicative they now hold one another.  At one point, you swear there is the impression of a dainty step at the furthest extreme you can sense, before the presence is gone, leaving only the lightest footprint.

You do wonder from time to time about the prints these visitors leave in their wake.  Difficult to judge though scale and weight remain in this amorphous existence, rough estimation of such rules out their identity as adults.  They do not sink and disperse near so large a surface area as even the lightest full-grown frame.  Children, then, only they seem too light and small for even this hypothesis.  Birds, crabs, seaside mammals, insects, all ruled out, for they march and hop and scuttle across your expanse when your mind goes away, leaving all manner of traces to observe and contemplate on waking, and (excepting the scribblings) the actions of your visitors are too purposeful for wildlife besides.  Quite perplexing.

Especially in view of the one answer you’ve entertained as reasonably possible, best backed by evidence. Every now and again, one or the other will flop bodily upon the sands, splay their limbs wide, and make something like a sand angel.  On these occasions, you sense them fully as possible - the immersion for burial in the sand results in too too much wriggling for clarity - and by all instances compared and categorized, you can only describe the basic shape in combination with the shallow treads and small profiles as one belonging to a doll.  A wide variety of dolls, true, occasionally something larger and floppier suggestive of a stuffed animal, but dolls all the same.

Toys.  Ambulatory toys visiting the beach of you, summoning you from slumber for the duration of their visit.  The mind would reject the notion as lunatic, were the mind not itself the amalgamated thoughts of dispersed silica.  The mind has rejected the notion, regarding it as some manner of horrid fever dream, then a manner of ironic hell, and then a simple fact of life, no more remarkable than the sloughing waves and pecking birds and shining sun.  Your suppositions on the similarities between your mind as it is now and the gray matter which powers the animal engine already turn on postulations of quantities unknown to science at present.  What are living toys but an unexamined aspect of the tapestry yet cataloged by any beyond you?

Besides, there is pleasantry in their presence, a comforting familiarity of the like upon the like.  You cannot strictly feel as a nervous system would process and report stimulation, merely sense depressions and removals and shiftings of your grains, extrapolating the shape and mass and basic texture from context clues.  Despite this, when the pair who build sandcastles gather and mold you for a parapet, when the clumsy hands take on surprising gentleness flicking stray grains from their fellow, when soft, near-formless limbs almost form a “D” seconds before the surf crests, you come ever so close to truly, legitimately feeling the molded plastic warmed by weak midday sun, the slight tingle of an electronic under battery power, stitchings of corduroy and terrycloth.  They are a diverse lot, in composition and interest, and you experience a stronger spark of life than any you have known beneath their idle play.

Actually… would that not be something?  They and theirs are the ones who summon your conscious mind to whatever forefront you possess.  Always toys, always engaged in diversions and amusements and games. Playing in the sand, as it were.  Could very well be they uintentionally make you real when they play, and when they finish and retreat to whatever homes they have beyond the beach, you sink and sleep.  You had not thought of such until now.  Something to think on, when next the time comes round.

For indeed, you sense from their stirring today’s visit draws to an end.  The plush drawers toddle from the shoreline, the last grains are flecked from the weight as it is lifted from its hole, the air around the castle whooshes in a telltale giveaway someone aimed one last attempted kick towards its walls.  So it goes, so it goes.  You hope they drew some pleasure from this visit in equal measure to your own.  If there is anything a stretch of beach must keep in mind, it is appreciation of what experiences one gains within the necessary impermanence of things.

This last thought threatens a scatter of questions in your mind at so late an hour, an annoying instinct likely triggered by pointed awareness of approaching dark and quiet.  From whence do these toyfolk hail, your mind babbles.  Are they mere animate playthings, or does something human lurk in their hollow and stuffed heads, as it must for you?  The verbosity and scientific curiosity of your own thoughts does not escape you, however malformed or incorrect certain details might prove, so while you cannot actively recall any time when you held a shape other than this, you feel strongly at times there must have been some period when you stood humanoid.  Why this transformation?  Was there some sin to deserve this, some request to deeper understand the earth itself, a mere dream of humanity by some sand with an overactive imagination? Are they similarly cursed, their souls befouled regardless your innocent interactions? Is there any way to manipulate your sands, let them know you are here, speak with someone, finally talk after who knows how many ages' silence?  Who what when where why how pounding and drumming and hammering and…

…and gone.  As the man said, the secret is in letting go.  Should a thought trouble or hurt, allow its passing and move on to the next.  And the next, and the next, and the next, like firing neurons or counting grains on an endless beach. Health in stillness, tranquility in silence…

Maybe... on next wakings... think about the wind... and whether its touch counts... as play...

They are nearly gone now, your time of rest in void almost upon you.  Normally, by this stage, you have shrunk back to a single grain, lingered for a moment, and then been no more.  Something tethers you longer than expected.  Through a tiring, diminishing mind, clouded and craving rest, you cast out in your final seconds, seeking some cause.  This is no painful thought, just a last little thing before…

Ah.  There.  Funny, that.  One of the dolls.  A single grain of sand.  Caught in their shoe.  Rocking about after too many scrapes against plastic, as she tries to shake it loose.  This, too, must be play of a kind.

What’s in a grain of sand?  What’s a grain of sand in?  Hah.

There it goes.  And now… goodb

.  .   .         . .  . . . .  .  . . . .        . . . . .    .  . .    . .  .   .     .  .  .     . .. ….  . . .… …….. .. .. ..  .. . . . . . . . . . . . .  . . . ...... .. . .. . . . . ..... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ...

[izhunny]

Sacrifices Unasked For

Relationship: Loki/Tony Stark. Rating: E. Words: ~36k, 7 chapters, complete. Available only on AO3 for logged in members.

Summary:

Tony might be losing his mind. He finally caved in and agreed to take a vacation. From everything. For the entire summer.

A disused family property in the Adirondack Mountains in need of some tender loving care is just what the doctor ordered to escape things Tony can't explain since his decision to have the reactor removed. Will what's haunting Tony follow him on his Upstate New York sabbatical?

Of course it will, this is a ghost story after all.

~♡~

Dedication: @jaybarou for being awesome.

Chapter 1. A Change of Scenery

Chapter 2. Same Shit; Different Place

Chapter 3. Just the Days That End in Y

Chapter 4. A Leap of Faith

Chapter 5. The Strangest Devil's Advocate

Chapter 6. Damn the Consequences

Chapter 7. Sacrifices Unasked For

complete!

[zombiecicada]

Snippet: Death Logs

Warning, the following content contains various mentions of death and topics of mortality.

Death Log: 3

Cause: Severe blood loss as a result of predation.

Notes:

It is only natural to experiment with one’s mortality when you are aware that you can simply be reincarnated.

However, it is unrecommended to test this by throwing one’s self into the containment of class 8 biological weapons.

Death no longer having consequences commonly creates a heightened sense of grandeur and the delusion of invincibility. While it is common and to be expected of humanoids, please be aware that you should report to your reincarnation technician immediately to have further temptation removed from code.

Vessels are expensive to construct, and even for those who can reincarnate, time is a valuable and irreplaceable resource.

Assessment: Consult a reincarnation technician and obey safety regulations in containment facilities.

Death Log: 4

Cause: Asphyxiation caused by impalement to the chest region.

Notes:

Workplace environments are most efficient when each staff member refrains from exchanging outside or unrelated opinions to the task at hand. This keeps the team focused, and reduces the instance in which a coworker is aggravated to the point of homicide.

While your coworkers do not have to be your friends, it is in the best interest of the society to work together and maintain professionalism. Issues maintaining acceptable behaviour should immediately be reported to your reincarnation technician.

While reincarnation is a safe and well monitored procedure, note that like any piece of technology, even ones that pass performance tests can malfunction further down the line.

Assessment: Consult a reincarnation technician and refrain from aggravating coworkers who have combative capabilities. Note that continued inability to maintain vessel stability will result in one’s rights for reincarnation being revoked.

Death Log: 5

Cause: Electrocution

Notes:

Silicon and carbon are some of the most abundant materials in the universe. While most natural occurring lifeforms within the universe are carbon based, the material used to build the vessels is silicon based.

Much like carbon, silicon can bond with four elements simultaneously, leading to the creation of chains of molecules like proteins and DNA. It’s semi conductive properties unlike that of carbon allow it to seamlessly connect with the components of the Identity Chip and other electronic components, at the risk of being more susceptible to being damaged and system instability when exposed to high voltage.

This wouldn’t be an issue if you did not bite an electric cable.

Assessment: Report to reincarnation technician for Identity Chip maintenance. Note that your chip has flagged to be removed from reincarnation status.

Death Log: 18

Cause: traumatic rhabdomyolysis.

Notes:

Diagnostics run. Fatal logic error detected.

Assessment: seek emergency reincarnation technician support.

Death Log: 23

Cause: Self induced poisoning.

Notes:

Does dying over and over make you forget him?

Assessment: Error. Reincarnation technician not found.

Death Log: 33

Cause: Prolonged starvation.

Now you just seem bored. Or maybe you just forget that you’re still a living organism. It’s easier to let your body waste away, knowing full well a new one is waiting for you.

Do you remember who you used to be? What you accomplished? Does any of that matter?

Assessment: Does anything even matter to you anymore?

Death Log: 42

Cause: ERROR

Notes:

…

…….

…

..

Assessment: it’s not like you even read these anyways.

Current Reincarnation: 4357

Status:

Fatal Logic Error detected.

Connectivity issues detected.

Unsuccessful self maintenance attempts recorded.

Reincarnation technician not found.