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ancuninfiles · 3 months

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Lithium [REVISED, REVISING & ONGOING]

Screenshot by @lavendarr00

12.3k words - F/M - Astarion x F! Durge - 18+

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence.

Summary: On an aimless journey, Ronnie (Durge) would do anything to fix her violent paroxysms after having woken up in the hospital in London, UK with a bandage around her head and nobody willing to answer her questions. Five years had passed, and she'd gained one friend: Jenevelle or DJ Shadowheart on Friday nights.

However, on this particular Friday night, Ronnie spotted a handsome man with piercing eyes, wearing a suit, and sticking out like a sore thumb because of it amongst the sweaty crowd of party-goers.

—𝘞𝘩𝘰 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦? 𝘞𝘩𝘰 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮?

After meeting Astarion's boss in a rather unfortunate way, Ronnie is forced to contemplate the morality of murder.

Astarion's words echoed in her memory. “𝘕𝘰𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵.”

Does Astarion truly only want Ronnie for her ability to maim and kill, or is there something else he sees in her—something... 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 he feels when he's with her?

Sex. Drugs. Violence. Yet, amongst it all... .·:*¨𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦¨*:·. ꒦꒷♡꒷꒦ 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 💔 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐯𝐞.

꒦꒷♡꒷꒦

Tags: smut, spanking, probably bad BDSM etiquette, vaginal fingering, drugs, alternate universe-modern setting, mildly dubious consent, manipulation, praise kink, soft dom Astarion, self-harm, suicidal ideation

MASTERLIST (Other works)

Read on AO3 for full tag list and proper formatting (recommended)

꒦꒷♡꒷꒦

Beginning notes PLEASE READ: I've revised this chapter a lot, and for some reason, Google Docs glitched out and made the spacing all weird and added spaces before some of the punctuation, among other issues. There are similar issues with Chapter 4 unfortunately, and I don't have the energy to go through it all to fix it at this point in my life. Also, a lot of the time I won't notice mistakes until after I post. And since the Tumblr app doesn't allow me to select all in the same way that AO3 does on mobile, the Tumblr versions of my works will often go weeks without being fixed. Whereas they are often all fixed within a couple days on AO3.

Additionally, the spacing on Tumblr when I copy and paste from Google Docs is especially horrid. It doesn't even transfer properly.

With all that being said, please... just read on AO3. I have a hyperlink in pink up there. <3

꒦꒷♡꒷꒦

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏: 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐭

꧁꧂

The scariest part about going crazy is that it feels the same as sanity—indistinguishable from one's most lucid moments.

Insanity disguises itself as a higher state of intelligibility like you're seeing things for what they truly were all along.

Everything has always been there, hiding around the corner. Waiting.

Until one day, it shows its ugly, powdered face, and you say “That's my cherished friend”.

Because that's what it looks like.

Like a nudge in the right direction.

꧁꧂

“And how long have you been having these—outbursts ?”

The woman sat with her back to the patient bench, facing a clunky-looking outdated computer. Off-putting artificial fluorescent lamps lit the room with a blue-white and buzzing aura.

“For as long as I can remember?” Ronnie stated her answer like a question. She was annoyed, recalling the litany of times she had given this same answer to this same question.

The doctor turned her head just enough to see Ronnie in her periphery. “Which is?”

—Since the ‘accident’.

“Five years.”

The doctor turned to her monitor. “Right...” she said, typing away at her off-white keyboard. “Do you know what a panic attack is?”

“No—not really...”

The doctor spun in her chair to face Ronnie. “It sounds like you’re experiencing high levels of anxiety. A lot of women deal with these kinds of things before menstruation.” She sat with her legs crossed and her fingers laced properly on her lap.

—Could this really just be caused by my fucking period?

Ronnie tensed, putting all her weight into her palms that pushed on the ripped pleather bed, causing the “sanitary” sheet to crumple beneath her. “What can I do to fix it?” she asked.

The doctor turned back to her computer, resuming her typing. “I'll write you a couple of prescriptions. One is for daily use. It's a mood stabiliser—it goes without saying what that will do. The other is for you to take when you feel a panic attack coming on—if things become… unbearable again.”

—I'll try anything.

“Thanks.” She watched as her doctor printed two pages from her oversized printer, signed both at the bottom, and handed the stacked sheets to her. Ronnie took the sheets, pondering the words on the paper, but they meant nothing to her. She wasn't sure if she'd ever seen so many X's and Z's in one place before—at least, not that she could remember.

—As long as they help, that's all I care about.

꧁꧂

Friday night: the busiest night of the week for a pub downtown—bad for the feet, but good for the tips; which Ronnie needed all she could get.

She entered the pseudo-rustic facility, walking briskly past the young people—people her age who sat at tables lit by purple neon lights reading “The Forage ”—some, regulars, some, not. Her inky black bob bounced with every hasty step she took towards the back.

She whizzed through the kitchen with her core tensed and her leather bag at her side, containing all she needed for work, plus her clothes for the weekly afterparty at Jen’s house.

It was five-fifty, and she was combing her hair and retouching her concealer, blending it out before setting it with a cheap, prickly stipple brush and pressed powder.

She scooped her breasts, positioning them just right in her black, long-sleeved scoop-neck top. Her shirt was cheap and thin; you could see her black lace bra through it at certain angles and lights. Shabby as it was, she enjoyed the sense of stability it brought, hugging tightly from her wrists to her hips—keeping everything in.

Rushing, she slipped on her tight, black zip-up skirt that ended mid-thigh over top of some cheap translucent nylon tights. Now, her body was almost entirely covered in snug fabric. It felt right—like she could be in front of strangers and they'd truly take her for a normal woman.

Ronnie called it “pretending to be a person”. She saw herself as less than a person—less than a dog, or cattle, even—only driven to go on by a primal impulse to stay alive.

She held her breath, shoulders back, sucked in her tongue, feet together, tensed her core, and peered at her reflection. Her demeanour reminded her of an overflowed water balloon, impending violent eruption. But she knew others would only see the stoic and well-mannered young woman serving their drinks.

She checked her phone and saw “ 5:58 pm ” before Jenevelle barged into the changing room. Ronnie watched her in the mirror, tucked her hair behind her ears and buttoned on a velvet choker, about an inch thick.

“ Fucks sake—I was almost late. Vic said if I'm late one more time, I get the boot,” Jenevelle vented as she hooked her bag on one of the designated employee hangers. She quickly pulled out her deodorant, applied it, then tucked it away and took the hair tie off her wrist. Holding the tie between her teeth, she gathered her dark brown hair into a high ponytail, tying it all together in one big wavy updo.

“Well then, don’t be late, Jen. I need you,” Ronnie exclaimed. “I’m heading to the floor, see you out there.” She flashed Jen a sheepish smile in the mirror before heading out.

“See you,” Jenevelle replied, wiping her messy undereye makeup away with her fingers, stretching her skin carelessly.

On her way to the bar, Ronnie grabbed a shot glass of cheap vodka that had been made for her and left on the edge of the kitchen counter.

She downed the shot as she walked, wincing and wiping her lips before placing the glass on another, much further countertop, closer to her destination.

“Thanks, Dammon,” she said, waving a hand in the air, hoping he heard her.

“Always,” Dammon, a cook, responded.

She opened the two kitchen doors, which flung closed behind her as she processed her surroundings—holding her breath.

An analogue clock above the entrance read six o'clock on the dot. The bar was already full, and the other staff shot past her, clocking out just as she arrived.

Ronnie felt a sharp smack on her bum, making her squeak as Jen flew by.

“ Ha—what’re you waiting for? Let's go!” Jen said, whipping her long dark updo over her shoulders as she aligned several cups in a row and began making drinks for the regulars.

Ronnie bit her inner cheek and subtly smirked as she stepped up to the customers on the other side of the bar, beginning to take orders.

As if it were all just a game of pretend.

꧁꧂

As always, the night dragged interminably—Ronnie's stomach was a tangled knot from another gruelling shift filled with forced smiles and flattery. She was already tipsy, but she couldn't wait to be properly drunk at Jen's place—where she wasn't expected to talk to others. While she enjoyed socialising, her unpredictable outbursts made it perilous and useless.

Clocking out, she began getting ready with Jen in the changing room. Reading her phone, it said " 1:07 am " unaccompanied by any notifications.

“Tonight's going to be fucked up,” said Jen as she reapplied her eyeliner and blended it out with her finger. “And I mean that in a good way.”

“I know,” Ronnie responded with little social energy to spare. She switched into a different long-sleeved black top, this time with a straight neckline and shoulderless sleeves, exposing her décolleté—one of the few parts of her body free of lacerations. “Are you DJing again tonight?” she asked, trying to make conversation—hoping Jen wouldn't see through her facade of effortlessness.

“Fuck yeah, I am. DJ Shadowheart is going to rock your world,” Jen replied, fastening her hair into a perfect braid.

Ronnie changed into a long, black velvet skirt with slits on either side, exposing her nylon-covered legs. She stepped into her onyx lace-up combat boots, tying the laces taut all the way up her ankles. Finally, she ran her fingers under her choker, aligning it properly on her throat—a finishing touch to her “costume”.

Because that's what it was, in a sense—a costume. It wasn't like she was really a cute, London bartender with slightly pallid under-eyes with contrastingly healthy, plump, pink lips. What she really was would scare most away. Rightfully so.

Sighing, she stared at her reflection in the crappy changing room lighting. She could see a myriad of scars at different stages of healing, peeking through her tights. As usual, she hoped Jen's dark, foggy, RGB-filled abode would suffice for further camouflage.

She was tired of wearing black, but it was easier to hide bloodstains in black clothes. If the meds worked, she would buy herself a yellow summer dress in celebration. Though, of course, it would have to have long sleeves.

Damn. Long. Sleeves… forever.

Without thinking, she sighed through her nose.

She didn't realise she'd been biting her lip hard enough to break skin until the metallic flavour leaked onto her tongue. She drank in the taste, uncaring of the small wound caused by her teeth.

Sometimes she felt like she deserved all the pain of her wounds. Although they didn't feel self-inflicted, it had been her hand holding the weapon when she'd blacked out and slashed away.

It was her own fault.

Recalling that the pharmacist had suggested taking her first dose at night, she rifled through her bag to acquire her medication. Reading the bottle, it said “LITHIUM CARBONATE—PRIADEL 600MG,” words that wouldn't mean anything if her disorder persisted.

“Yoh—what are those? Can I have one?” Jen asked, reaching eagerly.

“What? No. These are to help fix my paroxysms.” Ronnie sheltered her bottle, holding it protectively to her chest. “Get your own pharmaceuticals to abuse.” Ronnie wasn't even sure if these pills would be any fun. She hoped.

“Agh—your paroxysms,” she mocked, “Fine. I'm sure someone will bring Ket or something tonight, anyways.” She sat up and swiped down the wrinkles on her outfit. “Ready?”

Ronnie dumped her medication on her hand, tempering until there was only one in her palm. She eyed the pink and white capsule sceptically before popping it in her mouth and drinking from her metal water bottle, washing it down.

She felt the hard plastic-like bead travel down her oesophagus and hoped it would signify the end of her blackouts.

“Now I am.”

꧁꧂

Jen fussed with the lock to her rundown home with garbage bags and recycling bins filled with empties adorning the patio. “ Hells—Sorry, Ronnie. Vic said she would fix this thing months ago.”

The house was two stories and detached, residing in one of the sketchier bits of the city's outskirts. Jenevelle shared it with a handful of flatmates; Nocturne or “Nox” being the only notable one, as she and Jen had a history—they’d been friends since grade school. The music could already be heard from outside, vibrating the door Jen desperately tried to open.

“ Agh—work, dammit!” she whined, stomping her foot before the door clicked and opened a crack.

Peering through the doorway was the famed Nocturne, wearing a genuine smile that reached her eyes. “Good morning, fellow hooligans. Welcome to the House of Grief,” she spoke before laughing theatrically.

Jen pulled her key out of the infamous lock with one good yank, her frown quickly fading. “How do you do?” She asked with a faux-posh accent, entering and dropping her keys on the small table next to the door. “Holding down the fort, I presume?”

“I've got a playlist going, but everyone's been waiting for you,” Nox replied.

“Of course they have,” she said, dramatically throwing her head back in mock horror. “My poor patrons, they simply cannot get enough.”

Ronnie hung her long leather jacket and satchel on the coat stand before following Jen toward the basement.

They ventured through a sea of semi-strangers that stood on the steps and beyond, drinking joyously, nodding off, or tripping on other illicit substances. The music was numbingly loud, with deep wubs filling the humid air. There were intricate, makeshift lights strobing in every direction and colour, creating an overall disorienting atmosphere.

Ronnie enjoyed feeling disoriented. She could pretend to not exist—as if her body had rotted in the soil and she was merely a spirit floating in a current.

Plainly, she wanted to die, and being disoriented felt like dying—or at least that's what she thought it might feel like.

Just to die for a little bit…

She liked to imagine the worms eating her decaying flesh—how it would tickle her lifeless, grey corpse as they'd burrow holes into her skin. They would consume her until she was nothing.

What a pleasant thought…

Ronnie held her breath as she walked down the stairs with a straightened back, sucking in her tongue with her chin down as she critically scanned the room.

A man standing cavalierly in the corner, whom she'd never seen before, caught her eye. He stuck out like a sore thumb with his swanky attire and proper demeanour.

He wore a fitted white suit with a red button-up shirt beneath his overcoat. His hair was curly and perfectly groomed, with a moon-like hue. His eyes were piercing and his jaw, sharp—he was intriguingly attractive. He leaned against the wall, scanning the room just as Ronnie had before his eyes met hers.

He didn't seem any more interested in her than he was in the rest of the room, but the extended eye contact felt… awkward. Ronnie wanted to look away but was still trying to figure out what his deal was.

—Is he a narc? Who even brought him?

“I'm out, Ronnie. The people need me,” Jen yelled, cupping her hand over Ronnie’s ear. She waltzed toward the table covered in wires, mixers, and a laptop.

Ronnie had looked away to focus on what Jen was saying. When her gaze flicked back up, the man was gone.

—Odd...

Two young men ran past her, down the stairs she stood at the base of, bumping into her carelessly and chanting phrases like, “Brah, we're gonna miss her,” and “You got offerings?” making Ronnie giggle to herself.

Ronnie swam through the crowd gathering around DJ Shadowheart as they plopped miscellaneous drugs into a jar labelled “ Tips ”.

Jen wore headphones, covering a single ear while she stood, bumping and working away on her laptop. She always transitioned Nox's playlist into her own mix seamlessly, and Ronnie was curious what she'd play first; though, she was almost positive that it'd be some dark shit—this, she knew.

The lights flashed in tandem with the music as Jen fussed with the knobs of her mixer. She pulled a microphone to her lips, with the cord wrapped around her wrist. “Welcome to the House of fucking Grief. Tips, always appreciated. Jar's on the table. Go digging and Ronnie will cut you, although half of you would probably love that,” she joked.

Ronnie covered her face in shame. She was grateful that Jen was the one who knew the sordid details of her unnamed disorder, but it bugged her slightly when Jen made light of it.

She hated being this way. It was why she'd been trying so hard to fix it. But she knew Jen's jab was playful—she didn't intend any harm.

At last, Jen's mix was on, beginning with a repetitive house beat featuring a kick drum and a woman's voice.

“Noise flies high.”

The beat continued, and it was a surprisingly peppier beat than usual, but Ronnie knew she was just easing everyone into her domain.

“No one there to see it.”

The beat switched to something darker, and everyone cheered, jostling Ronnie as she stood at the front, shoulder to shoulder with the other partygoers.

She grinned, closing her eyes and leaning into the numb feeling that was predictably creeping up on her.

“Noise flies high.”

She was entranced, deeply inhaling as she closed her eyes and allowed the sounds to penetrate her very being.

“No one there to see it.”

Her head was clear. She felt… transient.

She allowed her body to move freely to the music—letting the rhythm breathe in and out of her. She only wished she were higher, or more drunk. She wanted to dissolve entirely.

She knew she was allowed to pick from the tip jar, at least, but as she reached for it she was overcome with an odd and intense thirst.

Her lips and mouth were dry—her abdomen hurt. She retracted her hand from the jar and instead, made her way to the food and drink table. She filled a red solo cup with water from a jug containing chopped lemons, limes, and ice cubes.

Leaning against the table, she shut her eyes and chugged the entire thing in one go—wiping her lips with the hand that held the empty cup. When she opened her eyes, she saw two dress shoes on the ground in front of her—someone was standing in front of her.

It was the well-dressed man, holding out a hand to shake with a too-perfect smile plastered on his face.

She eyed him quizzically. He looked like a combination between a real estate agent and a male model. His hair was perfectly groomed and his hands were large with clean nails.

She hesitantly reached for his expectant hand, and he gripped hers firmly, shaking it as if it were a job interview.

And he pulled her towards him and—over the music—spoke loudly into her ear. “You know Shadowheart?”

The sudden closeness should've been uncomfortable, she should've let go—pulled away immediately and ignored him for the rest of the night. But something in her caused her to grip him tighter, as if it were a competition.

He smelled amazing—fresh, in stark contrast to all the other blokes at Jen's place. He didn't even smell like spliff or booze—which defaulted as neutral and inoffensive smells to Ronnie, anyways.

“Why? Are you trying to sell me something?” she questioned, only partially joking. It was more likely that he wanted in her pants. Most of the men who frequented Jen’s parties had tried already, to no avail. She would've been open to their advances if it wasn't for her disorder. She learned her lesson with Alfira, and she would not make the same mistake again.

Pulling back, he smiled, seemingly entertained. “Perhaps a dance,” he said in her ear again.

—What? A dance? What is this, a fucking ball?

She was sure now that he wanted in her pants. Normally she would've rejected him already, but tonight felt different.

—The meds, she rationalised.

She wanted to believe that.

“Why not,” Ronnie agreed, shrugging.

Her hounding in the “tip jar” would have to wait.

She placed her empty cup on the table and he guided her through the crowd by her hand. His skin was cold, causing Ronnie to assume he was on stimulants, which would explain why he seemed notably less fucked up than the rest of the room.

She gulped as he boldly brought her body taut to his, grabbing her waist as she gazed up at him. His face was mere inches from hers, and she was stubborn, not looking away as his eyes burned into hers. He led their dance, swaying her hips side to side with a firm grasp.

He moved with her, as if he were a piper and she was a cobra—utterly hypnotised by his domineering aura.

She disconnected from him, only to spin and place her bottom against him. She swore she could feel him growl before she threw her head back to his chest, regaining eye contact, peering up at him playfully.

Even for a bloke who wanted to get laid, he was being awfully intrepid.

The song slowly changed into something much more industrial. Ronnie was actually having fun, although she knew she wouldn't be getting anything off the dance floor—it was too risky. Not with what happened with Alfira—Ronnie had been strictly celibate since then.

She was distracted—enjoying herself. Something not numb. It felt wrong. His touch felt so right, it was sickening.

Sickening... criminal, even.

The song slowed, and he spun her around to face him once again, but Ronnie felt pressure in her bladder.

—Fuck.

She needed to go to the loo.

But it was the perfect out. She didn't even have to lie.

“I'll be right back,” she said, panicked.

His cool expression melted away as his brows canted up. “I'll come with you,” he suggested, not letting go of her hand as she turned away.

He looked so... sincere.

The pain in her lower abdomen was becoming difficult to ignore, so she nodded, leading him up the stairs.

Although she was rushing, she didn't want to use the communal toilet. Gods—it was an awful, wretched place… she'd rather piss in Jen's bath than spend a second in that piss-riddled loo.

So she dragged him up another flight of stairs to Jen's en suite lavatory.

She just needed to piss so bad.

She grasped his arms and propped him up against the wall outside of the lavatory door. “Stay here,” she said, closing the door between them.

She hurried to the toilet, haphazardly pulling down her black lace panties along with her tights and skirt, exposing the chunky mismatched scars that covered her legs.

She fretted as she peed, staring at her lacerations. Some were a centimetre thick and nearly seventeen centimetres long—she'd measured them before. It was a shame that she couldn't go to get stitched up anymore at the hospital, lest she want another unpaid, sticky-sock vacation that she simply couldn't afford to take.

She finished her business, wiping, flushing, and pulling up her bottoms. She washed her hands and dried them on Jen's plush towel. There were toiletries all over the sink counter, dusty and unorganised, but anything beat that awful communal loo.

Stepping out of the lavatory, she saw the stranger leaning coolly against the wall, just where she had placed him. His gaze shot up to her, and he grinned roguishly.

“Miss me, darling?” he asked.

Ronnie didn't respond; she only giggled at his remark, but he squared up to her, tilting her head up with a knuckle.

That stopped her laughter.

“It seems as though I have you all to myself,” he purred, his gaze fixed on hers.

Heat rushed to her cheeks. Ronnie's heart began beating like a rabbit's—she'd been so focused on relieving herself that she hadn't taken in the fact that she brought this very handsome man to Jen's very private bedroom.

And now they were very isolated—too isolated. He wasn't safe with her like this.

She had to leave—she had to…

Her eyes flicked to the unmade bed in the centre of the room.

He spun her and pinned her against the wall—where she'd placed him earlier. When he groped at her waist, their noses grazed against one another. Closing her eyes, she could feel his minty breath on her lips. This was dangerous—stupidly dangerous.

Warmth pooled in her abdomen as his lips brushed against hers, searching for their shape.

His hips stacked with hers, his body pressed against her like jam on toast. And then she was feeling the smoothness of his lips on her—how they melded together and became something else altogether.

Lips, not for talking, not for screaming, but for pleasure—a shared pleasure. An experiment.

Just a taste.

He was surprisingly gentle—he took his time, and she revelled in the feeling, letting it wash over her like waterfall mist.

He caressed her cheek with his thumb as he broke their kiss. “More?” he whispered.

And she felt like she needed it like air.

At the same time, everything within her was screaming—every alarm was signalling for her to stop. He was too kind, too beautiful, too… willing.

The image in her mind—his blood on her hands, his corpse lying lifeless beneath her—it could all become too real if she went forward with this.

She made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a sigh. “I can't,” she reluctantly responded; although she wanted nothing more than to stay in the sanctuary of his arms.

“Hmm—you have a partner already?” he prodded.

The way his eyes sparkled.

“No,” she paused, “Trust me, I want to. It’s just—” I'm afraid I'll try to kill you, she didn't say.

He backed off, giving her space and waiting for her response. His eyes were doe-like and his perfect lips formed a barely perceptible pout.

His expression was ruinous. It was already difficult enough that he was strikingly attractive, and handsy but gentlemanly in the same irresistible package. But... the way he wanted her—his disappointment was palpable.

—These meds are supposed to help—supposed to fix me.

She couldn't have it but she wanted it she wanted it she wanted it she wanted it.

She couldn’t have it but she—agh! “You know what? Fuck it,” was the last thing she said before their lips smashed together in a ravenous and desperate joining. It seemed to surprise him at first—his head craning back for a moment—but he quickly settled into the kiss, and it promptly grew reciprocal, hot and fervent.

Biting her bottom lip, he groaned as he hoisted her around his waist like a belt. He leaned into her kiss, fighting for and easily gaining dominance because Ronnie was becoming more and more pliant with every touch and movement.

She found herself surrendering to this man so easily, as if he were an antidote to her tension.

He was so strong—he did most of the work, holding her by and squeezing her bum cheeks as he walked her across the room, towards the entrance.

His kiss ventured to her cheek, and then down to her neck where he buried his face and pulled her skin into his lips, causing Ronnie to shiver.

Once at the door, he closed it with his foot, the knob clicking shut. They ventured towards that bed in the middle of the room, his lips disconnected from her throat with a pop before he threw her onto the messy bed.

She bounced as she descended, instinctively drawing her knees closer to her shoulders—her arms stretched and draped above her head.

With the middle of her double-slitted skirt cascading between her legs, he quickly unlaced one of her boots. But—

—Shit… Ronnie's heart skipped a beat

—But the lighting.

Her scars would be so visible with the bedside lamp on.

“Can we—uh—turn the light off?” she asked breathlessly, propping herself up on her elbows and attempting a smile for the sake of politeness.

The bloke almost made her forget she had scars in the first place.

After pulling her first boot off and placing it on the floor, he paused, staring blankly at Ronnie who was probably making the dumbest face ever.

—Is it really that odd of a request? she questioned, her jaw clenching in regret.

But he said, “Of course,” and nodded curtly, snuffing the flames of her tension.

She did not want to fuck this up.

He unlaced her other shoe with ease, neatly plopping it next to the other one.

He pulled his own shoes off and crawled up the bed to reach the lamp, clicking it off. Now, the only light in the room was the moonlight spilling through the window beside the bed. It wasn't completely dark, but dark enough to conceal some of her slashes.

It would have to do.

He climbed atop her, the mattress creaking as it sunk in on either side of her lying body. Her eyes were still adjusting to the light when she watched him mount her—his knee, parting her legs.

He didn't waste time hovering over her—he immediately dipped down, kissing a trail from her lips to her collared neck. He breathed and sucked and licked around her choker, pulling it to the side to cover more surface area as he laced his fingers through her hair.

Ronnie shivered, her breath hitching as the hair on the back of her neck stood. His body loomed over her, and his touch lingered on her skin like an echo.

His hold on her was frantic and possessive, but delicate. His grip on her ribcage reminded her of how one might hold a kitten to stop it from squirming out of its bath. Although, she didn't squirm, and her chest heaved breathlessly.

His fingers pressed into her side and his thumb rubbed the front of her torso so... tenderly. He switched to the other side of her neck, nudging her head over with a grab at her scalp. This time, he kissed throughout the space between her choker—pulled aside—and her shoulder.

The way he kissed—devoured her—made it easy to imagine she was normal. She didn't need more alcohol, she was feeling drunk enough on him.

Her tension was melting away, bit by bit, as her body relaxed and limpened—all from the way he was working her.

The hand that was holding her ribcage snaked lower, under her waistband. He let up his kissing, nudging her head to face him. His eyes searched for hers, and he released her hair.

His preening eyes felt too... personal—affectionate.

The only sound in the room was her heavy breaths and the vibration of the music in the basement that leaked through the vents.

His hand ventured down her skirt, with his palm just below her belly button. He watched her as his hand moved lower, lower, until he was able to slip a finger through her folds and onto her clit.

Ronnie gasped and squirmed—she was incredibly sensitive. It didn't hurt, but it didn't feel good. It was like his fingerprint sent a shock through her body—it'd been too long since she'd been touched, she assumed.

She bit her lip, as the shock quickly faded into something wild and captivating as she caught her breath.

And he watched her—watched her as he slid his finger in.

And she watched him as he did it. She didn't know what his eyes were searching for in hers, but his pupils were wide—blown out like black holes as they flicked from her left to right eye, back and forth. Her heart raced under his gaze... or maybe it was the way his finger hooked into her, pressing into that one spot.

When her lips parted, his examining eyes fell there.

A small smile, barely there.

He was watching her to gauge her reaction.

She reached for his arm—the one bearing the inserted digit—and squeezed at his bicep as she tried to gain control of her breathing.

It was dumb—he had barely moved, yet she was wiggling and gasping for air like a lust-sick virgin. She was almost embarrassed, but the pressure he applied on her clit pulled her from any coherence.

He held still with the one digit inside her, unmoving. It was all too much and not enough at the same time.

He chuckled darkly, throwing his head back. “Do you want more, darling ?” he rasped.

Isn't that what comes next? Ronnie hardly expected they would just lie there like that. If she were honest with herself, she wasn't opposed either way—content to let him soak his finger inside of her for as long as he pleased—but if he was offering, she was curious. She wanted to know what more of him felt like.

But she felt shy. Her words caught in her throat.

“Hm?” he prodded.

She squeezed his arm again as she said, “Yes... please,” then she bit on her bruised bottom lip. She had to—to suppress her fucking nerves. It was times like these that she cursed people's inability to read minds.

He clicked his tongue. “ Oh—you are a naughty girl. You can do better than that, I think.”

—Naughty?

She sighed.

“I think you have too much confidence in me,” she admitted before she could catch herself. He flustered her. Her cheeks were burning red.

He laughed again. “You're not so shy, I don't think.” Leaning into her ear, he whispered, “You want this, don't you?”

She heard something in his voice—like his smile had gone. Almost akin to fear.

But still, it was just... something.

And she wanted this. Wants this—to the point of madness.

“Mhm,” she managed, the tips of her fingers scrubbing softly, reassuringly at his arm.

“Then I want you to tell me precisely what you need.”

That felt intimate.

She felt stupid—she'd forgotten how intimate intimacy was. She was beginning to think her new meds were causing her to hallucinate this entire situation—it felt too good to be true.

Were they having a simple shag or was he trying to court her? Why was he being so attentive?

Because random men who want to shag are inattentive and selfish—that's what Jen told her. She thought it might be quick—over by now, even. But he was talking to her—checking in, instigating and teasing.

He was playing a game.

And two could play at that.

So she squirmed, pushing her pelvis into him, but he hissed and pulled back.

“Bad girl. Use your words or I'll have to punish you,” he breathed, forced to apply more pressure with his palm on her clit to hold her in place.

—Punish me?

“Hm. How’d you punish me?” Good. Make him do the talking.

“However you like it best, my dear,” he purred, “I could always flip you over and spank you until your bum is red and swollen.”

A splendid idea... for some reason.

She bit her lip, unbiddenly clenching around his torturous finger.

“Or, I could fill your pretty mouth with my cock, so deeply you won't be able to breathe.”

—Ever again? Wonderful. Splendid. Magnificent idea.

But was that fair? How far was he willing to take it?

Surely not far enough. But it would be fun to pretend—there was freedom in the idea of dying.

“You're really going to make me choose?” she asked, intentionally wiggling around.

He bared his teeth, pulling out of her and placing his elbow into the mattress beside her. “ Tuttut—so what'll it be?” he asked.

He was really going to make her choose.

Ronnie felt a stroke of bravery run through her, and she took advantage of it. “Spank me,” she spat, her face blushing despite her shit-eating grin.

Growling, he sat up and flipped her in one quick movement before yanking her onto his lap and blithely pulling down her lower garments to expose her bottom, fully. She could barely process what'd just happened, it'd all gone so fast.

She was excited, and so was he judging by his hardness that prodded at her stomach.

His back rested on the creaky wooden headboard as he readied himself, sitting in the middle of the large bed.

She was unsure about how the previous eye contact had made her feel, but she wished she could see his face now that she was flipped and on display. She tried to look back, but it was difficult to crane her neck that much, so she gave up, folding her arms to rest her cheek on. Capitualing, she closed her eyes, smelling Jen's lavender laundry detergent on the sheets.

“You're such a naughty thing—how fun,” he crooned before landing a resounding smack on her lower cheeks and rubbing it out, tenderly.

Ronnie flinched when he smacked, but she hadn’t expected the petting. It was... nice—cooling.

*Smack *

She squeezed her eyes shut. That one hurt more than the last, but she felt her clit throb. She wanted this... She was loving this. Why was she loving this?

He repeated the same soft caressing of her bum, easing the residual pain away.

“How many do you think is fair? I'd say ten, at least. Ten should be enough to teach you to listen—like a good girl,” he rasped.

*Smack*

Ronnie bit back a moan, realising she wouldn't be opposed to more than ten hits as he rubbed away the soreness.

“Mhm,” she hummed, glad to say less.

*Smack*

This time, she whimpered, as the spanks were becoming more and more painful.

“Shh—you are doing so well. Only six more,” he cooed, reassuringly while thoughtfully massaging her bottom cheek.

*Smack*

Ronnie attempted to stifle her grunt by biting her lip. Her bottom stung, but, somehow, a wave of calm was washing over her as a result of her circumstance. She felt quite comfortable like this. She didn't want it to end.

However, jovial boyish conversation could be heard emanating from the main floor, and it occurred to Ronnie that they could also be heard…

She had to face these nameless blokes every week, and the last thing she wanted was for them to know that she'd received penance in the master bedroom.

She gritted her teeth and sighed. “Wait!” she said—she hated that she had to.

He halted with his hand, in mid-air.

“They'll hear us,” she whispered loudly, coming to her elbows and shifting to face him slightly.

He huffed, slumping over with an impish smirk, his hair falling around his face. “Will you come to my place?” he murmured.

“Wha—right now?” She shifted to her elbows.

“Yes,” he paused, “no pressure—of course,” he added, lifting his head.

She'd never left Jen's afterparties with anyone before, always opting to sleep in the spandrel every Friday night, away from any potential victims.

But tonight was different; she had just started taking these new meds and...

—They're supposed to fix me.

...

“Sure,” she said, rolling onto her back—onto his shins before lifting herself off him.

“Excellent. I'll get us a taxi.” He pulled out his phone, the light illuminating his chiselled facial features as he leaned back on the headboard.

The outline of his erection through his pants was barely visible in the shitty lighting. But gods, he must’ve wanted to get it wet, with the way it strained against the unrelentingly taut fabric of his formal trousers.

She wanted to wrap her lips around it, right then and there, but it'd have to wait.

She pulled up her bottoms and crawled over him to click on the lamp, the cheap mattress squeaking as she went.

“It'll be here in two minutes.” He tucked his phone away in his pocket and then gripped her, hugging her to his body tightly.

Ronnie let out a puff of air with his hands under her arms. It was almost juvenile, the way he grabbed her like a toddler with their teddy.

They'd only just met.

—We just met...

—Just. Met.

꧁꧂

Their taxi approached, and it looked to be a new Bentley of some sort. She should've guessed that the suited man would order the more expensive hackney, and she hoped that he wouldn't ask her to split the bill.

She didn't have the money, that was for sure.

They stood closely, side by side on the pavement as the tyres made wet sounds, kicking up the rainfall. Ronnie had merely slipped her unlaced boots on, and she'd nicked her bag and coat from the overflowing hanger to carry over her arm.

The man stood with his hands in his pockets, not making conversation, which Ronnie was grateful for as she'd been told that she tends to say “off-putting” things that made others uncomfortable, anyway.

The silence was peaceful.

When the taxi rolled up, he glanced at her. She'd been staring at him.

—Shit.

She'd been fucking staring at him.

But he was unphased, opening the back door for her, and she awkwardly shimmied into the far seat after murmuring her thanks.

The car smelt fresh, and the seats were unscathed white leather, unlike the bench at the doctor’s office. She placed her items down and clicked on her seatbelt, retrieving her phone from her satchel.

The elven man sat beside her and shut the door, and they set off, out of the derelicts and towards a location—unknown to herself.

Ronnie tensed with excitement as she braced herself for her impromptu adventure.

꧁꧂

The taxi had that “new car” scent to it. Every window was tinted and the driver didn't say anything. Nobody really said anything.

The AC was cranked perhaps a bit too high, causing goosebumps to form on Ronnie. The tinted windows had bits of rain droplets on them that were blowing back with the vehicle’s speed.

The car was so clean, it felt wrong to wear her boots in it—even on the floor-mats. There were fresh tissues and water bottles in the compartments attached to the backs of the front seats.

The stereo was on, but only a notch or two.

And her phone read “3:16 am ”, and again, it bore no notifications.

As always…

She unlocked her phone with her thumbprint and opened her messenger app, where the visible messages were primarily two-factor authentication texts. At the top of the screen was Jen's contact: 🖤Jenevelle🖤.

Opening Jen's messages, she wrote, “New meds, new me. I'm getting laid tonight;)”

She locked her phone screen and gazed out the window as they entered the motorway.

“Shadowheart's your friend?” the man prodded.

Ronnie looked to her lap, where her black phone screen lay. “Yeah—my only one, at that.”

He pursed his lips to the side. “Hm—you’re an introvert, then?”

“I guess you could say that. Jen says it’s because I'm a Capricorn or something like that.” She snickered, girlishly.

Her phone vibrated as the screen lit up. Jen had texted her, saying: “Wat? Girl im too fucked up for this... Call meeee”

Ronnie felt a pang of nervousness at Jen's response, as she hadn't expected it to be negative. She unlocked her phone and promptly called Jen.

The phone only rang once before she picked up.

“Hello?” said Jen.

“Hey, what's up?” Ronnie tried to sound extra calm so as to not further stress Jen out.

“Who did you leave with?”

“Um—the guy wearing the white suit.”

“What ? What's his name?” she interrogated.

Ronnie pulled her phone from her ear and looked at the man beside her. “What's your name?”

“You don't know his name?!” she yelled, causing Ronnie to flinch and prompting her to click her volume down several notches.

He smiled, seemingly entertained by the interaction. “Astarion,” he answered, bowing his head ever so slightly.

“I know it now.” Ronnie tried to diffuse the situation.

“Out with it, then.”

Ronnie took in deep breath through her nose, straightening her back as the air filled her lungs. “His name's Astarion.”

“I haven't a bloody clue who that is, Ron,” she paused, “Here—send me your location and please stay safe!” she pleaded.

“Fine. You know, I'm not the one you have to worry about, though,” Ronnie murmured, hoping Astarion wouldn't catch her meaning.

“You're not invincible.”

Ronnie squeezed her eyes shut, feeling a stirring of guilt within herself. Jen was the only person who cared if she lived or died; not even Ronnie cared all that much. She was a stain on society, anyway.

“Love you,” Ronnie said.

“Love you too. Location, please. And have a good night,” Jen responded, her intonation softening.

“Yes. You too. Bye.” Ronnie hung up and sorted through her apps to share her location with Jen before locking her screen.

She threw her head back and looked out the car window once more, watching other cars drive by on the freeway, only sparsely in the late hours of the night.

She could feel his eyes on her. She liked it.

꧁꧂

The silence of the ride made Ronnie sleepy. She was relaxed until Astarion had placed his large hand on her inner thigh. That made her heart race, but she tried to play it cool.

They pulled up a long driveway to a rather large gated estate. The arched driveway was cobblestone, and it housed multiple expensive cars of different makes and models. Within the driveway arch was a fountain, lit from beneath the water.

The house itself was more of a castle than a mansion. It was likely a home that had been kept in his family for a long time, or perhaps he just happened to be a millionaire who liked going to parties in the slums.

Unlikely.

It was obvious that he had money, though she wondered why he would choose to spend his Friday night in a shabby house when he lived among such opulence.

He released her thigh only when the car stopped. Thanking the driver, he got out and Ronnie gathered her things as he walked around to her side.

He opened her door and led her by the hand to the entrance of his abode. It was weird, how he scanned his thumbprint for entry. She'd never seen that tech used on a house lock before.

Upon their entry, she caught a whiff of the scent of a blown-out candle. It was eerily silent.

The floor was marble—real marble, not the laminate fake shit they had at The Forage. The place looked fairly modern, which contrasted with its vintage exterior.

The warm lights were dim, and Ronnie couldn't help but scan the swanky space, taking everything in as they removed their shoes. It looked nearly vacant, with everything useful surely tucked away into designated areas.

Astarion took her boots and placed them in a closet before hooking her arm and walking with her. Ronnie started to think that she might stick out like a sore thumb in a place like this, but she was grateful that nobody else seemed to live there.

—Maybe this is how he felt in Jen’s flat...

“Can I get you anything?” he asked, his voice reverberating slightly in the big, empty home.

Ronnie looked at him to see a smile that didn't reach his eyes. “Uh—no. Thank you.”

He was hot, so it didn't really matter if he was secretly an asshole. It wasn't like they would be seeing each other again, anyways.

“Perfect,” he said, keeping them on track, down a corridor near the entrance.

He led her to a large, dark room with white furniture and a neat duvet-covered king-sized canopy bed in the middle. Due to the lack of illumination, Ronnie couldn’t see everything yet, but she noticed that the room had no windows—surprising, considering the overall open concept of the home thus far.

Astarion spun her to face him, making Ronnie’s breath hitch as he planted his lips on her like he'd done before; except this time, he wasn't so gentle. Gripping her scalp, he tilted her head into the kiss and sucked her bottom lip into his mouth. His tongue entered her and his free hand grabbed blithely at her bum.

Despite—or because of—the violence, she immediately became malleable, her hands finding purchase wherever they could on his body.

He popped off the kiss when he felt like it. “Now—where were we?” he purred, his fingers through her hair as he guided her eyes to his—a smile like the devil's tugging at his lips.

“You were punishing me.” She didn't mean for that to come out so breathy, and… desperate.

“Good girl—you listen awfully well,” he cooed, peering down at Ronnie as he nudged the door closed behind them.

Now, the room was pitch black.

It'd suck if he was secretly an asshole, because she could get used to this.

With the lights off like this, he couldn't see her scars. But then, as a consequence, she also couldn't see him properly, which felt like a significant injustice.

Ronnie squeaked when he scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder, and her eyes were still adjusting to the dark. Deeply from his chest came a laugh as he stalked to the bed, his arm around the backs of her thighs.

She bounced when he dropped her on the ample bed, and the fresh smell of linens puffed out from under her like a cloud.

He flipped her onto her stomach, and the smell only intensified. Cold hands under her waistband made her gasp, and he pulled everything down—over the mound of her bum, past her knees, and off her feet—leaving the cool trail of his fingertips behind.

It felt relieving to be stripped—comfortable.

Again, he flipped her, and then tore her shirt in half before she could think—the sound of tearing fabric like an alarm bell in her mind.

“Hey! That was expensive,” she protested, pouting.

“Hush—I’ll buy you a new one,” he said, his words like balm.

He positioned himself in front of her, coaxing her knees apart as her feet hung off the bed. She hiked up her knees as he loomed over her like a dark angel, silhouetted only by the dimmest atmospheric light.

Propping herself up on her elbows, she observed as he placed his hands on her knees, swaying them gently, toying with them. A lithe finger slid the edge of her shirt down her arms before sneaking behind her back to unclasp her bra. That same hand eased beneath the centre, parting it from her breasts with deliberate care, allowing her skin to breathe.

His hips were so close to hers, she wished he would just come a little closer, and then she could feel how hard he was directly on her heat.

But no—he was purposefully maintaining a level of separation, due to her earlier antics.

“Sit up,” he said like an order, the low timbre of his voice rattling her core.

So she obeyed, her feet dangling off the bed as she gazed up at him like he was a god—her face just inches from his chest. When he ripped the back of her shirt in two, her palms sank into the bed, sensing the untouchable air he exuded, like art in a museum—meant to be admired but never handled.

She raised her arms for him to pull her shirt—now two scraps of fabric—off her completely, followed by her bra.

The only article of clothing that remained was her choker.

He urged her backwards with a slow and subjugating hand to her sternum—all the way to the duvet, where her body had already left its print.

When her knees rose once more, he pressed them together and shifted them to the side, wordlessly guiding her to turn around again.

She complied with his unspoken command, rolling back onto her stomach. The bed dipped beside her, followed by a firm tug at her legs and the unmistakable brush of his trousers against the front of her thighs.

She let out a puff of air when he did that, getting comfortable in her spot on his lap.

No sooner had she settled than a firm hand delivered a sharp smack to her bum, making her flinch and let out a rough, startled moan. Her arms tensed, fists gripping the blanket until her knuckles turned white.

After the sting of his wrath, a low, mischievous chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Do you remember how many, darling?”

She did… but she wasn't about to tell him that.

“No. I’ve forgotten. But I’m terribly sorry,” she pouted, playfully wiggling her hips.

“Seems we’ll have to start all over then, won’t we?” His fingers traced slow, soothing circles across her stinging skin, drawing a shiver from her.

“Keep count.”

Another demand.

The comforting touch disappeared, leaving the air heavy with anticipation as his hand hovered, poised to strike once more.

*Smack*

She whined through gritted teeth. “One.”

Only when the count slipped from her lips did his hand smooth over the ache, easing it away.

He granted her just a breath of respite before striking again. This time, she buried her face in the plush of the blanket, teeth sinking into her lip as she braced herself for the next.

*Smack*

She inhaled sharply, then let the breath out in a slow sigh, her grip on the duvet easing. This time, she didn’t count—counting only hastened the end.

He clicked his tongue. “Lost count already? Pity.”

*Smack*

By now, her skin was surely swollen beneath his relentless touch, both tender and numb. The burn blurred into something strange, like fabric clinging too tight to damp skin.

“I suppose I'll just have to keep going until you beg me to stop,” he rasped.

*Smack*

Ronnie whimpered into the sheets, her breath catching as she braced for the next blow, choosing to lose herself in the pain rather than count each strike. The anticipation crawled up her spine, mingling with the growing heat that settled deep in her abdomen. Every sound—every soft creak of the bed, every ruffle of fabric—seemed to amplify the tension, drawing it out until the air itself felt thick.

He didn't rush; each stroke was measured, designed to keep her on the edge. The room filled with the steady rhythm of his hand meeting her skin, the sensation a blend of searing heat and numbing pleasure that spread across her body like a fever. Time became irrelevant as she surrendered to the moment, her thoughts dissolving into the primal, instinctual need for more.

Her bum throbbed, raw and swollen, yet the pain was intoxicating, intertwining with the dizzying pleasure that clouded her mind.

However, a wave of thirst surged through her, insistent and unignorable—drying her mouth and twisting at her insides.

She needed a drink. Now.

“Wait!” she cried just before his hand landed on her bottom with vehemence—a whine squeezing out of her throat, unbidden.

“Poor thing’s had enough?” He clicked his tongue again. “You can plead better than that, I think.”

Despite her parched throat, she found a smirk and let out a breathless laugh, playing along with his game. "Please, please, please," she pleaded, her voice honeyed and theatrical. "I swear, I'll be so good."

“Hmm…” he mused, a slight pause as if weighing the words. “You’re quite the brat, aren’t you—but I’ll allow it,” he murmured, fingers brushing over her tender skin, the touch sharp with lingering soreness. “Just this once.”

That made her want to say “fuck it” to the water and stay right where she was.

“Come here,” he beckoned.

She hesitated, her brow furrowed as she pushed up on her elbows, twisting to face him. He was… patting his chest.

A cuddle? After all that? she wondered, eyes narrowing with scepticism, but a half-smile tugged at her lips.

Still cautious, she shifted onto his lap, the ache in her tender skin drawing a wince as she gingerly settled herself. Uncertain where to place her hands, she let them hover, awkward and unsure, until his arms encircled her, pulling her in close. His chin came to rest atop her head, a solid weight that grounded her.

She felt small in his embrace, but in a way that made her feel precious. Delicate—like a little bird.

But she knew better than to believe that.

She breathed in, his expensive cologne caressing the bottom of her lungs. When she exhaled, she nestled deeper into his hold, melting into the odd comfort.

And he held her tighter.

…

The embrace was strange—unexpected, but not unwelcome. It wrapped her in a warmth she didn't know she craved. A quiet solace.

She didn't want it to end.

Then, a tickle on her cheek. A droplet of water traced a path down her knee, reminiscent of the persistent leak back in her basement flat. Her nose began to clog, and a pressure bloomed behind her eyes.

And then the thirst-pains hit again.

Shit.

“Can I have water, please?” she asked, the words almost reluctant.

“Er—of course. Just wait right here.” His voice was smooth, but the patronising scratch he gave her head felt anything but. He cradled her as if she were something delicate, then gently placed her back on the bed beside him.

And then… the hollowness came—a gaping void that opened wide within her.

An abyss that swallowed everything warm and left only a cold longing for something she didn't have.

Had it always been there?

He stood with his back to Ronnie, his hand fumbling with the buckle of his belt. As he adjusted his erection, his movements were quick and impersonal, a moment of practicality that held no lingering warmth. Without a glance behind, he exited, letting the amber light from the hallway spill in briefly before sealing it away with the quiet click of the door.

She lay back on the puffy bed, scooting towards the pillows and getting comfortable on her side. Scrunching her knees toward her chest, she began to nod off.

Between the discomforting thirst and the drowsiness, she was beginning to regret tuning out all that the pharmacist said. She hadn't cared to hear about the side effects, so long as the meds worked.

An unidentifiable amount of time passed while she dozed off, until she felt herself become heavy and unable to move. She allowed her eyes to close as she drifted to sleep, with no need to count sheep.

꧁꧂

The darkness had come swiftly, pressing down on her as she drifted into an uneasy slumber. But it didn’t last. The sheets beneath her began to crumple, a disorienting sensation of movement pulling her from the fragile edges of sleep. The weight on her chest was familiar but wrong—too heavy, too urgent.

Astarion? No...

Her body stiffened as she inhaled, panic seizing her chest. Whoever was atop her didn’t carry Astarion’s scent—none of his familiar notes of brandy and herbs, none of that cold sweetness. Instead, the air was tinged with something sharp, unfamiliar, and it sent a spike of terror through her core.

Her heart hammered wildly, breath turning shallow and frantic as she tried to twist free. But a hand clamped down on her throat, crushing her attempts with a cruel force. The back of her head collided with the headboard, stars bursting in her vision, and pain radiated from the impact.

She clawed weakly at the arm restraining her, eyes wide and desperate as she tried to make out the features of the figure looming above. Pale skin. Sleek, black hair, slicked back. His expression was twisted with sadistic glee as he tightened his grip, cutting off her air with practiced precision.

Her vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges, growing larger, darker. The burn in her throat was unbearable, rising bile threatening to choke her as consciousness slipped through her fingers. She couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

Then, nothing.

Everything went silent—the world fading away to an endless void. The pain was gone, the terror evaporated, replaced by an eerie, all-consuming peace. She was weightless, adrift in a space that felt infinite, yet crushingly finite, her sense of self dissolving into the quiet.

There was no fear here, no urgency—just an overwhelming stillness. It swallowed her whole, and she welcomed it, letting the emptiness fold over her like a shroud. She was nothing, and everything, at once. A single breath lost in the vastness.

Who am I?

꧁꧂

The shadows fled, replaced by a searing brightness that pierced her senses. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear the haze that clouded her vision, but the blinding light only sharpened the chaotic scene before her—flecks of crimson splattered across stark white sheets, a grotesque contrast that twisted her gut.

“What did you do?” a venomous voice hissed from behind her, raw and accusing.

Ronnie twisted her head, heart racing as she saw Astarion in the doorway, his fingers clenched around the doorknob with the same force he’d used to grip her before. His expression was unreadable, a mask of icy rage that sent a chill down her spine.

Disoriented, she whipped her head back to the figure beneath her. She was straddling a man dressed in black. His face, bright red and contorted, was framed by slicked-back hair—so disturbingly similar to—

…

Reality crashed over her, jagged and brutal. The man beneath her was a blood-soaked ruin, dark red rivers flowing from the hollowed pits where his eyes should have been. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood, suffocating her as the truth clawed at her mind.

Her hands trembled as she brought them into view, drenched in sticky, warm vermillion, the blood clinging to her skin from her fingertips to her elbows. The once pristine white sheets were soaked, a scarlet sea pooling around her knees, the liquid thick and viscous, clinging to her as if trying to drag her under.

She thought she heard someone begin to scream, until a cool hand covered her mouth, and she realised it was her as he silenced her with a gentle but firm pressure. The scent of fresh herbs washed over her, grounding her in the present as the voice above whispered in her ear.

“Shh—it's okay, you're okay,” came the soft, measured tones of Astarion, his voice a balm against her rising panic.

He removed his hand, but before she could protest, he lifted her effortlessly by the shoulders, pulling her away from the grisly scene. Her heels dragged against the bed sheets as he carried her, painting the white sheets like a brush dipped in the most vile ink.

Her body trembled with shock and confusion—the world, simultaneously blurring and sharpening around her.

He carried her through a dimly lit corridor, the cold air biting at her bare skin. When they reached a lavish bathroom, he set her gently on an ornate red couch, its velvet cushions pressing into her damp skin. She curled into herself, knees drawn to her chest, watching in silence as Astarion moved with frantic purpose, his bloodied white jacket discarded on the floor.

“What’s going on?” she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper, lost in the echoing emptiness that filled her mind.

Astarion didn’t answer immediately, too focused on adjusting the bath’s temperature. But she could feel his tension, the way his movements were just a touch too quick, too precise. The water ran, the sound mingling with the faint drip of blood still clinging to the skin beside her ear. The room filled with humidity, the warmth doing little to chase away the cold knot of burgeoning numbness tightening in her chest.

“Isn't it obvious? I'm running you a bath,” he said, staring into the porcelain tub and feigning kindness as best he could. He dumped what looked like salts into the bath and swished his fingers through it, mixing it like a cauldron.

Ronnie was exhausted, and detached. Her hands clung to her thighs, clammy against her skin, though she dared not peer at them. She felt cold, faint, and incredibly… parched.

“Can I have water, please?”

Astarion leaned heavily on the edge of the bath, his forearms braced as his head drooped forward, a low, bitter laugh escaping him. “Apologies—seems I’ve forgotten my manners.”

He shot upright, his movements quick, almost jittery, as he grabbed a mouthwash cup from the sink. Filling it with water, he approached her in long, hurried strides, his unease barely concealed beneath a veneer of forced composure.

He knelt down, offering her the cup, but she thought twice before grabbing it, the memory of blood still fresh on her hands. Her fingers twitched, but her hands remained motionless, the pleas for help dying on her tongue. She was painfully thirsty but frozen in place, her mouth parting uselessly. Instead, she watched his face, her brows knitting together in silent desperation.

He sighed, rolling his eyes—his dissent mingling with that strange, almost begrudging tenderness. As he brought the cup to her lips, she let her head tilt back, allowing the cool water flow past her flakey lips. The relief came in satisfying waves, spreading through her and quelling the ache of her thirst pains. She was grateful but embarrassed—no longer able to afford the cost of dignity.

When the cup was emptied, he set it aside, and she pressed her lips together, savouring the last trace of moisture that clung to them.

Without a word, he scooped her up, cradling her as one might a muddy dog, and carried her to the full clawfoot tub. The water sloshed around her as he lowered her in, his silence heavy with an unspoken burden. With methodical precision, he rolled up his sleeves, grabbed a soft, white sponge, and began to scrub at the grime on her arms.

She gasped softly at the sight of the filthy water swirling around her, thick with the residue of sin. It was too much, the sharp contrast between the ichor and his careful hands. She squeezed her eyes shut, letting the lower half of her face slip beneath the surface like a crocodile, hoping to disappear, even if just for a moment. He worked on her body with an almost clinical detachment, as if she were one of those shiny, expensive cars at the front of the mansion.

The floral scent of the soaps and salts masked most of the stench of pungent, sour iron. He washed her arms, one by one, balancing the haste in his movements with a gentleness that felt… honest. The sponge was abandoned, discarded in favour of his bare hands, which brushed over her face with the same tepid warmth as the water. His thumbs traced beneath her eyes, and through her brows, banishing the last traces of blood there.

When his hand slipped beneath the water, nearing her lips, she instinctively tilted her chin upward, allowing him a clearer view, though her eyes remained closed. His thumb ghosted over her lips, lingering at the corner of her mouth before his fingers threaded into the damp hair behind her ear. For a moment, his palm rested on her cheek, his thumb scrubbing her cheekbone…

In a way that was reminiscent of… a caress?

His thumb paused, pressing softly against her cheekbone as if caught in a thought. The warmth of his hand tethered her to the present, even as her mind floated somewhere distant, far from the reality she was avoiding. There was a hesitation in his touch—both tender and almost… assessing… as though she were something rare or special.

But she wasn’t. Not in any way that mattered. Not in any way that was safe.

The warmth of the water suddenly contrasted with the cold detachment settling in her chest. A part of her wanted to retreat further into the numbness, but the pressure of his thumb, the subtle way it circled against her skin, kept her there, half-lost and half-aware.

He lingered long enough for her to feel the weight of his gaze, and when she finally opened her eyes, his brows were knit, as if inspecting her with a morbid curiosity. It was fleeting, but enough to stir a flicker of confusion before he pulled his hand away, looking at it as he flicked the water off, his expression guarded as he reached for the shampoo.

Her eyelids closed again as she dipped her hair into the water, soaking it and lifting it out once satisfied. She heard the wet sounds of his hands lathering the shampoo, and then she felt them on her head, massaging and working at her hair.

His movements slowed, becoming more intentional, kneading at her scalp with his fingertips. Through the overtones of stress, it almost seemed like he was… enjoying himself?

It was a good distraction, his tenderness.

He urged her head back with a finger to her chin, rinsing her hair, the water sloshing in and out of her ears.

Taking his time, he nudged her head up, squeezing the excess water out of her hair before brushing what must've been conditioner through it, then rinsing her again.

He didn't have to do that.

With a click, the water began to lower around her, leaving her cold and shivering once again. Slowly, she opened her wet eyelashes, wiggling her tingling toes and the fingers that hugged her legs, feebly wishing the water would come back and hold her again.

Around the tub was a faded ring of crimson—remnants of her mess. A rivulet of the same diluted blood sluiced from her towards the drain. But her hands were clean…

She was clean.

A hand infiltrated her vision—Astarion’s offered hand. Her eyes traced up it, taking in the faint blue veins beneath his pale skin. Though his sleeves were rolled up, they were still damp and stained slightly with diluted, bloody bathwater. He simply nodded when her eyes landed on his face, where it seemed as though every muscle was subtly tensed.

She grabbed his hand with moisture-wrinkled fingers, and he hoisted her to her feet. Naked and trembling, she stood like a scrappy dog caught in the rain. Yet somehow she felt invulnerable, as if her mind had disconnected from the fear that should have been there.

Still gripping Astarion’s hand for balance, she stepped out of the tub, the plush bathmat absorbing the last of her warmth. He patted her dry, starting with her hair, scrunching it with the towel before moving down to her calves. She risked a glance at the top of his head, noting how his hair seemed immaculate from every angle, despite everything they’d endured that night.

Before he could catch her, she turned her gaze to the painting on the wall. It depicted a woman in slumber, her body draped in quilts, limbs spilling off the bed as if gravity had drawn her into a restless dream. Her expression was nearly serene, but tinged with sorrow—like a nightmare plagued her.

Ronnie wondered what that nightmare might be about.

When he finished, he retrieved a light blue robe from a drawer and slipped it over her shoulders, dressing her as she continued to stare at the painting, waiting for something to end; though that something was elusive—just out of reach.

With a quiet click, he opened the door and gestured her out of the bathroom. The dim lighting of the main room greeted them, casting diffused shadows across the cold floor beneath her pale feet. It was as if all the blood hadn’t just washed off of her, but drained out of her as she followed Astarion’s lead.

“Come, sit,” he whispered, guiding her to a sofa.

She followed him, sinking into the cushions and curling her legs up to her chest, retreating into herself as he moved away, his departure causing that empty feeling to return.

But even as she withdrew, she could still see him flitting about, a white blur over the back of the couch. He moved frantically, like a squirrel gathering nuts in autumn, his urgency mismatched with her dull detachment.

When he crouched, she lost sight of him, but the sound of familiar rattling filled the quiet. He rose, his figure cutting through the haze, holding her metallic water bottle and scrutinizing a pill bottle in his other hand as he walked back towards her.

He sat beside her, shaking five pills into his palm before offering her the bottle of water.

“Drink all of this,” he demanded. The words carried a quiet intensity that brooked no argument. She complied, unscrewing the lid with trembling hands and chugging the water in several gulps.

She wiped her lips with the back of her hand as he held out the pills in offering.

“Put these under your tongue.”

Ronnie stared at the pills, their small blue shapes ominous in his palm. Even through her fog, the quantity concerned her; these were the pills her doctor had prescribed for emergencies only. Panic attacks.

“Trust me,” he added, nudging the pills toward her, his voice softening as if trying to coax her back from the brink.

She sighed, surrendering to his insistence, and placed the pills under her tongue. The slight chemical flavour bit into the edges of her awareness, but it was tolerable enough.

His hand found her cheek, a tender caress that felt out of place against the tension in his gaze. “Good girl,” he murmured, though the words seemed disconnected from the wild look in his eyes.

His expression was tight, eyes faintly wide with a flicker of something close to panic. Sweat beaded at his brow, and he watched her intently, as if making sure she did everything right, as if the success of this moment hinged on her compliance.

“What’s your address?” he asked, pulling out his phone with a swipe of his thumb.

She mumbled the street name and number, barely aware of what she was saying as he typed it in. Then, almost as an afterthought, he produced a pair of Bluetooth headphones from his pocket, hastily slipping them into her ears.

Slow, soothing meditation music filled the space between them, and he guided her back into the cushions, pressing gently on her shoulders until she reclined. She clutched the fluffy robe tighter around herself, eyes fluttering closed as she tried to rest, to slip away from everything for a while.

The minutes passed in a hazy blur, the music lulling her into a fragile state of calm. But then she felt herself being jostled, the vibrations pulling her back from the edge. A sound, muffled by the ambient beat, echoed in her ears—a car door slamming shut.

꧁꧂

She slowly stirred awake, stretching her arms above her head as she yawned. On her bedside table lay her phone, plugged into its charger. She grabbed it and looked at the time—13:54.

—Fuck, work starts in four hours.

She rose from bed, noting she was dressed in her own pyjamas, then slipped on her fuzzy slippers and shuffled out of the bedroom, rubbing her eyes.

Her gaze drifted to the orange bucket that caught the water leaking from her drooping, mouldy ceiling. To her surprise, it wasn’t even a quarter full—normally, it would be brimming by this time of day.

Emptying the leak bucket each morning had become part of her routine—a small ritual that, for her, symbolised a fresh start.

She slumped onto her hand-me-down sofa, the rough polymer fabric clinging to the stale stench of smoke from previous owners. The front of the armrests were frayed, threads tugged loose, evidence of a cat’s claws.

As she settled in, something caught her eye—a folded piece of paper lying on the coffee table. Frowning in curiosity, she picked it up.

All it said was “Sorry” in the neatest cursive she’d ever seen, written in red ink.

Her eyes widened as realisation dawned, and the paper slipped from her trembling fingers.

She needed to call Jen.

꧁꧂

Read Chapter 2 >>

꧁꧂

Notes: OOF that was a doozy. If you made it to the end, I love you.

#astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #astarion smut #astarion x original female character #astarion x reader #astarion x female tav #astarion x #astarion x durge #astarion x the dark urge #bg3 fanfiction

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nerd-cat-rambles · 4 months

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Danganronpa Manga Rant- Leon and Sayaka:

@yukiteruakari told me about a Danganronpa Manga edition, and OH MY GOD!!! Thankyou so much for this bro omg.

I'm only up to "Junkos" impaling, but it's so much better than the one I have.

I'll put some screenshots below, and the link too because so far it's translated to English.

Why the Manga is better, what it could do for the fandom:

It gives Sayaka and Leon so much more development as characters and seeing as Mondos case is next we might get to see what they talked about in the sauna. (<- there are so many fan theories for that one, and I'm excited to finally get more lore.)

It's hard to be a Danganronpa fan in 2024 because it all happened 14, 12, and 7 years ago. So like... Spike aren't going to just start explaining more lore on twitter randomly because they feel like it, Danganronpa is done, but this manga helps us understand the killers motive.

If ALL of the fandom read it I'd probably assume the "Mondo Brother Killer >:(" cliche that some of the fandom define him as would be gone, because it has his POV instead of a Monokuma flashback and a shitty animated clip of him doing it "for no reason" other than being "strong-strong-strong-strong-strong" (from the canon game and animation 2014.)

LeoXSaya Rant, Manga>>>Animation:

And yes, Sayaka was revealed to be a bit more of a "snake" (she isn't btw) but her motives were humane and we only thought she wasn't because Makoto is the protagonist and wouldn't think bad about any of his friends.

It also gives Leon haters a reason to stfu and enjoy his character design and small role while it lasts, and it's better than playing his FTEs because he's just gloating about picking up chicks and being better than everybody at Baseball despite hating in from what I've seen.

Also, the art is just BETTER.

The dialogue is just BETTER!

They gave Sayaka a reason to invite Leon over. Because in the anime and game yes it's "wow Sayaka is so hot" on Leons part, but wouldn't that mean Leon would've been the person to invite her to HIS room instead?

But in the Manga they explain her thought process, anybody who hasn't read it will probably just go "Sayaka's dumb for inviting a STAR ATHLETE to try and kill!" but she's smart because if she had killed him she already had an alibi. "We were friends! We bonded over music and drank tea together!" or something... saying that, Sayaka couldn't WIN because Makoto knew about the room swapping ofc. And she'd leave evidence and whatnot.

*Sighs* The Animation Butchered Our Boys...:

(BOYS BECAUSE THE ANIMATION BUTCHERED SO MANY CHARACTERS AND GAVE THEM PISSY MOTIVES AND SHIT-)

I hate the anime alot, but the thing that PISSED ME OFF THE MOST (about 1-1 of the animation) WAS LEON'S REACTION. He was having a mental breakdown, which was fine and accurate... probably good as well instead of him screaming "stupid" then losing it halfway through the word and realising his fate quietly.

They give him a moment of remorse.

"I didn't want to... I mean she... she was tring to... kill me... right? I just... didn't know what else to do... okay...?" (quote end)

but then he gets mad.

I don't know about you, but on first watch this ruined it for me. "He's just screaming now..." like... it makes me mad for almost no reason.

He was about to have a very humane moment of "I didn't have a choice..." he's looking down at the pedestal thingy in the court, he's defeated, he's sad, he's been caught. He's in despair.

Then he yells at the others "you would've done the same thing in my shoes!"

And you know what the writers did instead of making him cry after that? Anything... would've been better, but this is the dam animation we're talking about...

"I DIDN'T HAVE A CHOICE OKAY! THE CRAZY SKANK WAS GOING TO KILL ME, WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO?!"

He did have a choice...

The manga gave him a choice, he tried to save Sayaka. Then he ended up killing her, ON ACCIDENT. That line alone contradicts the fact of any of that happening, he and Sayaka had just bonded hours earlier.

Like, this is my opinion and I've never heard anybody talk about this before, BUT THE WRITERS NEEDED TO WRITE LEON BETTER!!! The game wrote Leon fine, but the animation was a second chance at giving him development!

I liked him trying to escape the court room though. That was a nice touch that I don't think was in the game.

BUT BROOOOO HE CALLED SAYAKA A SKANK HOURS AFTER ADMITTING HE WAS CRUSHING ON HER, DANGANRONPA ANIMATION WHERE'S THE LOGIC!

Like, the scene made me so mad on re-watch and I can't pinpoint why!

Like instead of this: https://youtu.be/CbQ6McYz7U0?t=59

(Good animation though imo, the closeup expressed his emotions nicely-)

HAVE THIS THOUGH, THIS IS SO MUCH BETTER!

IT JUST HITS WAY BETTER-

Anyway, that's my rant of the day because why not.

The game itself had issues, but compared to the animation it was just so much better, and makes me want to give it a 7/10 instead of a 6...

#danganronpa #dr1 #THH #Sayaka Maizono #Leon Kuwata #omg I hate the animation #Is this a fair opinion tho?#It used to be my favourite anime before I played the games-#On rewatch I wanted to throw my laptop to Africa or something #Somewhere so far that i'd never have to watch it again :3 #Manga #Danganronpa the Animation #danganronpa manga

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demvalhaken · 2 months

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Disclaimer: Self Harm, S-icidal topics, Threats + me unintentionally being salty

Br00me goes by They/Them and has a big following on Tiktok and Gamejolt. They have two accounts on Tiktok, Br00m.e and Mushr00med_beauty.

Why am I coming out about this so suddenly? They cannot commit such heinous acts and go unnoticed.

I will be showing Discord screenshots, and tiktok screenshots.

READ: Yumiiii is also someone I know, they are also a friend of Br00me. Br00me’s will be shortened to Broom/Br

Dem: Me

I only have this screenshot because Broom had sent me a death threat but the server it was sent in had been deleted. The threat was basically “I have weapons in my garage, and will follow you home and kill you.” I am not joking, this seemingly harmless goober scared the shit out of me at the time. I feel like the threat hasn’t even been talked about, its like the worst thing they’ve done

The screenshot Yumi sent was basically just Broom saying “Fuck Dem”

FURTHER INFORMATION NOTE: This has also been confirmed

Yumi called Broom an “attention seeker.” There’s not much to say other than it probably has underlying motives. All I can say is “Why would you pretend to be drunk?”

FURTHER INFORMATION NOTE: This has also been confirmed

Guilt tripping. Broom has threatened both me and Yumi with self harm and s-icide. Keep Broom’s SH in mind as it will come up a lot. Why do I say guilt tripping? Because Broom has been known to use this to make someone feel guilty like Yumi

FURTHER INFORMATION NOTE: This has been confirmed by the big Broom themself.

Maybe guilt tripping? I was having words shoved down my throat. Even I know that me saying malicious things like that is completely crazy. Yeah sure, I’d call someone a bitch, but I wouldn’t say “You deserve to cut yourself”

It’s still a big “wtf” memory for me to this day

FURTHER INFORMATION NOTE: Apparently I actually did say that… uh… thanks Dem… FUCK MY BRAIN FOR MAKING ME BELIEVE I DIDNT SAY IT WHEN I DID, UGH SOMETIMES I WISH I HAD INFINITE MEMORY… Just know that the lying was unintentionally because my brain is blocking things from me and I can’t remember shit. Damn, I was butthurt back then, it hurts looking back at my old self, I was quite literally a tornado of insecurity, hatred, edginess, and hurt. That doesn’t justify anything cus like I was also a bad person back then, like forget everything, bitch, and just hate things for no reason bad.

I had basically told Broom that making your entire profile another person’s oc was wrong. The oc in question was Sky Heart’s black cat on youtube, a pretty big animator. Instead of doing anything else, I was promptly called a “dipshit” and told to fuck off

FURTHER INFORMATION NOTE: Uhhhhhh I don’t remember what I was gonna say here, just watch their recent apology cus yk

Let’s talk about Br00me’s TikTok as well

Br00m.e is their TikTok along with Mushr00med_beauty.

They have constantly used their self harm and issues as content, gaining massive amounts of sympathy from people. I understand posting like four videos talking about it but they have MORE THAN 11 videos talking about it.

FURTHER INFORMATION NOTE: My fingers hurt. Erm… Uh… Embarrassing! That’s just me being bitchy, but still what I was trying to say was there’s a point where the vent post get kinda overwhelming from the sheer amount. Apologies on my part, thank you past Dem for stirring the pot of drama with your salty hatred for someone, WHY TF- Nvm

Their content is mainly about their sans ocs and regretevator ocs

Broom is an offender of using the ai image to create a fursona

The AI image - Their fursona

It’s quite blatantly obvious. Shame on you.

FURTHER INFORMATION NOTE: Bleep blorp gleep glorp, WTF WAS THAT, anyways they were gonna make change to it, I was being a bitch here and I don’t know why. Damn this post is salty, past Dem was on some hate drug or somethin

Broom also on Gamejolt is no better. This includes the same as their TikTok. On both TikTok and Gamejolt, Broom had said that everyone cancelled on their birthday party and that they were going to kill theirselves. I am probably a part of that group as I couldn’t come due to inconveniences + I didn’t want to go

FURTHER INFORMATION NOTE: Idk why I interpreted the post like that but, uh, I was not apart of it… Well that’s embarrassing…

Broom also states their mental problems in their gamejolt description. Since they’ve been distrustful in my opinion, I would believe they’re doing it for attention purposes. They supposedly have ADD, BPD, and Autism? Broom is also a therian/fictionkin and has a third TikTok that goes by .Vintage48

FURTHER INFORMATION NOTE: Ugh, I was being a skeptical person, but yes, they do have diagnosed ADD. BPD and Autism are suspected.

But .vintage48 has been deleted/unable to be found

Broom also has another Gamejolt account that goes under the user SatanSavedMe. I have no hate against those who practice this type of religion. The account hasn’t been active since 2024/March 3rd

This is all I have to say but please don’t show any hate to Broom. I’m only coming out with this because it’s really been bothering me for a year and I can’t just stay quiet about. I do not mean any ill intentions with this post and I only wish we can learn from this onward.

This is a hard post, I know, but spread the word if you want to. I love you guys. You can comment if you want to

Edit: On Gamejolt, Broom posted a make me blush chart despite saying they’re asexual

When confronted with “They’re replies are false” Broom went ballistic. It shows that Alex also had a horrible way of dealing with criticism/accusations.

FUTURE INFORMATION NOTE: The post was from 2023 not 2024, Broom was not asexual at that time, I apologise as this was inquired by Purpsie. But this is also my fault for not checking the goddamn date as I was quite literally having a panic attack writing this post in its original state (Unedited version)

Edit 2: The server was deleted, thought I should mention that. Do not show hate to Alex guys, they made dumb decisions and are learning from their past mistakes. Their page has a response post and I suggest you read that before saying anything.

Edit 3: I’m too tired to change this post, I wrote this while I was tired last night and like idk what happened? Even though Alex isn’t their real name, never call them that, apologies. I knew the consequences of making this post and now I feel like an idiot, I will not be making any further drama as to not do something I will regret. Changes to the name have been made

Edit 4: What about the death threat I got sent? Are we just gonna ignore that you completely avoided anything about one of the main problems?

Edit 5: Do not talk to me, I’m eating every potato in the world with ranch

Edit 6: Might leave this in the past and start a new life. More art coming soon, I swear. I wish to be left alone. I didn’t expect for this to be taken to TikTok, the worst place to share stuff

Edit 7: Get help, and also fuck you kindly. YOU LITERALLY USE ALEX AS USERNAME 😭 I’m changing it back lol

Edit 8: Erm what the sigma? Shhhh I’m too tired to talk to you Br00me, I SAW THAT APOLOGY POST IF YOURE READING THIS NEW EDIT. So uh, yeah I was being salty cus I get bitchy sometimes, apologies for being a dick. I’m just hurt cus you know I literally don’t have any friends anymore yay. Ugh, I’m just like tired of this, I regret making this post but the damage is already fucking done. Also I might’ve lied on accident because my brain has blocked most of the memories out, and some of the stuff was said by my partner in crime, Purpsie. I will be making slight changes, If you need to message me Br00me, my alt tiktok is NotAnAnkleBiter, please and thank you.

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maskthesimp · 9 months

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Okay, so I played Resident Lover

Cass' route. Duh.

[MASSIVE SPOILERS AHEAD SO MOVE THE FUCK ON!!]

AND I GOT THE BAD ENDING 💀 Or one of them

I assume there's a few bad endings and a few good ones for each route. I got the one where we get blood spilt on us, and she uses me as a sacrifice (or is implied to cuz the game ends when she pins me against a wall after getting that crazy look in her eye and talking about a fourth sacrifice for the ritual)

Here's the thing, though. I'm afraid of upsetting people. So, of course I ignored the fucking shadow and decided to get on with the show instead CUZ I FIGURED IF I INVESTIGATED THE SHADOW, IT'D DELAY THE SHOW AND PISS HER OFF!! BUT NO!!

TIP IF YOU WANNA GET A GOOD ENDING FOR CASS, INVESTIGATE THE DAMN SHADOW BEFORE THE PERFORMANCE!! UGH!! SORRY I THOUGHT OF YOUR FEELINGS, BABE, I DIDN'T REALISE EMPATHY FOR YOUR INTERESRS AND WELLBEING WOULD RESULT IN MY DEATH 🙄

It's fucking fine I reloaded the game and investigated, then told her what I saw and shit turned out fine and she fucked me in her dressing room >_> I'll take it but that music and the art of her going all crazy-eyed saying she was gonna basically kill me is gonna leave some trauma, babes, I'm ngl

Istg I genuinely was unsettled and freaked out over it. The music does a lot for the game, and the composer(s) did a great job at making me piss myself in fear. Made me feel genuine anxiety and fear. Also, because I couldn't do anything about it, it made it so much harder to watch. Feels like Subnautica without the water. Or sea creatures. Or space ship. Or anything except the overwhelming sense of "you fucked up" that I get when I hear the music after getting drenched in blood, or the "approaching ecological dead-zone" message. It's the same vibe that makes me wanna cry from anxiety, and I applaud any game that evokes that reaction from me.

I'll definitely play through the other routes, probably Belas mostly, and I'll try to get some other results from Cass' route. I didn't investigate the 3rd floor because it pissed her off when I did it, so I reloaded it (don't judge, I'm a people pleaser) and chose to wait for her. Idk what other endings can come from her route. I know I can reject her and stuff, but I don't wanna. That's my wife motherfucker.

I'm most interested in Bela and Cass' routes in this. I like Daniela, but she's not as interesting as I kinda hoped she'd be. I like skater girls, but for Dani, she's too chill. I like the switch in making Cass more of a momma's girl and making Bela more argumentative with Alcina. Whereas in RE8, that'd be the opposite with them.

Cass is the rash child not doing what Alcina wants, and Bela has to pick up the slack and suck up to mother (or at least that's the vibe we got from the lore). And Dani is just...Dani. She's chaos incarnate. But I like the switch of having Cass now be the one who decided to follow in her mother's footsteps, whilst Bela is apparently arguing with her so much.

Btw, I'd adore if there was a mutli-romance option. I'd fall head over heels so easy XDD speaking of, is there any way to meet Bela in Cass' route? She never showed in my playthrough outside of a name drop from her sisters. I've seen screenshots of Bela and Cass in Y/Ns dorm together, I'm not sure what route it's from.

Overall, I'd say I had a lot of fun. I liked the stakes, I liked the romance. Some character depictions could've been better, but maybe they would be if I play again and choose Dani's option during a later playthrough. Maybe I just didn't get enough of a look at her character. Will definitely play again :3

#self ship #self shipping #self shipper #resident lover #resident lover spoilers #cassandra dimitrescu #resident lover cassandra #dimitrescu sisters

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gals4ever · 6 months

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IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I don’t know how long I’m going to leave for, may be for a few hours to a few weeks, but I just wanted to share with you guys what I’ve been going through because I know you’ll listen.

I might not ever post on here again because im gonna be honest, I only made this account to talk to someone I trusted. That OBVIOUSLY didn’t work out, and it’s okay for things to not work out sometimes, but I can’t bring myself to come back here and look at their account or the messages they once sent me because they’re so different than the ones I just saw now. I am extremely hurt by everyone involved for the things they said about me, and im gonna be honest, I still don’t understand how anything I said was wrong. “She needs to kill herself now!” And they said nothing. The person that I’ve told everything about my life to, went to great lengths just to make sure they had a way to talk to people, and showed my most vulnerable side to, said nothing. I didn’t even know they were showing what I was saying, “she’s still yappin” which is crazy to say about when im showing you how I feel. When we talked in the supposed relationship I was in, I made it my biggest priority to let them know that they could tell me how they felt, and I gave them so many outs before I got attached. I have major abandonment issues and bpd, and I know that’s not their fault or something they should worry about, but it explains why I became so attached and quick to panic when they expressed the thought of leaving me. I don’t even care anymore about them not loving me, it’s just the things that they said about me and let others say. I know they don’t owe me jack shit, but i genuinely trusted them with how i felt and that sensitive and vulnerable side of me i try to keep to myself. I haven’t felt like this in almost four years, and maybe that’s why I started to freak out? It seems like everyone’s forgetting that I warn everyone before they get close to me, BECAUSE I AM A DAMAGED INDIVIDUAL. I am in the recovery process from being physically abused, and sexually used for things that I didn’t even want to do. Worst part is? The people that were saying bad things about me were saying all these kinds of accusations that they can’t even back up.

Like what the hell? You’re saying you have ‘screen recordings of me’ doing what? You say you have so many messages from a lot of people about me, but I never talk to anyone other than the person I trusted and one other friend? This isn’t to bash the person that left me, Im not like that and I have expressed that id like to stay on good terms, it’s to bash the people that said all those awful things about me. I would’ve never known if a friend of mine didn’t show me the screenshots, and if im being honest, I didn’t even want to see them. I would’ve rather been clueless because that genuinely broke me seeing the way they let someone say something so awful about me. Even if I was mad at them, I don’t think I would EVER let someone say something that bad. Because in that moment, reading that stupid message, I did want to do it. I’ve been struggling with suicidal thoughts for a while now and everyone knew that, but they didn’t think that I would see it. They didn’t think that maybe I would be able to see that they hated me so much that they’d wish id die. and that hurts. It hurts more than I can express. I’ve always tried to be a good person, ALWAYS, and even to the people I have problems with im still a big pushover and I take it in the ass like everyone else would’ve; I spend money on people who don’t deserve it just to get them to like me, which I know spending money on someone doesn’t mean you deserve jack shit, but yk.. I think that if you see someone is going out of their way to be friends with you and is trying to gift you things because they think your awesome maybe you shouldn’t say that they deserve to die. I felt so fucking sick reading that, I forgot about everything else that was going on and just centered all my attention on that one statement because i genuinely thought these people cared about me at first. I know I should’ve kept to myself like I always did, but I wanted to be like these people, I wanted to be cool and to be liked because that’s all I’ve ever longed for; I’ve wanted the feeling that someone would care about me. And it seems now that the people I trusted never even deserved to be close to me. That I deserved better. And I don’t want to seem selfish because when this first happened i genuinely thought that I was the worst person in the world because how could someone hate someone like this without a reason; but I know none of this is my fault. I know that I deserve better than to sit and wait for these people to come around and like me again that genuinely never will. I know that one day they’ll read this and get all mad and pissy, because im posting this to my tumblr as well, but i genuinely can’t care anymore about these people. Im not naming anyone out of respect for their privacy, unlike how they were with me. I hope that maybe one day, they’ll realize how fucked up what they said was. The worst part is, I still have a place in my heart for ALL of them because I can’t detach that easily. But maybe I’ll get over this sooner than I think, because im better than this. I don’t deserve to sit and wallow my life away because someone hates me. They don’t need to say sorry to me tbh, they need to say sorry to Sabine because she’s the one that had to listen to me sobbing on the phone for the last three days and tbh.. I think she’s more mad than I am 😭

This is posted from a separate account having nothing to do with tumblr, but I genuinely think you guys deserve to know what I’ve been going through and why I might not upload or draw things anymore for the time being. Im not looking for support or someone to say im in the right because frankly, I can’t give a fuck if you guys think im the crazy one. I just wanted to express myself on this platform for once 😇

I hope you all are having an amazing day and that you feel a lot much better than I do 😭

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#trolls #trolls band together #stimboard #trolls 3 #trolls veneer #velvet trolls #slime stim #brozone #purple stim #stim gifs #hiatus

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gvftea · 3 months

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“It’s funny when the Albie/Noel defenders are pointing fingers at us saying we’re telling them to k*ll themselves. I’ve seen nobody say anything even CLOSE to that, nor do I think that is anyone’s intention. Way to try to make yourselves look like the victims though”

The is crazy because if you knew what the fuck you were talking about, you’d know the exact people that have told them to kill themselves, that they hope they get spat on and pissed on in the pit, people that have literally tweeted calling for people to go after them, that it would be a real shame if Albie got trampled while she was pregnant, that they are bad mothers who don’t pay attention to their kids, I could go on and that’s so fucked. I’m sorry I didn’t screenshot every fucking death threat or tweet wishing harm on them before it was deleted, I’ll be sure to for the next time you want to say some stupid ass shit like this.

#greta van fleet #gvf #josh gvf #sam gvf #jake gvf #josh kiszka #danny wagner #danny gvf #jake kiszka #sam kiskza

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tohokuu · 1 year

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babe what happened… are you okay?!

okay so before i start, i come from a conservative pakistani muslim household. it's the kind of place where wearing shorts to bed make it look like you probably fuck around with guys.

i went to pakistan last summer and have a lot of my cousins on snapchat. i barely use snapchat but every once in a while, i post a selfie or an update on life or something. anyway, i felt really pretty yesterday and i posted a video of me.

thing is, i was wearing a black tank top and a thin hoodie on top but my breasts are big so my cleavage was out and i took the video from a high angle so you can def see stuff but it wasn't anything super bad.

now i have 3 diff snap stories. a public one, a main one and the private stories. the private story is obviously cfs only. the main is my entire snap but it excludes all my cousins and the public one is for literally everyone. whenever i post, i post on the public one but yesterday bc of my clothes, i posted to the main so my cousins wouldn't see it. but somehow my cousins werent fucking blocked off the story and a few of them saw it. some of my cousins are cool and some aren't. two of them screenrecorded it. i honestly completely forgot about the post until my mom barged into my room at 4 in the morning shoving her phone in my face.

it was a whatsapp chat where my uncle (dads older brother) sent it to my mom and my dad. he sent my mom a very angry voice message about my upbringing and how my mom should be ashamed of herself for raising a daughter like me. my uncle and my dad don't have the greatest relationship but me and my uncle get along very well. he loves me very much and so do i. its just that im so ashamed that he saw that kind of picture of me. i always dress very modestly when i'm in pakistan and whenever i post a selfie or something.

what's crazy to me is that he sent that shit straight to my mom and dad... my mom saw it this morning during fajr prayers and she deleted it off my dads phone so i don't believe he saw it and i also blocked my uncle off my dads phone so he doesn't call him.

i talked to my cousin and asked why she screenshotted and she said it was so she could ask me to remove the video because it wasn't decent. i was so stressed the whole time and i apologized so much for what i did and i begged her to calm her dad down and delete the photo off his phone and to not call my father about it. i have uni coming up in a few weeks and i truly do not have the money to pay all my tuition myself. like my dad, my mom and i are all joining money together in order to pay. if my dad finds out about this, he might marry me off, send me back home and marry me off, cut contact w me and kick me out or he might just kill me.

there isn't much to be shameful abt than the fact that my uncle saw it... my uncle and aunt are huge gossipers and even tho i dont feel as though she would go around and tell people this kind of stuff, she's also not very trustworthy. my uncle is petty and likes to bring up bad things into random conversations. i begged my cousin and she calmed me down and all but i dont trust these people. my aunt told my mom that it's okay and i made a mistake and i realized it and she also told my mom that i had expressed my shame regarding my uncle seeing it and he was very happy that i acknowledged my actions. she said it's okay to love your body and be proud but there's a limit and i crossed it. but she said that she wouldn't tell my dad and that it'll blow over soon but i dont fucking believe her at all. my aunt has been my moms biggest enemy since she got married into that house and who's to say she isn't mine too?

the fact that they have this video of me at all is so so fucking bad. i could barely sleep after i saw it. my chest hurts and it feels like something heavy is on it. my stomach keeps flipping and i feel like throwing up all the time. i don't know how long this will take to blow over but this is absolutely horrible. im wishing so hard that this is just a dream and i can just wake up from it at any given moment but it isn't so i have no idea what to do. my mom hates me right now and she's angry again. i don't know if my dad knows about this. i'm just so so broken up over this. i don't know what to do.

#someone help me #i feel so pathetic rn

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avenger-hawk · 2 years

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Just wanted to pop in to say I love your blog and to bring up that Juusasu is still criminally underrated.

Thank you!

I mentioned this here but I like Juusasu so much so I’ll say it again...yes, it’s criminally underrated. I don’t understand why the fandom ignores Team Taka in general actually, because all of them have great potential with each other.

Juusasu has everything.

It has very strong feelings, because Sasuke freed Juugo even knowing how dangerous he was, he ignored how Juugo attacked him, he gave him strength to trust not only him but himself, kind of, cause Juugo wanted to be locked in fearing he would hurt people but Sasuke told him he’d be his cage, that he’d protect him by becoming his cage if he got berserk. That he wouldn’t let anything bad happen. And Juugo becomes fiercely loyal to Sasuke, like he was to Kimimaro.

All this is also very cute and ‘wholesome’, because like I said Juugo is loyal to Sasuke, he protects him, he follows him, he cares for him, he tends to him when he’s not ok. And Sasuke does the same in his own way. Not to mention Sasuke asked Juugo, like he asked the others, if he wanted to help him in his quest for Itachi. And they mutually trust each other very much, Sasuke too, even though kishi eventually dropped their relationship to highlight only the one with the main character because ofc lol

It has angst, because Sasuke lost everyone and he’s looking for revenge, he’s desperate and lost even though he tries hard to have everything under control and he plans and trains and acts more, and every time the world crumbled on him with new pieces of truth and he’s more and more desperate, but Team Taka, and Juugo, are on his side. And Juugo is a lost soul too, he had only Kimimaro and when he died he became even more lost, he was ready to live his whole life in prison, until Sasuke saved him.

It has hot potential, not only because Juugo is always shirtless lol and Sasuke is often shirtless, but also because they have moments like the screenshot, where Juugo tends to Sasuke’s wounds, obviously touching him, or when Juugo goes berserk and Sasuke calms him when he gets close to him, or when, the moment Sasuke freed him, Juugo attached him, pinning him to the wall (even though the scene was not as hot as other pinned-to-the-wall scenes unfortunately)

It has darkfic potential, because Sasuke promised to be his cage which is wow, very ambiguous in this context, and very hot. It’s like, promising to be the one who’ll take all his darkness, all his violence and everything, upon himself. And my dark headcanon about them is that Juugo has those crazy moments more often than canon shows (also because we don’t see many moments of them) and sometimes he has them when they’re alone, or the others just know they have to leave them alone, and when they happen he does things but he doesn’t remember after, he only sees marks on Sasuke (or he sees Sasuke feeling weak and moving painfully after) and then he feels guilty but Sasuke tells him that it’s ok, because he too feels guilty but for having ‘killed’ Itachi, so he kind of wants to atone, in a way. this kind of stuff.

#juusasu #rare pairings are fascinating #vivalarevolution #vivalarevolution: bonds #team taka is the best

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

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Mia Deserved Better: An Analysis of RE8's Themes/Symbolism

Foreword: I would like to thank @lepusrufus for posting about both Mia and Miranda, and at one point directly saying that Mia deserved better, which is a large part of what caused me to start examining her role in the canon story. Now, I will say that this post, like some of my previous explorations of Village (such as my attempt to determine Donna's age), will not be the best organized. My ADHD makes such things rather difficult for me. However, I have tried more than usual, and have broken up this "essay" into several distinct sections. Still, I am worried that my thoughts will not be as concise or coherent as they were inside my head.

Under read-more for length and spoilers for RE8: Village.

Introduction:

Village is, inarguably, about parenthood. Is it a horror game? Yes. Is it also science fiction? Also yes. But is it still, at its core, a story, and therefore contains imagery, symbolism, and themes? Yes. Now, you may be wondering what this has to do with Mia deserving better. My proposal is as follows: While Village is overall about parenthood, it is more about motherhood than fatherhood. Furthermore, Mia's background + actions from the previous game tie her story directly with Mother Miranda's, making their potential interactions massively important to the story... and could have served the theme beautifully. The missed potential in her involvement in the story is honestly a little bit absurd.

Now, let's examine each of the Four Lords + their sections, as the beginning of analyzing the game's theme.

Lady Dimitrescu + Castle:

Ah, perhaps the clearest (albeit unimportant) bits of theme within the whole game. We are immediately presented with another parent, with three daughters she loves very, very much. Initially they work as a team to capture Ethan, easily overpowering him. When they do split up, each still has dialogue regarding their family members. Each of the daughters expresses a desire to be like their mother/make their mother proud. Lady Dimitrescu herself gets very upset every time one of her daughters perishes, and delivers some important dialogue about this in her final confrontation with Ethan.

To paraphrase, Lady D says that Ethan has done something unforgiveable, caused damage that can never heal, and deserves to die before his daughter. That last part is interesting, in the sense that Lady D seems to believe that outlasting your own child is a fate so terrible that she would not wish it upon anyone, including the person who killed her daughters.

Throughout her dialogue and actions, Lady D serves as an important figure of a living mother. What do I mean by that? Well, the only other mothers we see in game are Mia and Miranda. The former doesn't show up until almost the end of the game (seeing as the "Mia" at the start is not actually the real Mia), while the latter does not have a living child, and her behavior has (presumably) changed quite a bit since that loss. As Ethan goes through Castle Dimitrescu, he watches (he causes) Lady D to go through what Miranda did all those decades ago. When we see her loss, when we experience her loss, it is something we connect with, even comparing it (as Lady D does) to Ethan's loss of Rose.

For the more visual side of symbolism, we can turn to Lady Dimitrescu herself. She is very tall, is visibly older than the majority of the Village cast, and has a fairly classic (old-school) motherly look. Everything about her reinforces her position as an example of a mother, especially when she's with her daughters and becomes such a strong figure of protection. Her height allows her to seem the caretaker for her children, even though they are scary/intimidating in their own right.

Donna Beneviento + Waterfall House:

Yes, the baby/fetus/monstrosity is part of this. No, it is not the only bit of thematic work in this section of the game.

To begin, you can find out that Donna is officially the adopted daughter of Mother Miranda. Her birth parents are dead, implied to be from especially tragic causes (more than is the norm when it comes to "orphan making"), and she has suffered greatly from it. We see that she has been seemingly neglected by Miranda, and is incredibly isolated. The tragedy of her loss, along with the consequences presented by it, are something to keep in mind further down the road, when we inevitably deal with Ethan's own death.

One of the consequences of the environment Donna was raised in is, arguably, her reliance on Angie. While interpretations of their exact relationship (aka how much control Donna actually has at any given point) vary, the two very clearly have something akin to a mother/daughter vibe. Alternatively an older sister/younger sister sort of thing. This shows in the way that Donna holds/carries Angie, as well as the contrast in their demeanors. Moreso, the fact that Donna gave a part of herself to create Angie is almost enough to make the symbolism nonnegotiable.

We also see that Donna has a strong understanding of family/family dynamics, through the way that she uses her powers to manipulate Ethan. She dissects his connections to Mia and Rose, taunts him with the lengths he's willing to go to save his child, then shows him a grotesque version of parenthood: The aforementioned fetus monster. Does the monster represent Ethan's fears, or Donna's?

What if the monster is how Donna sees herself, in some way, perhaps thinking that it's her fault her parents died? Bit of a stretch, but it's not a keystone of my theory, so I'm just throwing it out there. We could, however, go a step further and ask ourselves if Donna has noticed the way Miranda neglects her, and the fetus monster is how Donna thinks Miranda sees her. A baby, true, but grotesque, so terribly imperfect compared to her "real daughter" (Eva, obvs).

Regardless, the monster presents an ugly side of parenthood. It shows us the blood, the hunger (with the way it repeatedly attempts to swallow Ethan whole), the wailing. If Lady D shows us the love of parenthood, the bond, Donna in turn shows us the hate, the misery. Everything that one must endure to reap the rewards of family.

Lastly, we get one last bit of symbolism with Donna's death: We play a game with Angie. A childhood classic, hide and seek. Ethan chases her down repeatedly, stabbing away, seemingly only hurting the doll. But what happens when he kills Angie? It turns out that he killed Donna. You kill the child, you kill the parent. A reinforcement of the connection that comes with parenthood, along with another notch in Ethan's family-murdering belt (not saying that he's the "true antagonist" or anything, just keeping track for one of my later points).

Moreau + The Reservoir

Let's get the worst possibility out of the way: Moreau, weakest and sickest of the four lords, lives in a reservoir, where he is relatively safe. To defeat him, you have to drain the water, forcing him onto dry(ish) land. Paired with the main ideas of his section (which I will detail after this nightmare), one could theorize that he's meant to represent birth itself. Again, he's safe in his ("womb") water, and becomes vulnerable when he leaves (like a fragile newborn). Kinda gross, in my opinion, and also not a strong enough connection for me to care much about. It was merely an interesting (albeit horrifying) enough thought that I felt it warranted sharing.

Moving on to the big stuff with Moreau: He's a baby. Evidence: Whiny, has difficulty moving around, struggles to adapt to his growth, throws up a bunch, loves his mother very much, cries for his mother when he's in trouble, etc. Although Mother Miranda does not care for him, he clearly cares for her, and plays yet another role of an abandoned child (like Donna). Without Miranda there to protect him, he perishes terribly, crying out for someone who does not care to answer.

Hearing him cry out for Miranda, over and over, only for her to continue ignoring him is a key piece in the build-up to our confrontation between Ethan and Miranda. The game, in many ways, centers around the comparison between the two. In my humble opinion, Mia should have been involved in this comparison, as opposed to supplying the solution to the result of said comparison. Yes, I know that was a lot of words that don't mean much yet, but trust me, I'm getting there.

Heisenberg + The Factory

Ironically, of the four lords, Heisenberg is the most similar to Mother Miranda. In his massive factory, he is alone except for his numerous experiments, the results of decades of playing God. In comparison to Ethan + Mia, Heisenberg represents artificial parentage, or more accurately, the artificial creation of "life". While the others Lords also performed experiments, they used living subjects. Heisenberg instead chose to use corpses, which he then "brought back to life" with cybernetics + his powers, a somewhat futuristic version of Dr. Frankenstein.

Together, Miranda and him show a rotten side of parenthood (whereas Donna + Moreau showed us the uglier side of the children themselves). To put it simply, they are bad parents. They throw their "children"/experiments into the fray, uncaring, using them as pawns for their own greater gain. The most important part of this is that Heisenberg offers to "help" Ethan: By using Rose as a weapon. In his act of refusal, Ethan demonstrates one of several important distinctions between himself and Mother Miranda. Where she is willing to use her "children" (read: lives that she is responsible for) as tools, he is not.

Miscellaneous Symbolism/Imagery:

The old hag is one of my favorite parts of Village. She's seemingly nuts, has a crazy old lady laugh, wears bones that make soothing bone noises when she moves, and she draws lots of symbols in the dirt. If you look closely (I can provide screenshots if anyone desires, but it will take a bit of work to get them onto my computer), she's drawing one of the most iconic images in the titular village: The winged unborn. This symbol acts as the key you build up after every fight with a Lord, understandably called the Unborn Key (which turns into the Winged Unborn Key). Whether this counts as foreshadowing towards the hag's identity reveal is technically irrelevant, but I like to think it does.

In essence, you build up the key, this depiction of an infant, to progress in the game. The more wings it gains, the closer you are to your goal of rescuing your child.

The cadou itself is very clearly fetus-shaped. Furthermore, the only place within the human body that we know it ever gets implanted is in the "tummy" (thanks Moreau), aka roughly where someone's womb is/would be. Every infected person we see presumably had the Cadou implanted there (though I think it would be interesting if implanting it in different spots caused different mutations. of course, that is a discussion for another day). To become immortal, you have to "bear" a "child". Does it get more direct than that?

Mother Miranda gained her immortality in part for her grief at the loss of her child. She embodied the despair that Lady D spoke of, becoming an eternal source of anguish. Just as the loss of a child is a wound that lasts forever, so too would Miranda last forever (well, until Ethan comes along).

Mia is a loving mother, who puts up with the BSAA making her move across the world, deals with the complications of having a mold husband and mold baby, and has proved herself (see her section in RE7) to be an immense badass. Previously I had forgotten that, and even embarrassed myself in the comments of another person's post by implying she wasn't a tough, ass-kicking machine. Y'all remember feral Mia? People talk about "poor Ethan's arms", but sometimes we forget that Mia was one of the people who did a number on them. Furthermore, she's one of the only living people (from outside the village) to have any connections (pun intended) to Mother Miranda. They worked together, although possibly not directly, on Evelyn. If anyone in Village has a chance of really understanding Miranda's plight, or knowing the truth behind it, it would be Mia. Yet we don't see them interact a single time. Which leads me to the next section...

Conclusion On Theme + Missed Potential:

Okay, okay, so it's pretty obvious at this point that, as previously stated, the game's theme is parenthood. Every section has its symbolism, the story is very obviously about a man trying to rescue his daughter, etc, etc, but what's the point? Is there a lesson, or a more focused interpretation of the central theme? Let's take one last step back, and focus on something I've mentioned a few times now: The comparison between Ethan and Mother Miranda.

Recurring dialogue from Ethan, Alcina, and Mother Miranda all point towards the developers acknowledging that the characters are similar, but there's nowhere near as much conversation about it as I would like. Several times we have the antagonists ask Ethan how he's so willing to kill someone else's child, or prevent them from (essentially) doing what he's doing (aka saving his daughter). While Ethan responds with a mix of "well you started it" and "aghhh fuck-a-you, bitch", there's a much more solid, unspoken difference: Mother Miranda sends her underlings to kill, so that she may revive her daughter. Ethan kills (read: does the work himself) to get his daughter. The difference is much bigger, and more important, at the end of the game, when we realize just how far it goes. Ethan dies to save his daughter. Time and time again Mother Miranda has killed others for her work, but in the end she is stopped when someone willingly dies to stop her.

Where does Mia come in? Mia, the badass mother, the one who once worked alongside Mother Miranda, should have been the nail in the coffin. She is the one who survives, who lives on to raise Rose, she is the silent solution to Ethan's sacrifice. Miranda, you fool, what could you have accomplished if you had held onto your makeshift family? Through Mia (and Chris, to a lesser degree), his "loss" becomes a victory. There's a certain poetic justice that comes with Rose's full family being instrumental in saving her, when Miranda so readily spurned her own family.

Mia could have had an actual conversation with Miranda, their history giving the latter a reason to actually listen. I'm not saying that Miranda would have changed her mind/plans, but the conversation would have been a well-needed contrast to Ethan's "arggg what the fuck is happening, I only have two reactions to things. agg fuck you". Additionally, I feel that Mia (who was captured and had to endure who-knows-what) deserves the opportunity to be the one who points out Miranda's mistakes, who delivers the final "fuck you" to her. More than that, she's the one at the end who can say that hey, maybe she can understand some of what Miranda did. Was there anything her and Ethan wouldn't have done to save Rose? As much as Ethan is a foil to Miranda, Mia could (and should) have played a similar role.

When so much of the story and symbolism revolves around Miranda's experience as a mother, it only would have been fair to shine a light on her equivalent. Her better.

There's more I wanted to say/feel like I didn't properly get across, and I might add more to this at some point, but it's 5:40 AM right now, and I'm starting to feel like my brain is slowing down, so... Feel free to reblog/comment and add your own thoughts!

#mother miranda #mia winters #ethan winters #rosemary winters #resident evil: village #re8 village #god what do I tag this as

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yutahoes · 3 years

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Devil Inside

pairing : childhood friends! Yuta x Y/N

genre : fluff, horror au, smut but not detailed

word count: 5.6k words

warnings: fuckboy Yuta, calling someone a 'goth girl', horror movies, Yuta becomes an incubus, too much blood, raw meat eating, flesh eating, human organ eating, slut shaming a minor character, calling Yuta a whore, killing, mention of male molestation, mentioned teacher-student intercourse, shirtless Yuta, mentions of breeding, mentioned kitchen sex, mentioned shower sex, mentioned rough sex, Y/N getting wounded, skipping classes, Yuta as a murderer, a cambion. In other words, this is disturbing and problematic.

a/n: Inspired by this set of pictures and the movie Jennifer's Body. This is my first time writing a horror themed AU and this is badly written. I just can't stop thinking about this so for me to do something productive today, I had to post this. 😂 This has uncomfortable theme so please read in moderation. I went crazy over this, sorry. Feedback is highly appreciated. 😘

You and Yuta had been friends since forever, stemming from the history of your parents being friends and all since college. Your home is his home and you have your own room in his house. Staying together inside one room isn't a problem, your parents trusted you both but growing up is different.

You had to admit that you grew up leading a boring life, too bookish, and didn't even interact with your classmates. Yuta, on the other hand, has always been the life of the party, the school superstar, the popular guy. And that huge difference created a wall between your friendship.

You didn't know when it started, it just did. He started hanging out with the cool kids while you were left in the shadows. You can't really get mad at him, that's growing up. And he didn't change when it was just the two of you.

When your parents would go abroad for their business trips, Yuta would check on you every night. If you have eaten dinner, if you've locked all the windows, or if you knew the number for the police station or the fire station in case something happens. He's still the same Yuta. Your childhood friend, Yuta.

"Did you do your assignments?" He asked, not removing his eyes from the TV where he's watching a horror film. This is something that he can't do at their home or his mom would freak out.

You rolled your eyes, answering a 'Yes, abeoji' while opening the fridge to see what to have for breakfast tomorrow then whining since there's more raw food in there than easy-to-eat foods. "I'll probably skip breakfast tomorrow." You said more to yourself, already thinking to wake up early and just get some waffles from the shop near the bus stop.

"Just leave the back door unlocked, I'll cook breakfast for you tomorrow." Yuta claimed that made you look at him.

You raised your eyebrow at that. "Weird that you're here." You started then sat next to him on the couch, "No date?" He showed a screenshot of her photo, a different girl than yesterday. She was wearing black, with black eyeliner, and a pierced eyebrow. "She looks like a goth. Is that your type now?"

"She's hot!" He exclaimed and you just nodded at him. "And she wants to meet at 11 pm so yeah." That was a weird time to meet up. But you didn't react and just focused on the TV just as the jump scare happened. You quickly hid your face on the throw pillow, blowing heavy breaths that made the guy next to you laugh. You hated horror, hated blood, and you're convinced that Yuta is doing this to scare you. "I'll get going." He said, standing up.

"Can you close the TV first? Or stop the movie, at least?" You said, face still behind the pillow. He laughed then closed the TV, engulfing you in darkness that made you more scared. The bloody face from the TV earlier flashing on your mind.

"Sorry Y/N. I promised not to scare you like that again." You heard him say then felt something warm on the top of your head followed by a smooching sound. He patted your head, "I really have to go. I'll see you in the morning."

You waited for the sound of the door closing before you removed the throw pillow from your burning face. He kissed your head, right? You felt that. Why would he do that? Does he know that you have a crush on him? Or is it just his manwhore ways? But why you? You screamed at the throw pillow, cursing at Yuta for being the charming guy he is.

You cannot deny the fact that each day, your feelings for Yuta had to grow. Who are you to blame when he's getting more handsome each day? And you're just a girl who has a weak heart for him. The image was still vivid in your mind, the first time you watched a horror movie and you were already crying in fright ten minutes into the movie. "I will protect you, Y/N." And you believed that. Yuta is always there to protect you.

A loud bang can be heard that made you wake up in your sleep. You listened for other noises and heard footsteps, someone is inside your home. The first instinct is to call Yuta but what if he's in another place, you cannot trouble him. So you just took the baseball bat he lent you for this circumstance, repeating in your mind the number of the police station.

You quietly tiptoed down the stairs and saw the light of the refrigerator open. Is it a food thief? And how did he come inside your house? You can see a trail of blood on the kitchen floor that startled you. The bat was dropped on the floor when you saw someone seated in front of the refrigerator. "Yuta?"

He was covered in blood, eating the raw beef as if starving. His eyes were blood cold and you stepped back in fright. He looks like a monster. What kind of a crazy dream is this? You have to do something to wake up. Anything to wake yourself up.

And as stupid as you sound, you hit your head with the bat that was on the ground.

You opened your eyes, the sunlight hitting your eyes and your head aching real bad as if something hit you. You groaned while stretching then remembered your dream. Yuta. Your kitchen. Quickly, you ran to the kitchen to see Yuta’s mom cooking something. “I’m glad you’re up. You’ll be late for class.”

“Auntie, where is Yuta?” She shrugged, saying that he didn’t even go home last night. It was a normal occurrence, that’s part of Yuta’s social life. “I’ll just prepare for school.” When you glanced at the couch, Yuta’s baseball bat was there. Weird, isn’t it supposed to be in your room?

You had a nice breakfast, thanks to Yuta’s mom, and enough time to go to school. The first thing was to get your books in your locker and walk to class, avoiding some of your schoolmates who block the way. Before you can get inside the room, you see Yuta passing by opposite your way with a new girl in his arms. You knew her, the cheerleader, the basketball team’s girlfriend. Wow, she reached the soccer team now. When your eyes met with Yuta, you were reminded of him seated on your kitchen floor. Filled with blood and with dead cold eyes. You shake your head. That was a dream. You shivered. A very vivid dream.

It was a normal boring school day, a typical day that it surprised you when Yuta wrapped his arms around you then leaned closer. “I need your help.” A curious look was etched on your face. “Math. Help me study for the exam tomorrow.” You nodded, removing his hand from your shoulder. “Why?” He asked before putting back his hand on you.

“I just don’t want your girlfriends to misunderstand.” Yuta chuckled then pinched your cheek. “Yuta, stop it. It hurts.”

He smiled. That breathtaking smile which makes you weak for him. “Sorry.” He whispered then leaned to place a kiss on your reddening cheek, startling you. Your eyes widened at his actions. What is wrong with Yuta? “You do know that I like you more than I like those girls, right?” What? Your heart kept on beating wildly against your chest that you’re scared he might hear it. “I’ll see you later, Y/N.”

Once you breathe in, without realizing that you’re holding your breath, you saw everyone’s eyes were on you. Oh no! This is trouble.

You went home early, trying to stay away from your schoolmates. You don’t want to talk to them and explain that you’re friends with Yuta, that will cause some damage to him. But why did he do that? You tried raking your brains for an answer but you can’t seem to find the right one. So you just shrugged it and maybe ask Yuta when he gets to your house.

It’s late at night. You finished reviewing the whole chapter for your exam tomorrow yet Yuta is a no show. You lightly glanced at the house next door, seeing that the living room lights were on. Their car isn’t in the garage, meaning his parents are not at home. Then you saw the silhouette of someone making out on the couch. Oh, his ditching makes sense now. You closed the door and made sure to close the light, ready to get a good night’s sleep.

You opened your eyes in darkness, the clock reading that it’s almost 4 am. You felt thirsty that you decided to go downstairs to get a cup of water, halfway through the stairs you can see someone on the other door’s yard digging up something. Curious, you put on a coat and exited the backdoor to check on it. The same Yuta, covered in blood, and this time you knew you weren’t dreaming.

“Yuta?” You called but he kept digging. Blood mixed with the soil and the most horrible thing you can see, limbs. “Yuta.” You called once again, even holding his shoulder to make him look at you. He kept covering the body with the soil, even covering it up with a large pot. What has he done? This isn’t the Yuta you know and it scared you.

“Y/N.” He called that made you look at him. The warmth of his voice is still there. “Help me, please.” He sounded broken. “I’m really scared.” The first time you saw this reaction on Yuta. He looks so fragile, so vulnerable.

There’s a part of you that’s still wary of him. You have questions in your head that you wanted to ask him and you waited for him to finish his shower, while you make coffee for both of you, as you collect your thoughts. When he sat in front of you at the kitchen table, he looked like the Yuta you knew except there’s pain in his eyes. “Yuta.” You called, rubbing the side of your cup. “What…?” But you don’t know what to ask him.

“I killed Miss Jang.” Your eyes widened in surprise. The assistant PE teacher? “We had amazing sex and then…” You shook your head. He had sex with a teacher? Wow, his man whoring is of another level. “You don’t understand, she’s been touching me appropriately for the past couple of months so I just gave her what she wanted.”

A gasp escaped your throat. “She’s what?” He just stared at you. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“Do you think someone would believe me?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shook his head. “Because it’s embarrassing.” You scoffed then rolled your eyes at him. “So you killed her?”

“I ate her.”

“Yuta, I don’t need the details of your sexcapades…”

“I ate her organs.” Your eyes widened in surprise. What? “It’s a craving after having sex with someone. I just want to eat something raw and her flesh can’t even satisfy me.” That explains why he’s covered with blood.

The memory of that night came to you, when he was eating that raw meat from the fridge. “When did it start?” He answered last night and you were more surprised that it is true and not a dream. “How?” He shrugged. “What do you plan to do now?”

“I don’t know.” He held your hand that was on the table, looking at you with pleading eyes. “Help me, please. I don’t want to kill another woman again.” You sighed. This was Yuta. Your childhood friend. The guy you like. You nodded before thinking how stupid it is to do this.

The news of Miss Jang being missing is the talk in your class the next day but what’s more surprising is some testimony of the guys who were molested by her, like Yuta. You watched as your friend fiddled with his thumbs, obviously listening to your classmates. He actually did them a favor but something isn’t right. Why is this happening to Yuta?

A sexual thirst, a thirst for flesh. Your phone showed a result called an incubus, a demon that pursues sexual relations with women. But why does Yuta keep on eating flesh to satisfy his craving? You stood up and decided to ditch class just to have the answers to your questions, finding yourself in the back of the library. The collection of forbidden books.

“What are you doing here?” You immediately hushed Yuta as you got hold of a black book, opening it to reveal different pentagrams and illustrations of spooky creatures. “What is that?”

“An incubus.” You said then sat on the library floor, Yuta following you. “Demons who attract women for sexual pleasure.” Before he could say anything else, “I think that was what is happening to you.”

You visibly saw him gulp. “You think I’m a demon?” No, you don’t.

“Possessed by a demon, Yuta.” You flipped the pages of the book to see about the different rituals on how to summon a demon. “Did you join a cult? Or even got drugged and was offered as a human sacrifice?” You stopped. That night. That girl. “The goth girl, you saw her that night. Do you remember what happened?”

“We had sex.” You rolled your eyes at that, of course. “I told her I’m a virgin because she likes guys like that. We had amazing sex, mind-blowing sex.” You sighed. “Then I woke up on your kitchen floor.” That’s all he remembers? Finally, your thoughts are confirmed, it isn’t a dream. You really saw Yuta that night. “You were lying on the ground as well and I had to remove my shirt before carrying you to your room.”

The thought of the shirtless Yuta carrying you made the blood rose up your cheeks. “You were covered in blood that time and the trail…”

“I had to clean that up before you wake up because you’re scared of blood.” You stared at him warmly. He had to think about that? “You saw me?” You nodded, sharing that he was eating that raw meat when you saw him. “Did I scare you?” If there was one person you cannot lie to, that would be Yuta. He can easily see through you. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I won’t hurt you, I promise that.”

You held his hand, giving it a light squeeze. “I’ll help you, Yuta. We can remove that demon inside you.”

The only conclusion you can come up with is to meet with the same goth girl he met before. Yuta remembered having sex with her and he was eating that raw meat as if really hungry so she might be alive, Yuta didn’t kill her. And you have to hurry because each night that passes, Yuta has someone to bury in the backyard. It's a female prostitute one night, then a drug pusher, followed by the girl in class who bullied you.

It's becoming a huge issue in town, the disappearance of young girls, that your parents had to come home quickly worried about your safety. "From now on, go home early." Your dad ordered. "I'll ask Yuta to walk you home every day." How would they feel if Yuta was the one doing all these?

He was worried about you joining him in meeting up with the girl, even repeating to you that he'll kill himself if something bad happens to you but you assured him that you'll be fine. It's not you who needed help now, it was him. You need to put a stop to this before another one gets hurt.

The girl was laughing cynically when you asked her what to do to remove the demon inside your friend. "A cambion." She answered and you curiously gave her a look. "That's the goal of an incubus. Once there's a cambion, he will leave the body he's possessing."

A cambion? All you need is to have a cambion so the demon can leave Yuta. You searched what it was and just facepalmed yourself. Fuck this! Will he be saved?

----

"You want me to breed someone?" You shiver at his choice of words but nod, nonetheless. "How can I do that when eating them becomes part of the sexual process?"

You shook your head then ruffled your hair. This is getting you crazy. "You know, this is your fault for whoring around. If you just had a fixed girlfriend then this wouldn't happen…"

"Then why did you reject my confession?" You blinked twice as if it can clear what you heard. Did you hear him correctly? "I told you I'll marry you in senior year and what is your answer? I'm not marrying you, Yuta." He said while copying your voice, leaving you dumbfounded. "I was heartbroken that time so I started dating other girls then maybe you can finally notice me."

"I thought you were teasing me that time." Your voice got louder that your mom knocked on the door asking if you two were fighting. He shook his head, smiling at your mom. When she closed the door, you just stared at him awkwardly. Once again, you had to ruffle your hair. This is so frustrating! "Just, make a baby with someone."

You waited, biting your thumb as the clock struck 3 am. You haven't had the right sleep thinking of what might happen to Yuta then you saw movement in the yard. Quietly, you went out of the backdoor of your house and saw him outside, blood on his clothes. "What happened?"

He shook his head. "Same."

"Where is her body?" You removed your cardigan to wipe away the blood from his face and his neck.

He looks tired, hopeless. "I left her body on a roadside." You gasped at that. "I can't save myself. I'll be like this forever." He can't, he needed to fight himself. Fight his urges. But even you knew that it was impossible.

There was a flicker of light coming from their kitchen, someone was going to see you. They're going to see Yuta with a bloody shirt like this. "Remove your shirt." You ordered and he looked confused so you just ripped it from him. Shit, you just realized how this looked like when two booming voices can be heard calling both your names. Both your dads.

"Where is your shirt?" Your dad asked, arms crossed. You're inside your house, both your fathers and mothers staring at the two of you. "And you're wearing only that outside?" You glanced at the thin nightgown you were wearing and Yuta handed you a throw pillow. "Please wear your shirt, Yuta."

"I ripped his shirt, dad." You heard both your moms giggle. "Can we please not make a big deal of this? This isn't what you think it is."

Yuta's dad sighed. "Our only concern is why bother doing it outside? We let you sleep in each other's room." What?

"Are you exhibitionists?" Your mom asked and you gasped. Is that what they're thinking now? Your head aches, you didn't have any decent sleep yet and this ordeal with Yuta is making you lose your mind. Can't you just all talk tomorrow, not at 4 in the morning?

Yuta held your hand, lacing your fingers together. "I'm willing to take responsibility if something happens to Y/N." Surprised, you glanced at him. Nothing happened, he knew that. What the hell is he saying so suddenly? "But can I please stay with Y/N tonight, uncle?"

It was a surprise when your dad allowed you both to go upstairs to your room but you had to wait until they're in their rooms before getting your cardigan and Yuta's blood-stained clothes from the yard. Yuta was still seated on your bed when you went back to your room, staring at you with his misty eyes.

He pulled you close, arms wrapped around your waist while his head was on your chest. "I'm scared." His hold got tighter. "I don't want to hurt anyone anymore." If you're frustrated with this, you realized Yuta might be in bigger pain than you are. You held his hair, threading your fingers along its strand. You've been together for so long but this has been the most intimate thing that you two had ever done. "You were right, this is my fault for hurting those girls. I used them for my self pleasure, to boost my ego. This is me getting punished for all of that."

You held his hands, kneeling in front of him to see his face. "But you don't deserve this, Yuta." You held his cheeks as tears started falling from his eyes. "We'll do something, I promise."

He pulled you up, letting you sit on his lap. The warmth of his eyes makes your heart beat rapidly inside your chest. "I love you, Y/N." Your eyes widened at the sudden confession, "I'm sorry for getting you dragged into this but I'm thankful you haven't left me yet." He hugged you, head on your shoulder and you can feel his warm breath on your neck. "I love you. I don't want you to leave me."

You wrapped your arms around his neck. He's scared, you can feel him shaking. "I won't leave you, Yuta." You let him sob in your chest like a little child just wanting some warmth. And you realized, this might be just what he needed.

Both of you skipped school that morning since you slept at 5 am, just laying next to each other. Your head on his chest, hands held together. It was him who first got out of bed, prepared himself, then placed a small kiss on our head before leaving your room. If only you could stay like this. But he had to go and fuck another woman tonight to satisfy his thirst, making your heart ache. Can you live like this?

Your parents and Yuta were seated around the dining table when you went down for breakfast. "We were just telling Yuta that we have a business trip in Brazil." You nodded, used to it by now. "And because of the news around, it would be better that he stay here with you." Your mom suggested that it made you surprised. After last night, they're letting you live in one roof with a guy, unsupervised?

"Mom. I can stay at home alone."

"I know. But just to be safe." You're not even safe with their suggestion. "I know what you're thinking honey. You're a female and a male with raging hormones, it's alright with us." Yuta choked on the food and you hissed at your parents.

Your dad coughed lightly. "We stacked some condoms just in case."

"Dad!"

"Honey, we agreed to let them have their freedom." You glared at your mom. "We really wanted a grandchild." It's your turn to choke at your food. Then it made you stop. If he breeds a human, the incubus will go away. This might just be your answer.

---

"No, Y/N!" Yuta stated firmly after explaining what your plan is. "What if I hurt you?"

You shook your head. You're not scared of that now but you're frightened for Yuta and the things that might happen to him if this continues on. The police started investigating the missing dead girls, it's only a matter of time before they can chase down Yuta. You held his cheeks, distress can be seen in his expression. "I trust you, Yuta."

It was a crazy plan. When your parents left that afternoon, you stacked up some raw meat that the butcher thought you were throwing a party. Yuta didn't kill the first girl, the goth girl, and you're holding to that belief that Yuta can have some control over himself. When the night struck, you locked all doors to your house that would forbid Yuta from going out.

"I'm giving you the last chance to back out from this, Y/N." You shook your head. "I'm sorry." He whispered, carrying you to the countertop of the kitchen. "If something bad happens, I'll kill myself. I swear."

You giggled then wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. "Then we'll be like Romeo and Juliet." He laughed at your reference before moving closer to plant his lips on yours. Your first kiss with Yuta. His lips were so soft and he tasted so sweet that made your brain hazy.

When he slipped his tongue inside you and his fingers dug on your waist, you knew there's no way you can get out of this. You can feel his warmth in every touch, in every part of your skin his lips touched. He slowly undressed you, making sure that he's still Yuta and whispering promises that he wouldn't hurt you. He didn't at first and you refused to believe that you made love with him at your kitchen counter.

The grandfather clock signaled that it is midnight. Yuta just pulled you down from the kitchen counter, turning you around, and thrust into you that made you scream. No foreplay, no kissing. You turned to see his eyes, those dead eyes. His hand held your neck, the other digging in your waist. You prevent making a sound, not wanting to alert his parents next door. His teeth dig in your shoulder, an excruciating pain that makes you bite your lip to prevent a sound. This is how he kills them.

You tried to reach for the raw meat nearby, desperately trying to move out of his hold. You pushed yourself away from the counter, causing him to fall to the ground. You watched as he took the meat and ate it as if starved, like the first night you saw him in this state. Every night, he's like this. An appetite for sex, an appetite for flesh.

And it breaks your heart that you can't do anything to help him.

He ate five portions of the raw meat and you mentally told yourself to get some tomorrow for what might happen at night. You covered him with a blanket as he lay down your kitchen floor, kissing his forehead. You wanted this to stop, wanted him to be normal again. You clean the wound on your shoulder as well as the scratch on your side, hissing in pain as you put medicine on the bleeding part.

You woke up with his warm arms wrapped around you, a kiss on your wounded shoulder woke you up. "Did I do this? I really did hurt you." He grazed his finger on the spot that hurt as you shook your head. He nuzzled his nose on your shoulder and you felt his warmth. "I don't know what to do anymore."

"But Yuta this is better. We know that you still have control over yourself." You sat on the bed and he traced the scratch on your side. "When the clock struck twelve, that's when you started having that hunger. We're slowly knowing things about you now. We can do this together, Yuta."

He nodded, watching you stand up then head to the bathroom. You were supposed to close the door when you felt him enter the same room. The warm feeling is back when his hands touch your body, in contrast to the cold water cascading down your body. You skipped class again because of the pain in your shoulder and he went to school.

If this continues, it's better to listen to both your parents and just get married. Live together in a far city where you can start a new life, maybe you can give birth to Yuta's child and it will end his suffering. As you put new meat inside the fridge, you heard a knock on the door. Yuta came in with a distressed look on his face. "The police are at school. They were starting to suspect a student at school."

"Did you do anything?" He shook his head, hands clasped together. "Just lay low for a while."

"What if they found out that it was me?" You shook your head, that's the worst-case scenario. And you promise not to let that happen.

He stayed at your house, particularly your room that night. When the clock struck twelve, you were pushed on your bed with Yuta pounding on you real rough. The moment you felt his lips on your neck, you rolled to the bed and reached for the raw meat on the bedside table. You breathed hard, you can do this.

The police were doing their best, you had to give them that. And it scares you that they'll narrow it down to you and Yuta doing these things. The disappearance of the women stopped but the deaths were a mystery that the police remained to look for clues. It's been a couple of nights since you've done this with Yuta and every day, a new wound would appear on your body.

Your parents came back from their business trip when they noticed the amount of raw meat in your fridge and the wounds in your body. You tried to shrug it off, saying that it's just your clumsiness. Yet, they never bought it. You cannot ask Yuta to stay over so you keep your phone in your ear, watching his room for movements. The moment the clock struck midnight, nothing happened to your surprise. He kept saying that he's fine, that he doesn't need anything, that he's still Yuta. Maybe an off day.

You slept relieved but woke up with the sound of police sirens. You glanced at the window outside and saw the yard next door being dug out by your dad and some men in uniform, Yuta's dad watching nearby. How? You ran downstairs to check on Yuta but your mom quickly told you to stay inside. "We're sorry, we trusted you to a murderer."

"He's not." You shouted trying to see from the window. Yuta was handcuffed, a large man holding him in place. He shook his head when your eyes met and the sight of rotten decaying bones caught your attention.

Your stomach churned and you vomited on the kitchen sink, your mom helping you by rubbing your back. "He's such a sweet child. What happened to Yuta?" Your mom asked and you itched to tell her that it's not him. A devil inside him.

Your eyes widened at the realization. Nothing happened last night. Now, you're having this weird feeling in your body. A cambion. And you felt yourself fainting at that information.

---

It's been years, seven years to be exact when that moment happened to your life. Yuta's parents moved to a different town but you still see them from time to time, as well as your parents. When they found out that you were pregnant with Yuta's child, they immediately sent you away to give birth abroad. Your son was three when you went back to the country and introduced him to his dad.

"Daddy!" Your son cheered seeing his dad walking outside the huge gates of the visitor's area. The older was grinning wide, carrying his son to where you are. He kissed you on your forehead and your son giggled, "Daddy, mommy said I can go to a big school this year." He nodded, letting the young boy sat on his lap. "Grandma and grandpa are going to buy me my bag."

Yuta giggled and you noticed how the two looked very much alike. It was the exact reason why your parents warmed up on Yuta and let you introduce your son to him. "I'm sorry. But when dad gets out of here, I'm going to pick you up from school every day."

You can feel your eyes water at that. The younger boy wrapped his arms around his neck, "When are you getting out of here?" You both sighed. It's always his question.

"Just another three years, then we can be together." There's a lot of pain in his words. "You and mommy can wait for me, right?" Your son nodded.

He reached out to hold your hand that was above the table. You nodded at him. You waited this long, another three years wouldn't hurt. He engaged in another conversation with the younger boy and you gazed at him, he looks better than the first few years he's here.

"Time to get back, Nakamoto." The police officer said and your son hugged his father's neck, refusing to let go of him.

This has always been a problem every time you visit Yuta. "Honey, we have to go. Daddy has to get back." You said quietly, taking him from Yuta. Your son glared at the big man behind his dad and he just turned his head to look at the wall. "Honey, let's get ice cream." You said quickly and the younger smiled at you. The guard turned around, asking what happened that his head was hurting.

Yuta gave you a worried look but you just shook your head, putting sunglasses on your son. "Say bye to daddy." You whispered and he obeyed you. "I'll come to visit you soon."

He kissed you on the forehead, "I'm sorry." Again. you shook your head. No one warned you about having a cambion and the risk it takes to be its parents. "I love you." But right now, your son and Yuta are the most important people in your life.

"I love you, too." And you're willing to throw everything in the past just to be happy with your small family.

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