Clocking in at 151,000 words and taking me nearly 4 years, I finished Draft 1 of my most recent book!
Now I will sit on it for a month or so before going in for editing to get Draft 2. I already have a few scenes in mind for the chopping block (because I forced myself to ignore them to move on and Keep Writing™️), but I think I'll honestly keep writing the other two books in the meantime (50,000 and 20,000 words in respectively) just to keep them chugging along.
Also dodging Resident Evil Requiem spoilers left and right until I get to it. Plenty of reason to stay offline and get them words down, so I ain't mad.
Hard combat or “Lost in the Fog” combat? But I do not disagree.
I’ve finished my 4th playthrough and am thinking of one day doing the UFO ending. I know I technically only needed to do 3 in order to get all 4, as the really big choice that diverges between the 2nd and 3rd is a late game decision that you can save and reload to get, but I’ve loved this game so much, and there’s still so many new things to uncover each playthrough, that it was totally worth playing it 4 full times.
For difficulty, I did these:
1. “Story” action & “Hard” puzzles
2. “Story” action & “Hard” puzzles
3. “Hard” action & “Hard” puzzles
4. “Hard” action & “Lost in the Fog” puzzles
If I ever have the guts to do “Lost in the Fog” action, I will have “Story” puzzles, that’s for sure 🤣 Also will get me the achievement for doing “Story” puzzles, so win-win.
The first time I did “Hard” action, I struggled quite a bit, but stuck through it. But on my 4th run, I surprised myself with how I decently breezed through it, even though I didn’t feel like I improved all that much the first time on the 3rd run.
Multiple playthroughs are sooooo worth it. When I first got the game, I initially was like “I’ll probably play once and then go watch someone else get the other ends,” and boy howdy am I glad I changed my minds. Cuz not only did I do that, I actively avoided spoilers of the other endings.
So my first playthrough is all I've done so far (work exploded this week so NG+ will have to wait), but I played Hard combat and Hard puzzles.
I think I should've left Hard combat for a second playthrough at least because getting the hang of the mechanics while frequently getting 2-shotted by enemies was rough.
Interestingly, I thought Hard combat with the regular enemies and mini bosses was fine, but the big bosses were a different story.
I'll probably play NG+ on Hard or Lost in the Fog combat since I'll be over levelled anyway.
RIP me, I'm straight up platinuming this game at this point. This is what happens when I get snowed in.
So anyway the True Ending final boss on Lost in the Fog was some bullshit (2 days of effort lol) and I'm not ok so I'm doing it all again with the lightsaber so I can get the Puppetmaster achievement.
At some point, the pain became fun and I have no idea when.
Hard combat or “Lost in the Fog” combat? But I do not disagree.
I’ve finished my 4th playthrough and am thinking of one day doing the UFO ending. I know I technically only needed to do 3 in order to get all 4, as the really big choice that diverges between the 2nd and 3rd is a late game decision that you can save and reload to get, but I’ve loved this game so much, and there’s still so many new things to uncover each playthrough, that it was totally worth playing it 4 full times.
For difficulty, I did these:
1. “Story” action & “Hard” puzzles
2. “Story” action & “Hard” puzzles
3. “Hard” action & “Hard” puzzles
4. “Hard” action & “Lost in the Fog” puzzles
If I ever have the guts to do “Lost in the Fog” action, I will have “Story” puzzles, that’s for sure 🤣 Also will get me the achievement for doing “Story” puzzles, so win-win.
The first time I did “Hard” action, I struggled quite a bit, but stuck through it. But on my 4th run, I surprised myself with how I decently breezed through it, even though I didn’t feel like I improved all that much the first time on the 3rd run.
Multiple playthroughs are sooooo worth it. When I first got the game, I initially was like “I’ll probably play once and then go watch someone else get the other ends,” and boy howdy am I glad I changed my minds. Cuz not only did I do that, I actively avoided spoilers of the other endings.
So my first playthrough is all I've done so far (work exploded this week so NG+ will have to wait), but I played Hard combat and Hard puzzles.
I think I should've left Hard combat for a second playthrough at least because getting the hang of the mechanics while frequently getting 2-shotted by enemies was rough.
Interestingly, I thought Hard combat with the regular enemies and mini bosses was fine, but the big bosses were a different story.
I'll probably play NG+ on Hard or Lost in the Fog combat since I'll be over levelled anyway.
No matter how many times you’ve visited the local police station, or how often you knock on the door to your neighbor’s home, you keep finding them.
Innocently resting beside your head when you wake up, whether you sleep in your room, the living room, or even your bathroom, is a single red rose.
Never intact either, the delicate scarlet petals singed in one way or another, to the point now it seems to have become an art form. The dark veins running along inside the thin petals blackened until the rose takes on nearly a new color of ashen burgundy.
You went to the heroes, the police, your friends and family, and yet nothing has come about stopping it.
“It is odd but maybe it’s nothing?” Your friends had said, claiming it was seemingly harmless.
How could it truly be though? You locked your doors, all of them, from the front door to your bedroom door to putting padlocks on the windows. You’d awake to everything intact how you left it, not a single thing out of place… except the addition of a single burnt rose.
It was breaking you down mentally and emotionally at this point. Seemingly being haunted by a ghost, faceless and voiceless, no physical form to blame and scream at. You do scream though, after a year of it occurring despite all efforts—even moving to a new home in a different city. No matter what, when you wake up, there’s a rose. Whether you sleep in a hotel, your friend’s home, your parents, even on the damn subway.
There’s always a fucking rose. Every. single. morning.
It’s to the point where you stopped sleeping, staying up to see with your own eyes if you’re truly insane. You blink and it’s just there, even when you search, and search, and search. A rose, a little crispy, rests in front of you without fail.
It was possibly a new method of torture, but soon enough your nervous system no longer perceived it as a threat. You’d awake to the rose, roll over, and start your day. You stopped mentioning it to family and friends, and eventually it became as normal as breathing. You’d place the roses in a vase, comical at this point, and change them out weekly. A few you even preserved, out of sick humor more than actual appreciation. You’d be certain to mention you wanted no roses at your funeral, at least not red ones, and especially not scorched ones.
You became complacent, as you set your keys down upon entrance to your home, to see an entire bouquet of flowers resting on your kitchen counter. Singed red roses, and one singular black rose in the middle… this time there’s a card. A small folded note about the size of your palm, attached to a silken ribbon wrapped around the thin neck of the vase. Condensation slowly slid down the side of the intricate glass, and for some strange reason, your heart felt dread seeping into its core. Your blood felt icy and your farthest appendages chilled as you shakily lifted the delicate paper up. Several seconds ticked by as perspiration dotted your brow before you eventually sighed and unfolded the note.
Ready to come home, doll?
It was motionless in your home. Deathly silent and still but nonetheless your body shook as tears welled up in your eyes while the foreboding words registered with you. You were home, weren’t you? You knew that much. You also knew you’ve never been called the nickname doll a day in your life, at least by no person you knew.
Was it a joke? Your instincts screamed it wasn’t. You did a pathetic job of staying calm, dropping your keys noisily on the floor as you trembled and dropped to pick them up. You’d leave, stay somewhere else tonight and figure it out in the morning—
“Going somewhere?” You hadn’t head even a footstep. You could see in front of you now a pair a beat up leather boots. Dark jeans lazily bunched up around them with a few nicks and tears in the denim fabric. Your eyes continued up until you were staring at a man.
Bright blue eyes, framed by thick dark lashes, stared down at you. His skin was like patchwork, staples actually pierced through healthy looking flesh while connecting what looked like chard leather to it. His skin you realize after a moment. Some healthy, some burnt, while he stood casually over your crouched form with his hands shoved into the dark trench coat he wore over some ratty band t-shirt. You didn’t watch the news often, hardly ever since your stress was high enough dealing with your own issues, but you knew who this was.
What villain this was.
“Dabi…” you barely even breathed his name, almost inaudible despite your close proximity, but it seemed he heard just fine as a slow forming Cheshire grin spread his lips wide open, revealing his white teeth and sharp canines.
“What’s that doll? Y’look like you’ve seen a ghost, speak up, can’t hear ya down there.”
You were right to feel dread. This was likely the worst scenario possible, one you truly hadn’t even thought of. A notorious villain leaving roses for you? Who’d believe such a ridiculous thing? Even you were struggling to believe it.
“Th-the roses…?”
“Hn? Thought I said speak up.” The waning of his smile shouldn’t have your blood pressure spiking as it did, but you scrambled to speak louder as those violent blue irises blazed.
“Did you—uh, a-are the roses from you?” You slid back, nervous as he stepped forward, eye lids growing heavy as he settled for a smirk on his lips.
“Bingo.” He confirms, not a hint of shame or embarrassment in his laxidazical tone.
You heart hammered against your ribcage, eyes briefly leaving him to look at the bouquet on the counter, mind running faster than a hamster in a wheel. He seems fine just staring at you, expression unreadable besides shallow amusement. He’s giving you time to think, and something in your gut is telling you to tread with caution.
What does it mean to leave roses for over a year for you, every single day? No matter how difficult it was made to do?
Someone in love or someone with a grudge. He doesn’t look the part for either, but the bouquet and strange note having you leaning towards some kind of affection for you. However disturbingly he shows it.
Swallowing thickly, nails scraping on the tile floor, you give a wobbly smile.
“T-they’re very pretty… thank you.”
His eyes briefly widen, head tilting as he observes you with a keener interest than before.
“Yeah? Y’like ‘em, doll?” Doll, that nickname again, you wonder if that’s how he refers to you in his mind. You never likened your appearance to a doll.
You nod with a short jerk, smile still plastered even as your bottom lip wobbles minutely.
“I-I do,” it’s more nerve wracking to be staring up at him from the floor, so you make a show of moving incredibly slow, standing on fawn like legs as you reorient yourself with your own feet again. “You gave me a bouquet this time…” even standing you’re forced to tilt your head back to look at him.
“I did.” He confirms, and the sweat sliding down your spine begins to cool as you shiver. You keep wetting your dry lips, struggling to truly grasp how you’re supposed to get the hell out of this situation.
He seems to visibly enjoy your panic and nervous ticks, watching you pick at your nail bed while he makes you stew in confusion and unanswered questions.
What do you do when the country’s top villain stands in your kitchen? You don’t have a quirk that can compete with him and you sure as hell regret squandering the times your friend encouraged learning some self defense.
He’s not in a hurry it seemed either, leaning a hip against your counter while he continues to observe your every movement. His presence made the space around you appear smaller, like he was sucking the energy from the room.
“Are you…” you look down at your feet, “…going to kill me?”
He snickers, catching your gaze again as it flicks up briefly.
“Nope.” He pops the p with a smile.
You don’t feel relieved.
“Are you going to hurt me?” A better question in all honesty.
“Maybe, probably.” He admits casually, shrugging as if it can’t be helped.
Then the best question for the evening, one still festering in your mind, “Why me?”
The air shifts, the scent of smoke like a campfire, wafting over to you.
“Asked myself that question a lot,” he stands up straight, removing his hands from his pockets. He ignores your flinch, coming closer even as you backed up into the counter. “Asked what the fuck is so special ‘bout you,” he jabs a finger into your chest, eyes flaring as he immediately flattens his palm and lays it over your heart. “To make me like this.”
He smells like campfire and something with chemical undertones, his breath held traces of menthol and tobacoo.
“Y’know what conclusion I came to sweetheart?” The way he said sweetheart was laced with venom.
He’s so close you can feel the heat radiating off him.
“W-what?” You don’t really have an option but to ask. He looks manic, languid expression sharpening into something dark and terrifying as he smiles.
“That it doesn’t fuckin’ matter. That I can do whatever the fuck I want, when I want, how I want. Not you, the heroes, or the shitty cops can do a damn thing to stop me.” He leans back, face melting again into something akin to pure satisfaction.
“Why you? It’s your own fault, doll, should’ve tried harder not to catch my attention, don’t’cha think?” It’s like he’s mocking you, eager to get a rise from you as anger and humiliation burned in your soul.
You shook in rage. Fists clenched at your sides as you urged the tears in your eyes away. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry like this.
“You’re a fucking asshole.” He laughs as you bite out the insult, a deep belly laugh, nearly doubling over as if you’d told the funniest joke possible.
“Wrong move,” he fakes at wiping a tear, eyes crinkling at the corners before your scalp is suddenly on fire, a gasp yanked from your lips as you're hauled up and back to the floor. “Said I’d probably hurt ‘ya, didn’t think you’d sass me so early. That’s okay, I’m good at breaking people, fix that mouth real quick.” He murmurs, as if he’s not using your hair like a lead and making the tears you’d fought back so hard earlier fall.
“Hurts!” You grunt, now putting up a decent struggle as you fight back.
He ends that quick with a flick of his palm, blue flames lighting up your darkened kitchen and striking horror into your soul as he waves it around in your face.
“Think I won’t do it ‘cuz I won’t kill ‘ya?” He asks, his eyes matching the flames he produces, filled with a sick sort of glee.
“I’ll make your face look like mine if you keep acting up.” That shuts you down quickly, going limp even as he releases your hair to grip your arm, dragging you through your home with confidence to where everything is, going straight to your bedroom.
“W-wait—! Dabi please, I-I’m sorry,” he stops in your doorway, looking down at you with over-exaggerated sympathy.
“Poor thing,” he coos, no less gentle as he drags you to the bed and pushes you down. It’s a gentle landing, but your panic gives you energy as you try to quickly crawl away. He grips your ankle, his palm heating so quick you hardly realize you’d been burned until you screech, teeth clenched tight as you struggle to even breathe. It hurts so much.
Your will to fight ends as he climbs above you, shrugging off the trench coat and yanking his t-shirt over his head while grinning at you.
“Too early for cryin’ doll, that one won’t even scar.” He looks disappointed by that fact. “Now, I can be nice ‘n sweet if you’ll be good for me…or I can push your fucking face in the mattress and take you like a filthy whore. Pick or I’ll pick for you.” His shift in tone as he tells you to choose how he’s going to rape you instills a strange sort of hopelessness inside you.
He doesn’t care when the water works start up again, rolling his eyes as he watches you weep and tremble like he’s done anything worth crying over yet to you.
“Well babydoll? I’m so fuckin’ hard right now you won’t like the choice I make for you.”
“Sweet…” you’re all curled up like a kitten doused in water beneath him.
He’s unbuckling the belt around his hips, tugging the denim down and his boxers along with it as he grunts.
“C’mere” he all but growls, yanking you up again and pulling at your clothing, quick and efficient in stripping you despite your actions mimicking the nickname he’s given you. Acting like a doll in his embrace as he tosses each article of clothing you wore off to the floor until you were down to your bra and panties. He’s yanking at your bra first, eyes greedily drinking you in as he leaves your top bare finally.
You sniffle pathetically, any attempt at hiding yourself useless as he uses his knees to knock yours open, fitting himself in between as he messily licks two fingers and shoves aside your panties to rub at your folds.
“Hgn!” Your eyes open wide as he crassly works two fingers into your dry cunt, his saliva barely enough to grant him access to the tight confines. “D-Dabi—,” your nails are digging into his arms, tearing at a seam of staples and causing a few small trails of blood to stream, but he’s too focused on you to truly mind.
“Y’asked for sweet doll, means you need to relax and let me in,” he explains, like he’s not stretching you open and jabbing his thick digits inside you despite your weak protests and groans of pain.
Your body gives way to the intrusion after a few minutes, adrenaline fading and leaving you almost exhausted as your cunt lubricates itself to ease his passage.
“There ‘ya go,” he murmurs almost hoarsely, letting you go when he sees you’re being obedient enough and using that freed hand to grip his leaking cock.
Your eyes track his movement, watching him grasp the thick appendage hanging heavy between his legs.
You note before even his size the piercings, not just one or two but a multitude lined his cock like a weapon more than a sexual organ.
Dabi notes the hitch in your breath and where your eyes lay, proudly running his thumb over the ladder of piercings up the spine of his shaft to the tip where two small stainless steel balls rested.
“Scared?” He teases, relaxing himself as he jerks his cock and relieves a little of the ache which had been building in his balls. Curling his fingers up, you gasp in surprise at the pleasant feeling which accompanies the action.
“Nah, you ain’t scared, doll. Not a coward, y’would’ve run a long time ago but you stayed ‘cuz you like this. You like knowing someone is out there willing to do anything to have you,”
“I don’t—,” he cuts you off with a sharp thrust up, pressing into the rough textured spot along your gooey walls.
“Shh, y’should know I don’t like liars, especially not ones who get exposed by their cunt dripping all over the bed.” His smile is filthy, lecherous gaze running along your sweaty exposed skin as he just keeps hitting that spot inside which makes your toes curl.
“P-please stop, Dabi I can’t—,”
“Still lying?” He asks, more amused than angry as you try your best to twist away from the pleasure now wracking your body.
“How’s this doll? You drop the Dabi bullshit n’say Touya when you’re about to cum, okay? Y’listening?” He stops working himself over, freeing his hand again to tap your cheek and catch your clouded watery gaze.
“Try it out.” He orders softly, sweetly, like he’s trying to be gentle but the way his fingers fuck you is anything but sweet or kind. The loud lewd squelching exactly as he said earlier, a confession to how much your body at least enjoyed his careless attention.
You huff, mouth opening to choke on a moan as he adds another finger, fingers wrapping around his wrist where they attempt to halt the sudden oversensitivity inside you.
If anything he jams his fingers inside you harder.
“T-Touya!” You hope he’ll stop. Hope he ends this strange psychological torture as your stomach coils up tight.
He doesn’t, Dabi merely groans in delight and chuckles over you, leaning down to slot his lips over yours in a kiss as messy as he’s making you down below.
His soft top lip is contrasted by the rough feeling of his bottom, but his kiss is hot and you can taste the menthol now. His scent is strong, and you catch a hint of his natural odor beneath the smoke and tobacco. Your cries are silenced by his lips, his tongue slipping into your mouth when you open to complain. You shiver as you feel the drag of a piercing on his tongue, the light touch somehow more erotic. He parts sloppily, saliva connecting your lips for a moment before you flinch as he spits in your mouth.
“Open your fucking mouth.” The tone he uses and language are harsh, and you tearily do as instructed. “Stick out your tongue.” He murmurs a bit more nicely this time, humming in approval as you obey with shaky hesitation.
You won’t hesitate soon enough, if he has anything to do about it. He’ll make his words gospel in your cute brain and have you eager to listen to his every command.
Dabi lets his spit hit your tongue slowly, watching you pant like a dog with your tongue out as he brings you closer and closer to your release. The way your walls clamp around his fingers and constrict makes his cock weep to sink inside you already. “Touya—!”
You cum when he finally allows you to swallow, gushing and throwing your head back while he fucks you through it, laughing as you tense up and beg for mercy and try to escape the pleasure he’s delivering relentlessly.
“Good fuckin’ girl, say my name baby, let me hear it.” Dabi nearly loses it himself watching you shatter, eyes wide and wild as he keeps going. “Touya pl-please…hn!” You keen almost like you’re in pain, fingers digging into his shoulders now while your legs kick out.
“Y’asked for sweet, doll, means you get to cum as much as you want tonight.”
That wasn’t what you’d thought it meant, even as you choke and cum again, this time more softly as he slows his furious pace to something manageable now.
Dabi smiles at the fucked out expression you now wear, pliant in his hold as he maneuvers your body, hoisting your legs up and pressing them to your chest as you whimper in protest.
“You can stay nice ‘n pretty like this doll, doing so good f’me.” He’s not very assuring as he murmurs to you while positioning the weapon he’s armored on his cock at your dripping entrance, tapping his tip a few times on your puffy clit as you moan and twitch, view perfect to watch how he slicks himself up. “T-Touya…” he moans as he catches on your entrance only to slip up, eyes looking at your face as he licks his lips and tries again, enjoying the soft warm feeling of rubbing on your cunt.
“Yeah doll? Need somethin’?” He grins, his cock finally breaching that tight ring of muscle that lets him sink into your hot welcoming depths. “Fuck, been dreaming ‘bout this cunt for so long. Y’know how many times I’ve had to just cum on your sleeping face instead of fucking you? All the times I could’ve just woken you up and had you?” He moans, laughing at the horrified and almost strangled look you gave him, his chest vibrating with a laugh as you mewl like a cat in heat when the first row of piercings sinks into you. “Like ‘em baby? Fuckin’ looks like you do, they feel good in your little pussy?” He moans again when you accidentally bare down on him, the tightness increasing painfully as you whine when his piercings dig in too much.
“Easy doll, let me in,” he murmurs, dark hair falling into his face as he braces above you with one arm, lithe muscles taunt as he works his hips a little at a time into you, enthralled with how you fit around him enough not to slam himself inside all at once.
When the top balls of his piercings kiss up against your cervix, you’re ruined, face a mess as you struggle to adjust to the stretch and sensations.
“S’too much, Touya—” you can only cling to him, eyes drawn to where he’s sunk his entire fat cock into your depths, the way your body contorted giving you the best view.
Your words have the opposite effect though, his groan guttural as he drags himself out, drunk on the feeling of your pussy and lost to it.
“Keep sayin’ my fuckin’ name, lemme hear ‘ya scream babydoll,” you go to protest again, when he slams each inch back into you, the ribs along his cock now working in tandem with his thrusts, effectively shutting you up as you squeal and dig your nails into his shoulders for purchase.
Dabi fucks you hard and deep, speed unnecessarily to keep the air from your lungs as each thrust feels like it’s hitting up in your stomach, the pain and pleasure blending until you aren’t sure if it truly hurts or not.
He sets a steady rhythm, watching your body shake each time he lets his hips fall like a hammer, seeing his cock swallowed each time by your greedy cunt until he’s delirious at the sight.
“Pretty fucking slut, look how your pussy takes me.” He’s spewing filth at you, but when it should offend, it instead makes you burn hotter, his name falling from your swollen pouty lips like a chant.
“This cunt want me to breed it? Fill your pussy full until you can’t take anymore?” You shake your head in denial, unable to truly form words anymore as he picks up his pace, fucking you hard enough to make your headboard slam into the wall. Each thrust accompanied by a symphony of wet slapping, his balls tapping your ass each time his groin kisses your own. “Bet it does, huh doll? This greedy little cunt keeps begging for more.” He loves the dichotomy between your sloppy pussy and the way you shake your head. “No? Y’sure doll? Think it does. Don’t like lyin’ baby, remember? You want me to punish you?” You shake your head again, a bit frustrated when he slows, letting you feel all of him inside you like this, his weight keeping you pinned.
“Shakin’ your head ain’t an answer doll, I’ll be nice ‘n give you another chance, but I expect a fucking a verbal answer this time.” He’s like a light switch. Either on or off but much more terrifying when he flips it on, eyes and voice menacing as you cough and answer in a husky voice. You don’t want to test him on the punishment, truly you don’t, as your ankle still fully throbs in the back of your mind as a reminder of what he’s capable of and who he is.
“I-I like h-how you do it now…” he cocks a brow, sinking deep and then pressing even further so you whine and try to push back further into the bed.
“Y’like how I’m fuckin’ you now? That it, doll?” You go to nod before remembering his warning, swallowing thickly and voicing a soft agreement.
“Hmm… then y’oughta say it, right? Tell me how good I’m fuckin’ this pussy.” He growls, bright blue eyes lighting up as you moan, his pace increasing again as you blabber out whatever nonsense you can to satisfy him. Whatever would make him be sweet, because you have a feeling you don’t want him any other way.
“S-so good! Mhn, f-feels so good Touya, pl-please, ah,” he’s being too rough, your eyes watering and tears spilling as he drills into you, but even still you feel yourself close to coming again as those piercings rub perfectly inside you.
Dabi lifts up, letting your legs fall to either side of him as he grips both your hips tight and fucks you more aggressively. Jackhammering into your gummy walls like he’s eager to imprint the shape of his cock inside you, mouth open and brows furrowed while he groans feeling you tense up again, this time around his dick.
“T-Touya—! M’coming, oh fuck—!” You look painfully suprised when you realize how much it all becomes as you cum, the peircings becoming more prominent as you spasm and clamp down on him, eyes rolling back as your vision slightly blurs.
“Yeah y’are doll, fuck, that feel good? Looks like it did.” He chuckles, chest swelling with a deep satisfaction as he fucks you harder despite your weak whines, overstimulated cunt begging for a break despite how he bullies himself inside you.
“Tell me where you want it,” he’s close, panting and overheating even as he nears his end.
“N-not inside…” he laughs at the soft reply, thrusts only getting deeper as he resorts to simply humping into you for friction after you tighten up so much it hurts to go harder.
“Can’t pull out though doll, look how tight you’re gripping my cock.” You aren’t paying attention, mindlessly moaning as he finally gasps and cums, cock twitching deep inside you and filling you up despite your earlier request.
He nearly collapses on you, chest rising and falling quickly as he regains his breath and relaxes on your soft chest for a moment to recouperate.
When he’s caught his breath, he leans up, slowly pulling out and watching his heavy load immediately spill from your hole.
“Tsk,” he uses two fingers to scoop up what dribbled out, stuffing it back into you as you sleepily huff and press a hand against his chest.
You’re helpless to stop him, too exhausted to fight more and figuring it better to let him have his way than risk his wrath right now.
Once he’s satisfied he’d stuffed you back up well enough, Dabi is quick to leave the bed and begin redressing, speaking casually with you despite your lack of answering.
You watch the villain act as if nothing had occurred, face the same smug arrogant grin when you’d first spotted him.
It’s when he returns his attention to you that fear begins to trickle back into your blood stream.
He seems to notice too, smile growing with your apprehension.
“Now doll,” he crosses back to where you’ve sat up and covered yourself with a blanket, weary gaze locked with his.
“Ready to come home?”
Then it’s dark, your vision going out with your consciousness as Dabi catches you in his arms, dragging your limp figure from the bed and into his arms quickly.
He’s kind enough to wrap you in a sheet as he takes your house keys and phone, shoving them in his pocket as he leaves your place with you in his embrace.
He whistles on his way home, a bit eager to see your expression when you wake.
He figures you’ll learn to like your new home once you realize you’re never leaving it.
He even decorated for the season, the tree a little burnt but he’s sure you’ll appreciate the sentiment.
i occasionally think about this fic from time to time and no I will NOT elaborate. I just need it preserved so I don't have to fantasize about having it forever and I can just actually have it forever instead.
I maintain that Leander is a little shit who's going to get us both killed, but I'm annoyed you've managed to make me intrigued with him regardless. Bravo.
I AM SCREECHING AMAZON PRIME/PARAMOUNT+ KEEPS FLASHING THIS SPLIT SECOND CLIP OF A PEPPERONI PIZZA FROM LITTLE CAESAR'S IN THE MIDDLE OF THIS SCENE 😆😭🤣💀
Do you have any Chrollo crumbs for those of us who are down bad for this loser of a man? Truly a curse to be attracted to him 😔
"Would you kill someone for me, if I asked?"
You're sitting cross-legged atop freshly washed linens, which smell faintly of laundry detergent and dryer sheets. Before you unceremoniously flung yourself onto the bed, with all the grace of a newborn fawn, it appeared picturesque, like the cleaning staff had ironed out every wrinkle.
In Chrollo's brief absence, you've made the king-sized bed your own. The pillows have been adjusted to your liking. You used the extras to build your ill-fated bulwark down the bed's center, in what would separate you from the enemy for an estimated two or three minutes.
"Where's this coming from?"
While asking this, he gets to work dismantling your barricade, not even dignifying the architectural wonder with a comment.
"A place of curiosity."
"Hm," he hums. "It'd depend on the target."
You scuttle toward the furthest reaches of the bed as he makes himself comfortable, mourning your barricade's demise.
"... Does that mean there are people stronger than you out there?" You ask. He regards you with a blank expression. "I'm trying to gauge my options."
Chrollo closes his eyes and smiles softly. "How morbid."
"Yeah, it's almost like I'm stuck with a person who is a terrible influence," you eye the hand that creeps your way like it's a viper. It lunges out at you, finding your wrist and gently tugging you closer to the serpent. Freeing yourself from the maws of a starving beast would be easier.
"Would that make you feel better?" Hearing his voice so close to your ear makes your skin crawl. You can feel his warm breath, smell the remnants of the cologne he applied in the morning and the complimentary mint left on the suite's countertop. "You're not worried some other scoundrel, far worse than I, might snatch you up?"
You swallow thickly. "I think someone's projecting their own fears."
"Maybe."
He rubs his thumb along your inner wrist's pulse.
"Even your contempt is alluring," he murmurs. There's a breathiness to his voice that makes you shiver. "It's like you were made to punish me."
You scoff at the proposition. "Please. What would that make you, then?"
Chrollo laces his fingers with yours and gives your hand a playful squeeze.
So, I've been reading this Astarian fic and its really well written imo. You can tell the author cares a lot about DnD and has a passion for writing. The only problem is...it feels like they don't 'want' to write a Darkfic. They keep putting up warnings for chapters and I'm like - thats cool, whatever it is, I saw the tags, I'm sure its fine. Turns out the warning is 'unconsensual blood drinking'. Like oh noooo not unconsensual blood drinking in a vampire fic!
Idk I feel like an ass but their constant moralising (and having MC basically pause the fic to take a good amount of paragraphs just lecturing Astarian on all the bad things he's done) is oddly affecting my enjoyment of the fic. Even though it's well written, it feels like the writer is holding your hand and tutting at the bad man, you know? Like they don't trust you not to understand the situation. Have you ever had a similar experience with reading darkfic before?
Oh, I've absolutely seen it. You're not an ass at all.
That 'taking time out to shake your fist at the bad things happening' thing is pretty common, and it comes from authors who don't know that their work should be a condemnation in and of itself. Personally, I write kink, and that's my bag. But if you're writing a piece where the entire point is 'this is wrong,' you need to learn to convey that through the writing, not by telling it.
If that is the point, you need to show it.
There are authors that try to reinforce their own morals by speaking through their character's voice, but they stop the flow of the story to do so, and it's highly ineffective, to say the least. People aren't reading your story for your preaching-- they are reading for your story. The Lord of the Rings isn't written by Gandalf saying "Sauron fucking sucks and this is why," and tells you to take his word for it. Tolkien shows you Sauron's impact upon the land, and how it affects everyone and everything, and how the Fellowship works to fix it.
Your work is a tapestry, and you weave your point between the threads. You don't have a giant thread that reads "THIS IS WRONG BTW" in the middle. The entire fabric is woven around it. That is the point of the story. You weave it in with the plot. Through structure and dialogue and action.
Ultimately, it's people that aren't quite comfortable or adept with writing quite yet, or aren't sure what they want to write-- or there is always the moralist that feels like writing and preaching, and those are never fun to read. There's also people that are extra cautious and make sure to tag everything to not make anyone uncomfortable, but you cannot win that game.
Know what you're writing. If you're writing kink, have no shame about it. If your story has dark content, then yes, tag it, but don't be so shy as to ruin it for folks that read it. Always tag properly, but don't hand-hold.
No one wants a lecture when they're reading for enjoyment, you know?
I've seen a lot of the people that can't help themselves, and I almost understand in today's weird 'if you write it, you condone it' way of thinking. But I genuinely feel like that stifles creativity. Darkfic is hard, and it brings you a lot of scrutiny, but you kind of either have to write it or don't. You cannot half-ass it. It's insulting to do so-- both to the writing itself, and people who may relate.
Don't insult your readers by handholding and preaching. Just tag properly and let nature take its course. There will always be people who are angsty about it, but you need to trust yourself and your demographic. You don't need to preach-- just write. Tag properly always, and just write.
why is everything so controversial on this app now? bitch back in the days we used to post the wildest stuff and people vibed with it and those who didn't minded their own business. now you see like a gazillion call out posts by 19 year olds about another grown adult with free will who said they like dark content. let me tell you if you make discourse posts about people who consume dark media comtent, you're a child. "oh but I am legally an adult" an adult wouldn't lack media literacy. "oh but i am just stating my opinion" no one asked. especially in the x reader tag. a grown adult would block, filter and move on.
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