#passing by for a friendly reminder; ill be there from now on ~

[frostedclock-writes]

Crimson Magnolias

Part 8

-----

Warnings: mentions of past Hanahaki, change in pov, rated m for mature, dealing with emotions

-----

Saturday morning.

You felt nauseous but for the first time in decades, your system was feeling like it was actually clearing out. You had spent the day after the elevator incident in the bathroom and your room. Niffty had enough petals to make a 3D art piece of your face made from stick together petals. It was morbid and cute. Like her. You quickly shoved it in the back of your closet as soon as her back was turned. You still felt a bit ill but no petals and blood today. Just a queasy feeling deep in your gut. Maybe you were nervous.

A date with Alastor. Something you never thought would happen.

What if you fucked it up? Fuck. Who could help you right now? Angel Dust? No, he would dress you in something absolutely scandalous and tell you to do something indecent under the table at the restaurant. Nope. Husk? He would tell you he would be no help. Niffty? Yeah, no. Off the table as well. Charlie and Vaggie might be a good choice but then again it felt like a lot of pressure.

Rosie.

You should have enough time to go and stop by there before coming back. Five in the afternoon is when you agreed to meet Alastor outside of his broadcast room. You gathered your coat and slipped into your heels before you began down to the lobby. You scuttled outside quickly, it was still early in the morning so no one had began to really move around the hotel except for Husk behind the bar -who only spared you a simple 'mornin' before you were out the door.

Cannibal Town on the other hand was full of early birds, people moved to bakeries and little shop fronts. It always reminded you of home, the brick laid streets and friendly faces. Though some were having breakfast right in the street, you just move to the otherside and continue your path to Rosie and Franklin's, whoops just Rosie's. You make a small laugh. She still hadn't replaced the sign since she lost that husband of hers in the previous extermination. She hadn't seemed like it was much of a loss anyway.

You open the door and the little bell sounded your arrival. Only a few customers where in her store right now so it was the perfect time. Rosie was behind the counter and she was chatting with a lady about the purchase of finger foods and dips as she passed off a basket covered with a cloth. Her large black eyes looked over at the sound of the bell and her smile stretched more.

"Y/N! Darling! " Rosie then looked to her customer. " Here you go, see you again next week. " She dusted her hands off on a washcloth and came around the counter.

" Rosie. Sorry I hadn't stopped by sooner."

She came over and threw her arms around you in a hug. She always smelled of pastries somehow. Her lips touched each of your cheeks in a gentle kiss and then she pulled herself away. " No need for apologies, dear. Now." She looked at you and then cocked an eyebrow. " You looks better than the other day. " Rosie made a laugh and waved her hand dismissively. " Not so gaunt. "

"Oh well, some things happened... And yeah. Yeah, I feel a lot better. " Your face heated up when she made a knowing hum.

" Now come, you owe me a tea session and I would like you to spill all of it. " She started to escort you towards the back part of the shop, leaving a worker to take over the counter. " This way, I'll put on the kettle. "

She took off her large hat as she stepped inside the part of the shop that became her home. Cozy was always what you thought when you came in here. Dark wood floors and a wine red wallpaper to make it feel small and warm. She set the hat on the little rack near the door and stepped quickly towards her kitchen archway. You slipped off your coat and hung it on the rack and followed the white haired cannibal into her kitchen.

Rosie was already filling a kettle to place on the stove as you entered the kitchen. The kitchen island that held a couple of barstools became your area as you take a seat and cups and little snack cakes were placed by Rosie on it. She bustled about, getting little things out of the cabinet.

" So.." She began with a sing-song voice, a sharp toothed grin. " You finally told him?"

" Well .." you make a laugh and you almost want to bury your face in your hands at the flash of the memory. " I had an episode in the elevator and he popped in there. Right into my .." you make a motion that vaguely made one think of a pile. " Gross vomit. "

Rosie made a laugh and then covered her mouth as she closed the cabinet. " Sorry, dear, that is just... It's a tad funny. "

" No it's not. " You make a the words almost whine. " It got on his hooves and oh fuck... " You put your forehead against the cold counter. " I'm just glad he's not the kind of man to be grossed out by blood and that kind of thing. " You felt a pat on your head.

" Come on, sit up dear. " Rosie spoke gently. The creak of a barstool told you she had taken a seat while she waited for the water to boil. " No use worried over spilt blood. I'm sure he was more concerned for you. "

The image of Alastor hovering over you came back to mind. Now, with the heat of the moment long gone. You recall his little two points antlers growing like branches and the sound of feedback in the elevator. He had been so close you could smell the bit of coffee he had that morning still lingering on him, mixing with the smell of the musk he usually had.

Your cheeks reddened. " He was quite upset... Then when I told him how I felt. Rosie, I felt like the roots in my lungs finally stopped squeezing. " You hadn't even realized how difficult it began to get to breath.

"See? " Rosie got up as the kettle began to whistle. " I've been telling you to just come out with it. Well you aren't in tears, so I assume it went well?" She clicked the stove off and let the tea steep a few moments before beginning to pour in your glass first.

" Well... I have a date with him tonight. "

Rosie blinked. It was always hard to tell what she was actually looking at when she stared at you with those big black eyes. She slowly set the kettle down, she tapped her finger on the counter.

" And that wasn't the first thing to bring up? "

" Sush." You took ahold of your tea cup and sat upright. "I was building up to it. "

" More like you're nervous." Rosie teased.

You took a sip of tea. "I might be. Though I don't see why. It won't be very different from the friendly dinners we've always had together. "

" Not different? Oh, dear, it is very much different. Alastor is a gentleman under those bloodstained pinstripes. " Rosie smiled and took her seat again. She picked up her cup. " He won't act the same, I assure you."

You ran your index finger along the rim of your cup. You knew she was right, it was going to be different than just having some hushpuppies and dirty rice in his swamp. He said he was taking you OUT somewhere. " I was actually trying to think of what to wear, but everything own is a tad old and ragged. "

" Well I could help with that, darling. " Rosie laughed and pat the top of your hand lightly. " Between the two of us we should be able to find something in my closet that would suit such an occasionan. "

You smile. You could always rely on Rosie, like an older sister you had wished you had during life. " That would be great. "

Alastor picked at the loose thread on his shoulder. Little shadow minions hopped about and adjusted his clothes for him as he looked in the mirror. He retired his usual red pinstripe suit for a black one with subtle lines of red running down his overcoat and his pants. Perhaps he should have gone a tad more casual for the evening? He tutted at himself and waved his hand. The little creatures he summoned melted back into shadows and he looked at himself in the mirror.

He shouldn't worry.

This was you after all.

Would you have dolled yourself up? Would you have for Vox instead?

Alastor could see you hanging on Vox's arm, giving the TV demon that smile that you give him. Laugh at his jokes. Oh that laugh of yours was always so sweet, gentle.

Alastor made a growl in his throat and he stepped off the little step stool in front of the standing mirror and turned from it. He put the foolish thought to the side before it grew into an issue. He didn't need to waste time thinking of what sort of 'date' that picture box has planned for you. His evening will be better, the machinations of the past few days will show tonight. He hummed a soft tune to chill the irritation in his mind.

His shadow stretched across the floor as he passed by the green fire burning bright in his fireplace. The shadow, Shade as he was called by you, grinned at his master widely and the silhouette adjusted the corners of a bowtie and pretended to act as if they could gather dust on their suit and picked it off.

" Yes, rather spiffy." Alastor made a chuckle. " Y/N should approve. " Shade made a shadow in the shape of you and twirled it around on the flat surface of the wall.

" Dancing is planned for the evening, though it will be after we eat. The restaurant that I reserved a table at has a dancefloor. Why's it seem like you have been waiting for this,hmm?" Alastor chuckled, he knew full well the extention of himself couldn't speak back to him. Though he was rather good at charades.

" Will you show a bit of decorum? " Alastor chastised as Shade danced along the walls, dipping the silhouette of you and little black hearts above the branch like antler shapes to his own antlers.

Shade let the shadow you vanish and he slunk like a spiral down and below Alastor. He made a large grin before he completly murged back into the shadow beneath Alastor's hooves.

" Acting like a teenager, really. " Alastor cleared his throat. " It's just Y/N. "

Even as he spoke it though, he knew he was lying to himself.

It was you. That's why it was different then the other times he gave this romantic nonsense a try. You were one of the few lucky souls that he felt comfortable with, in life and in death. He walked to the fireplace in his room, his fingers trailed across the mantle and stopped at a small box- simple and black with a etching of the Mississippi River on it with gold that had long since faded with time at this point. Alastor was never a one for cameras, pictures, or the like. Though there was once that you had convinced him to take one with you.

Such a small thing. A little square with the two ofvyour faces on it. He looked different then. You, at least to him, always seemed the same.

You looked so excited that day.

A trip to the county fair, he mainly went so he would have a few extra things to talk about on his radio show. You wore that yellow dress that he thought suited your frame perfectly. You held that smile even as you messed up on the silly games you tried out. He enjoyed watching you that day. He only participated in the shooting gallery game, and had to remind himself of where and who he was with.

Perhaps he should have noticed back then.

The small flushed expressions. The way you would stare at him for more than a few moments necessary. The way you would wear things that he complemented on more than the things he wouldn't remark on. You never said anything to the notion before, but the signs had been there. Had he took the time to notice.

The smiles you would give him were soft and gentle. For a brief moment the thought of you giving those smiles and laughter to someone else's ears came to mind. He didn't enjoy the thought, it made the hard red tips of his fingers dug into he little faded picture.

He placed the picture back.

He dusted himself off, as if the thoughts dancing in his head were dirt he could simply sweep away. Alastor was a man with poise and decorum, he would keep himself that way. And if he happened across Vox he might give him an excuse for a new screen.

He walked outside the room and fidgeted with his lapel for a moment. A quick broadcast to calm the nerves before you were to arrive. Alastor filled the hallway with a full hum of Duke Ellington, a happy little jaunt. Perhaps he would play this tune for Hell today, add a bit of class to the airwaves for the afternoon. What's the name of this one again, Alastor thought to himself for a moment before he gripped the handle of his radio broadcast tower.

Creole Love Call.

Alastor twitched one of his ears and he opened the door to his broadcast room. He thumbed through the shelf he held of his record collection and stopped on some of the oldest he had. He pulled out the album and slipped the record from its sleeve. He continued his hum as he got to the the broadcast equipment, he clicked the record into place, the needle gently set down on the proper groove.

He turned to the chair and microphone waiting for him.

The sound of a knock. Alastor hadn't even noticed how much time had passed. The third album to be played was about to start its next song, Alastor clicked it off and bid his listeners a goodbye before he clicked off the air. It must be you, no one else would dare to disturb him during his broadcasts. He glanced at the time and he hummed, a few minutes till five. Punctual. He always appreciated that.

Alastor opened the door up, adjusting his bow tie with his free hand. " Y/N, on time as usual. " He paused seeing you, a record scratch noise.

" What? Is... Is it too much? Sorry, oh , I told Rosie that this was silly. " You began to spill out words.

The dark wine red gown you wore went to your ankles, off the shoulder straps held little red beads between the three strands that made up the strap. Black silk gloves went all the way up to an inch below where the straps rested on your biceps. The way it ran down your curves made brought back memories of the starlet ladies that Alastor would see on posters as a young man. Alastor bowed at the waist, his hand reached down and took ahold of yours gently brought the back of your hand to his lips.

" No, you look lovely. "

Your face looked like it have been dusted with rouge, the light pink looked deeper as he looked up at you from kissing the back of your hand. Alastor found he loved the color red on you, a small part of him deep inside didn't want to see you wear anything other than shades of red. He stood up straight, his usual smile softened some.

" S-so, dinner?" You spoke after a moment.

taglist: @boldlyenchantingfox22 @sirens-and-moonflowers @phoephan-123 @girl-nahh-two @kerosene--lamp @l3rittany @lunamoonbby @sallymoon135

[forsaken-headcanons]

Forsaken 'The Upgraded Hell AU' [Name might change, I suck at giving names]

Tw: slight mentions of death.

My hc reminder: The Robloxia is made out code, Spectre is created from broken code that gained sentience and becomes more powerful the more negativity/suffering it consumes. Spectre is a silent killer.

The lore/world building:

It's been thousands of years since the first person got Forsakened™. The world advanced, moved on and everyone that went missing became a simple legend to scare kids so they won't trust strangers, eventually even this legend became forgotten. No one remembers the missing people anymore.

For survivors and killers the time that passed is even longer. They've been trapped in endless loop of death and survival/chase and murder for what it feels like eternity. The memories of their past became blurry, now feeling like some odd dream. The purgatory is their only reality, they don't remember why they are here anymore.

Unbeknownst to everyone a Cancer of Code, a being that owns the purgatory... The Spectre grows in power fueled by suffering of the people it trapped in it's realm. It slowly spreads outside the purgatory, silently taking control of the rest of the world.

___

It's a winter, a day like every other day, people live their lives, but then something shifts. In one second the entire world collapses. A snowstorm that affects the entire Robloxia. People loose their lives, homes, families. More than half of the population loses their lives.

The Spectre made it's move, bored of the purgatory, where's fun in every round being basically the same for millennials. It decided to spread onto the real world, altering the very core of it. It created disasters to survive, giving the people the very minimum. After all it doesn't want to look it's for of entertainment.

Winter became and endless snowstorm with temperatures below zero, that stops only a few times during it's duration.

Spring is one big flood, that seems like an ocean.

Summer is a drought, the temperature so high it feels like you're in the middle of the desert, in fact the world becomes a desert.

Fall comes with a fog so thick, that sometimes you can't see your own hands.

Each season spawns a animals/monsters that are suitable for the environment. Some being a source of food for the people, while other bring death. Each season is it's own hell, with it's own troubles.

Examples of hostile animals:

Winter - has mutated Yeti like monsters hiding in the snow.

Spring - underwater beasts that look kind of like water dinosaurs.

Summer - a gigantic worms that move underneath the sand that feed on what they find on the surface.

Fall - a beasts of unknown look, hiding in the fog, the only hint that they are nearby is a sound of their movement and the fog becoming slightly darker colour.

Examples of troubles each season brings:

Winter - the cold and lack of food

Spring - the water is not clean so it's hard to get drinkable water, it rains and storms often

Summer - the heat, lack of food and water, easy way for uncontrollable fires to start and sandstorms.

Fall - seemingly the easiest season, but you can easily get lost in the fog. Be weary of what lurks inside it.

You also must be weary of other surviving groups, not everyone is friendly. Also the different illnesses can happen.

___

The Spectre has a favourite group. A group that allowed it to achieve the control over the world. A group made of people trapped in it's first purgatory. Survivors and Killers combined.

It nerfed the killers so they would struggle in this new world, it also buffed survivors so they wouldn't die so easily. (It also nerfed the new generation of admins, after all, it's not fair for them to be stronger than the rest.)

The Spectre forced the groups to work together, enjoying the tension between them. It doesn't care about the other groups/people in the apocalyptic world of Robloxia, as long as it's favourites live.

For the survivors/killers it was supposed to be another 'day' of rounds, but suddenly everyone got spawned in one big cabin, with snowstorm raging outside. Their only explanation being a note:

'Welcome to your new hell:D'

The Spectre sent the groups into the real world, once it took control of it. It combined the cabins of survivors and killers into one bigger cabin. Each person has their own room, but they are forced to live together.

The cabin is located on a hill, which gives them a little bit of advantage. Both groups, seeing that their situation changed decided to work together to have bigger chances of survival. People that were trapped in purgatory are the only Robloxians that have an ability to respawn, but each time they die, they loose a part of themselves.

Once I'll be done with it I will make another ask that will focus on the 'Ex Purgatory Prisoners' group (I really need a shorter name for them), going further into each character. This one is about world building.

~ Purple anon

did you just come into our inbox, casually drop the peakiest peak known to mankind, and just. dip. /silly

THIS IS SO BRICK-SHITTINGLY COOL???? WHAT THE FUCK???? WAAAIT WAIT WAIT. hey. hey. he;y. leans on expensive car. ehy. /unrizz /silly (< has no idea how to express how cool we think this is in a normal way)

jfc hold ON. we've never thought of incorporating seasons into this holy shit?? MADDENINGLY creative. what the hell. throws a cinderblock in your direction (it misses but we use the downtime as a distraction to yoink this headcanon /sillier)

[aetherdoesthings]

hanahaki!reader x arlecchino

forethoughts: omg aether finally uploads?!?!? apologies for the long break; i was getting my life together, because there's a lot going on in my life right now all at once. nevertheless, this was inspired by my previous work of hanahaki!reader x nico robin, but with arlecchino because of @edgeray's idea! thanks buddy, couldn't have revived my blog without you. also i'm sorry if there are grammatical mistakes or errors, i wrote this at 2am at a sudden burst of inspiration and motivation.

notes: modern setting, y/n and arlecchino are famous actresses, fem!reader, gentle!arlecchino, hanahaki au

“And how long will filming take?” You sighed, biting down on a hateful tone as you looked at your assistant.

“Roughly a year, Ms. Y/N.” Your assistant replied, clicking a few buttons on her tablet.

“How much is Furina offering to have me star in it with her?”

“$10,000,000 Mora, Ms. Y/N.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, despite your makeup artist’s ‘friendly reminder’. That amount could be worth the turmoil and agony to have to be in a constant space with… her.

“Arlecchino has already signed on board to the project. Ms. Furina is waiting to hear from you.” Your assistant looks up at you. “Surely you would not pass up a deal like that just because she is in it?”

“Shut it, Navia.” You scowl.

Navia laughs. “I jest, Ms. Y/N. What about Arlecchino do you dislike anyways? I heard she is kind and respectful.”

“Yeah, like that gives you a golden star.” You rolled your eyes, finishing your glass of wine. It wasn’t that you disliked or loathed the actress. You respected her upbringing and career and found honor in being in the same tier as her. But something about her rubbed you the wrong way. Every time you watched one of her press interviews or promo videos, your stomach would feel ill, hollowing itself out and making your legs kick in the air like a kid on Christmas. Simply sickening and rotten. And now you were to do an entire movie with her. 

“Hmn, fine. I’ll take it.” You sighed, leaning back on your couch. All for the Mora. All of the Mora. Nothing more, nothing less. It’s just one year. You survived with lousy and inadequate ‘colleagues’. Certainly you’d be able to survive the bane of your existence.

“Y/N. I’ve heard so much about you. It is a pleasure to finally meet and talk to you in person.” A familiar voice you only heard from behind the screen was now playing behind you. You turned your body, a curt smile on your face as you faced the disgustingly tall and surprisingly built woman (that looked so much bigger than what you saw on a screen), a dumb, cute and sweet grin plastered on her face. You acquiesced her offer, shaking her hand.

“And I share the same sentiment as you do, Arlecchino.” You smiled as politely as you could muster, suppressing your inner self and pummeling it for the sake of face. “I look…forward to working with you.”

Arlecchino’s lips turned into a thin line, her crimson eyes boring into yours, as if peering into your body to find that soul she tortured with just her appearance. You kept your smile, withdrawing your hand. “How was your flight here?”

Shock and surprise pierced that air tight smile of yours, allowing it to falter for a second. “I beg your pardon?”

“How was your flight?” Arlecchino repeated her question, an amused smile on her stupidly perfect and gorgeous face.

“It was… good.” You stammered, folding your arms.

Arlecchino chuckled. “Vague but straight to the point.”

“I prefer things to be like that.”

Arlecchino grinned, placing a hand on your shoulder. You had to bite back a shriek or gasp, nails digging into your palm as you tried to remain a smile. “Let us go to rehearsal, hmn? I’m certain Furina is eagerly waiting for us.”

A blockade started to emerge in your throat, your nails drawing blood as you nodded your head. “Sure, yeah, yeah. You go on ahead. I need to do something real quick.” You said, hoping Arlecchino would buy it.

“Alright then.” And she did, that lovely gullible soul. The minute Arlecchino walked out of earshot, a violent cough erupted from your throat, causing you to double over until it subsided. Looking down, you noticed a lone cherry blossom petal right by your feet. You massaged your throat, hoping to alleviate the sudden pain. Had that petal been there all along? But you were standing on open land without a tree in sight. Furina’s movie synopsis did not mention any cherry blossom trees. Surely, you couldn't have coughed up a petal. No, you did not cough up a petal. That stuff was out of the movies, not in reality. Your mind recalled back to an old movie you shot once, about the protagonist suffering from something called hanahaki disease, where the victim would cough up petals because of their love for someone. The protagonist was lovesick and had their eyes set on the other character, but died because the other person did not return their feelings. This wasn’t happening to you. Yes, the movie was based off of a true story, but certainly not. You were certain you were hallucinating. 

“Y/N!” You heard Arlecchino’s voice call your name from afar. 

“C-Coming!” No. You had to get yourself together. Come on, this was Arlecchino. That… elegant, beautiful, eloquent asshole who you always watched from afar but never had the chance to be with up close. But now you could. And this was how you reacted? Your stomach churned, as you swallowed anymore nonexistent petals down into your vat of acid before making your way to everyone.

Filming wasn’t too bad in the first few weeks. You and Arlecchino were to play star crossed lovers, and all that was scheduled was basic exposition. No petals came up, which supported your case that you were just hallucinating and definitely not a fictional disease. Until it came to the more intimate scenes.

“Alright, and action!” Furina exclaimed. Arlecchino’s character was pinning you to the wall, her finger on your chin.

“Did you really think you could hide it from me?” Arlecchino’s character sneered, her eyes boring into yours, her lips getting dangerously close.

“I-” You ducked your head in time to not cough into Arlecchino’s face, bringing a hand over your mouth as you coughed loudly, the air escaping your body as you wheezed. 

“Cut! Everyone, take ten!” Furina yelled, and the crew murmured and resetted everything because of your sudden cough.

“Are you alright?” Arlecchino placed a hand on your shoulder, rubbing small circles in an effort to comfort you, her voice soft and gentle. A complete contrast of her character she portrayed. That did not comfort you at all, rather stir up a bubbling feeling in your lower parts, warmth rushing to your face.

You balled your fist, nodding your head as you forced yourself to meet Arlecchino’s eyes. 

“I…” You stammered, words suddenly disappearing from your brain, as if Arlecchino was sucking it out with that crimson glow, radiating with warmth and concern, the grin on her face dissipating the moment she saw your soul momentarily leave your body.

“I-I’m alright. I-I’m so sorry.” You regurgitated. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“That’s alright. Do you need some water?” 

“That’ll… That’ll be good.”

Arlecchino nodded her head, patting your shoulder as she asked a staff member to grab you some water. “I’ll go talk to Furina for you. You just rest and recover, got it? I don’t want my acting partner to be ill.”

Oh, your acting partner already is ill. A voice inside of you replied back. 

“Right, yeah. Thank you so much, Arlecchino.” You exclaimed, smiling back.

"Always, Y/N." Arlecchino walked away, waving her hand. "Get well soon."

The crew was busy packing everything up and preparing everything for tomorrow. Arlecchino was talking to Furina, most likely going over tomorrow’s shoot and your cough. As everyone around you was moving and busy, you were escorted away into a car, which drove you back to the makeup trailer. Alone in the backseat, you opened your fist, staring at the item in the dead center of your palm.

A goddamn cherry blossom petal.

No. This can’t be happening. What the heck is happening?! You forced yourself to breathe, staring at the curled petal. Why was this happening? All you did was be in close proximity with that damn Arlecchino, which made your heart flutter and start to drum, your stomach churn and mind go fuzzy, legs limp and-

No.

No.

You did not have a crush on Arlecchino.

You could not have a crush on Arlecchino.

You were colleagues. Workers. She was the winner of multiple awards, she was the one who the paparazzi could never get a picture of, she was everything and you… you were…nothing. Nothing compared to what Arlecchino had done. 

Yet you were here, forced to work together with her and even have to do intimate scenes with-

God strike me here and now. Or make me go into a fatal accident. You silently prayed to anyone who was listening. 

Arlecchino would not be the reason you coughed and hacked up flower petals.

You refused to believe those soft crimson glow in her eyes she always had with you, those thin lips that always curled into a smile when you walked in the room, and those fingers that found a way to your shoulder, or cheek, or your waist would be the reason why you were coughing up petals, just like-

Hanahaki. The word taunted you. No. That couldn’t be. 

You refused to believe you had fallen in love with Arlecchino, let alone die because of it. No. As long as you could breathe, you would not let yourself be a victim of love that you will never receive and have. 

Arlecchino was going to be the reason the newspaper headline would read ‘Y/N FOUND DEAD IN HER BEDROOM FROM HANAHAKI DISEASE’ and lead numerous people to speculate who your Romeo was. 

But in that ill state you were, a tiny part of you was at ease with that scenario.

[unabashegirl]

Lycan 19 — werewolf hs

Y/N Y/L/N returns to her hometown, Alsfield, when her father falls ill, only to discover the town hides a dark secret—one protected by the mysterious Harry Styles. As Y/N unravels the town's mysteries, her plans to return to San Francisco are derailed. 

check out my patreon (starting at $2) and get full access to all chapters, various one shots like The Cover and much more :)

--> lycan masterlist <--

The autumn air was crisp and refreshing as Y/N sat outside a quaint little café, sipping on a cool drink. The sun cast a warm golden hue over the small town, creating a serene atmosphere. She could feel the gentle breeze tousling her hair, a harbinger of the coming colder days.

The town was bustling with activity, people going about their day with purpose. Y/N watched as leaves gently fluttered to the ground, their colors turning from vibrant greens to rich hues of red, orange, and gold. It was a beautiful sight, a reminder of the changing seasons.

Taking another sip of her drink, Y/N closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying the peaceful moment. She could hear the distant chatter of people passing by, the occasional car driving past, and the rustling of leaves in the breeze.

Lost in her thoughts, she thought about everything that had happened since she arrived in this town. The pack, Harry, the recent arguments—they all swirled in her mind, creating a whirlwind of emotions.

But right now, in this moment, Y/N allowed herself to simply be. To enjoy the simple pleasure of a cold drink on a warm autumn day. She took a deep breath, letting the crisp air fill her lungs, and exhaled slowly, feeling a sense of calm wash over her.

"Sit, please. I enjoy the company," Y/N invited Aiden, gesturing to the empty chair beside her.

Aiden smiled warmly and picked up his drink, settling into the chair next to her. "Thank you. It's a lovely day, isn't it?" he remarked, his voice friendly and inviting. Y/N nodded, glancing around the bustling street, noticing the small shops with their colorful displays, the cheerful chatter of people enjoying their day, and the distant sound of music playing from somewhere nearby.

“I am sure that the sunset will be just breathtaking” She followed Aiden's gaze towards the horizon where the sun was beginning its descent. "It's a shame about the curfew, though. I used to love watching sunsets and waiting until the sky turned that deep, dark blue before heading home," he said, taking another sip of his drink.

"What do you mean curfew?" Y/N asked, genuine surprise in her voice. She had no idea that a curfew had been installed. Harry hadn't mentioned anything about it to her.

Aiden looked at her, a faint furrow forming between his brows. "The curfew that Alpha Harry announced because of the murders," he explained, his voice tinged with concern. "It's just to keep us safe."

Y/N's eyes widened in realization as the gravity of the situation settled in. "Murders?" she echoed, her heart skipping a beat. "What murders?"

“Isabella? Patrick's oldest daughter," Aiden began, his voice heavy with sorrow. "He used to be the omega. She was murdered a few days ago, and her body was found in the woods."

Y/N felt her heart drop at the news, shock and disbelief washing over her. Isabella, Patrick's daughter, murdered? It was almost too much to comprehend. She had only met Patrick a few times, but the thought of his daughter meeting such a tragic end filled her with sadness.

"I... I didn't know," Y/N managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper. The weight of the news settled heavily on her shoulders, and she couldn't shake the feeling of sorrow that washed over her.

Aiden reached out, placing a comforting hand on her arm. "I'm sorry, Luna" he said softly, his eyes reflecting the pain of the loss. "I thought you knew."

Y/N shook her head, unable to find the words to express the grief and shock she felt. Isabella, a young girl whose life had been cut short so tragically. It was a cruel and senseless act of violence that left her reeling.

"Thank you for telling me," Y/N finally managed to say, her voice thick with emotion. She appreciated Aiden's honesty, even if the news was devastating.

Aiden nodded, his expression somber. "Of course. I just thought you should know," he said, his voice filled with sympathy. “You should stay safe. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you”.

Y/N took a moment to compose herself before standing up from the table. The weight of the news lingered heavy on her heart, and she knew she needed to talk to Harry about this.

"Thank you, Aiden," she said, offering him a small, grateful smile. "I appreciate you telling me."

Aiden nodded, standing up as well. "Anytime," he said, his eyes filled with understanding.

As Y/N made her way back towards the pack house, her mind was filled with thoughts of Isabella and the tragedy that had befallen her. She couldn't shake the feeling of sorrow and anger that welled up inside her. She needed to talk to Harry, to find out why he hadn't told her about this, and to make sure that justice was served for Isabella.

"Where have you been?" Niall interrogated her as she crossed the front door of the pack house. "We’ve been looking for you all day!" His tone was stern, laced with concern and a hint of anger. He couldn't fathom why she had left without a word, especially given the recent events in the pack.

Y/N felt a pang of guilt at Niall's words, realizing that she had caused worry among the pack members. "I'm sorry, Niall," she began, her voice filled with remorse. "I just needed some time to clear my head."

Niall's expression softened slightly, understanding flickering in his eyes. "I get it, but you can't just disappear like that, especially now," he said, his tone gentler but still firm.

"Where is Harry?" Y/N asked, determined to find him despite the message she received.

"He's in his study," Niall replied, watching as Y/N swiftly made her way upstairs.

Y/N climbed the steps two at a time, her heart pounding in her chest. She needed to talk to Harry, to clear the air and get some answers. The news about Isabella's death had shaken her to the core, and she couldn't shake the feeling that Harry was keeping something from her.

As she reached the top of the stairs, Y/N made a beeline for Harry's study. The door was closed, but she didn't hesitate to knock firmly.

"Come in," Harry's voice called from inside.

Y/N pushed the door open and stepped into the room. Harry was seated behind his desk, a stack of papers in front of him. His expression was unreadable as he looked up at her.

"We need to talk," Y/N said, her voice firm despite the nervous flutter in her stomach.

Harry raised an eyebrow, his gaze flickering over her face. "About what?" he asked, his tone guarded.

"About Isabella," Y/N replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "I heard what happened, and I want to know why you didn't tell me."

Harry's expression softened slightly, a flicker of guilt passing over his features. "I was going to tell you," he began, his voice low. "But I didn't want to worry you."

Y/N's frustration bubbled to the surface, her emotions raw. "Worry me?" she repeated, her voice rising slightly. "Harry, she was part of our pack! How could you not tell me something like this?"

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I didn't want to upset you," he admitted, his voice filled with remorse. "And I didn't want you to feel unsafe."

Y/N took a step closer to him, her eyes locking with his. "I appreciate your concern, but I can handle the truth," she said, her voice firm. "I want to be part of this pack. I want to help."

Harry's gaze softened, a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. "I know," he said softly. "And I'm sorry for keeping it from you. I just... I didn't know how to tell you."

Y/N felt a surge of empathy for Harry, understanding the weight of his responsibilities as Alpha. She reached out and placed a hand on his arm, the warmth of his skin grounding her.

"I guess it’s fine" she said gently, her voice filled with reassurance. "Just stop hiding things from me"

Harry looked up at her, gratitude shining in his eyes. "Thank you," he said sincerely, his voice filled with emotion.

Y/N gave him a small smile, feeling a sense of unity between them. "Now, tell me everything," she said, her voice firm. "I want to know what's going on."

"Alright," Harry began, his voice steady as he recounted the events of the past few days. "This all started a few weeks ago, before Isabella was murdered. We found another body in the woods, but we haven't been able to identify them."

Y/N's eyes widened in shock, her heart pounding in her chest. "Another body?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry nodded, his expression grave. "Yes. It seemed to be another rogue wolf, but we couldn't determine their identity. The scent was faint, but it was there."

Y/N felt a chill run down her spine, the realization sinking in. "And you think this rogue is responsible for both attacks?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.

Harry sighed, his shoulders tense with the weight of the situation. "It's possible," he admitted. "The similarities between the attacks suggest that it could be the same rogue."

Y/N's mind raced with thoughts and fears, the danger looming over their pack feeling all too real. "What are we going to do?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Y/N listened intently as Harry described the scene, his words painting a grim picture in her mind. The brutality of the attack made her stomach churn, and she couldn't help but feel a surge of anger and sadness.

Harry nodded, his expression grim. "we've been tracking the scent ever since. But it's been difficult. The rogue seems to be skilled at covering their tracks."

Y/N felt a shiver run down her spine, the thought of a dangerous rogue wolf lurking in their territory sending chills through her. "Have you found anything else?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Not yet," he admitted. "But we're doing everything we can to find them before anyone else gets hurt."

“What can I do to help?” She asked, worried about the situation and the safety of the rest of the pack.

"Y/N," Harry began, his eyes locking with hers. "The best thing you can do right now is to stay close. We need to keep each other safe."

Y/N nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. "Of course," she said, her voice steady despite the fear that gripped her. "I'll stay by your side."

Harry reached out and gently cupped her face in his hands, his touch warm and comforting. "And there's one more thing," he said, his voice soft but firm. "I need to mark you."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening in surprise. "Mark me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry nodded, his gaze unwavering. "Yes," he said, his voice filled with determination. "It will help strengthen the bond between us, and it will make sure that I can always find you, no matter what."

Y/N felt a surge of emotion wash over her, the gravity of Harry's words sinking in. She knew what being marked meant, both physically and emotionally. It was a symbol of their connection, a pledge of loyalty and protection.

"Okay," she said, her voice barely audible. "I trust you."

--> Chapter 20

[artingsumstuff]

I'm going to mention it because I didn't see anyone else talking about it after Lux came out. I'm pretty sure this is because it got overshadowed by the silly animated guy or the meta section of the episode but the only thing I have been able to think about since watching Doctor Who's Lux is the Rock Hudson AIDs reference at the beginning. For a little context, Rock Hudson is a notable figure when it comes to the AIDs epidemic. He was one of the most famous actors at the time and when he tragically passed away from the illness, it opened the eyes of the masses that AIDs was not just "The gay, 'exotic', drug user" virus but something that was an active threat to your 'every day person'. It couldn't be ignored anymore. Obviously there is more nuance to it than I can put into a short Tumblr post so I recommend going and doing research of your own. I personally think that getting a reference to the AIDs crisis into Doctor Who, the family friendly, popular and now Disney produced tv show is monumental even if it was just a small exchange. Including gay characters in a piece of media is one thing but to actually remind people of, you know, that time where gay people (as well as POCs) were antagonised, blamed and treated like threats is a whole other. It's a quiet way of saying fuck you, we won't let people forget the lives lost. Anyways I think that was really cool of Russel T Davis and should have been talked about a lot more.

[casual-praxis]

New AU unlocked: gay fish

I've never actually done anything for Mermay before, but this idea popped into my head so I figured I might as well do something with it while I still had it

I do have ideas for all the rest, but for now all we have is Red and Vio

I imagine Red is usually hanging out in warmer waters and doesn't travel very far from where's he's comfortable. But he's very friendly so those that do travel more, like Green and Blue, always try to stop by if they're in the area

Vio on the other hand (fin?) is a deep sea dweller, and as such doesn't see other mer's very often. He doesn't travel far on account of being a slower swimmer, but he'll make long journey's if need be, it'll just take him a while

Little bit more info below the cut

Am trying to write all this with a headache so it's takin' me a bit to get a coherent thought together, but I'll do my best to get the basics

So, there's no concrete story in mind as of yet, though I figure the catalyst for getting all the characters aware of each other is something like..Red gets injured while trying to protect his fish companions (pets) from humans and sinks into the depths

Vio is passing through the area on the way to visit Shadow, who's a giant kraken-like mer living in a trench, when he notices something small and shiny drifting in the currents. He has a small fascination with anything that comes from the warmer waters, so he stops to catch the thing, only to find it's an unconscious mer with a human weapon lodged in it

Vio mostly wants to recover the weapon for observation, but he quickly realizes that if he wants to keep the warmer-water mer alive, he'll need to break the weapon to remove it. He can learn much more about the shallows from the mer than the weapon anyway, so even though it's shiny, he foregoes it in order to save Red

It takes a while for Red to regain consciousness, and in that time, Shadow went looking for Vio and found him just kinda waiting. Turns out Vio is prone to losing track of time, but Shadow already knew this, so he's not surprised over that, it's more so the fact Vio spent some of his magic on healing some random shallow-water mer that gets him

They agree to meet up some other time, once Red has woken up, since he doesn't appear to be doing so any time soon, and they go separate ways once more. This sets up the opportunity for Green and Blue to get involved, since they'll inevitably go looking for Red once they realize he's missing--and that Red's fish companions are freaking out and hovering around the depths

Green and Blue head down to the depths in search of him, but end up running into Shadow first instead, who's thrilled to have others to talk to, even if the others in question seemed freaked out by how much bigger deep sea mer are in comparison

From here, I have no idea where the plot might go, but it might make a neat mini comic one day

A few more bonus details:

I wasn't basing the designs off any particular kind of fish, though Red reminds me a little of a goldfish and Vio take some elements from the Ghost Leviathans from Subnautica

There's a bit of a divide between those that come from shallow/warmer waters, and those that come from the deep sea. At any point, they can cross into each others domains without any issues, though they might be ill equipped to handle prolonged stay there. Deep sea mer are generally way bigger than shallow water mer, making them easier to spot in the clear tides, whereas shallow water mer are small and unable to see as well, making them easy targets in the depths

Through the use of magic, deep sea mer can shrink their forms closer to the size of a shallow water mer, though it can be draining and hard to sustain for longer than a day depending on the individual. It's also very apparent when a deep sea mer has shifted forms, since they still largely resemble those of the deep, and might have some difficultly swimming in a smaller form

Red is very social and doesn't find Vio to be that scary after spending a bit of time together. He's more than happy to chatter about all the things the shallow waters have to offer, but also all the dangers too, since humans are getting closer and closer to discovering them

Vio isn't overly social, but he does have a few of whom he considers friends, like Shadow. He spends a lot of time conserving energy, swimming slowly or otherwise resting, hence why Shadow was surprised Vio went out of his way for Red. He'd like to visit the surface, though he's aware his demeanor makes that difficult

If Red finds a fish cute enough, he'll keep it around as a companion/pet. Though, if he doesn't, then, well, mer's gotta eat too

Annd one last bonus:

Tiny Red

And Tiny Red attached to bigger Red

[r0tting-rat]

The fanfiction officially has a name now! And a house in the sims as well, although that's still a work in progress… Anyway! I don't promise anything yet, but let me share the concept with you, okay? (This is just a wip, I did not put any effort into this so I'm sorry) (Also, I abandoned Stoker and gave my soul to Poe, as you can probably see by… well, everything.)

Midnight Overture: Cotard's Delirium

It's 1988, and in the little city of Pacewood, near Towerdom Lake, down a little road half hidden by the trees, is Oleander Manor: a beautiful house of bricks and ebony who stands tall, proud, and old against the gray sky of January.

The people say the manor is haunted, but who could blame them? It's old, the portraits hanging from the walls depict men and women in beautiful gowns from the 19th century that not even a direct descendant could name, of course the place is haunted — although the current owners of the house claim otherwise.

Living in Oleander Manor are three children, orphans, with their two legal guardians: a pair of automata bought by the long-passed owner of the house and adoptive father of the three, Augustus Barnard. The older of the the kids, Annabel, will inherit the house and everything inside — automata included — as soon as she turns 18, which won't happen until 6 more years.

If questioned, the two automata will claim to have never seen any ghost or presence inside their house. The kids, however, never miss an opportunity to tell you everything they know about the corpse in the basement, about the woman with their mother's voice in the attic, about how, sometimes, the walls whisper and bleed. 

“Mr Sonne doesn't like it when we talk about them, he says we're past the age of imaginary friends.”

You're just looking for some easy money and a place to stay, you're not planning to plant your roots in Pacewood — or anywhere at all, for that matter. You'll take any job, do whatever needs to be done, work for whoever offers a good enough pay, even if they're... well, not human, to your big dismay. 

What an unfortunate situation! Three children with an incredibly morbid imagination, a pair of automata unable to keep their hands to themselves who seem to have grown a tad too close to the new hire, and a wanderer with automatonophobia. It could be worse though.

Spotify playlist: Cotard's Delirium

Friendly reminder that this story will contain:

For sure: gore, blood, suggestive themes, torture, mental illness, child and animal death, vivid descriptions of violence and injury, and "yandere"-like behavior from our dear boys.

Most likely (still considering): explicit and consensual nsfw content.

Edit: some nsfw content has already been posted on my secondary blog, so if you wanna, feel free to check it out.

Therefore, this story will probably be 18+ (if I do decide to include the nsfw content, otherwise it will be tagged as Mature and be 16+), so yeah, beware.

[moonogre]

@unfriendlyamazon, got inspired to write this after chatting with you about The Substance and Nosferatu! @alectoperdita, thank you as ever for babysitting my unhinged nonsense.

🩸

SEEKING MALE 18-25 - FIT, DISCRETE & IN GOOD HEALTH FOR LUCRATIVE OPPORTUNITY. INTERESTED PARTIES TEXT 454.637.0505 WITH YOUR NAME, DOB AND A FULL BODY PHOTO.  

And so came this bizarre screening appointment in the diner out near the airport. The joint’s thick windows were dingy with dust, daybreak beyond the glass blurry and dull as dishwater. A pilot, wilted from fatigue, nursed a coffee, its burnt smell reaching Jounouchi seated two booths back. Nearby, a baggage handler tucked into a plate of sticky pancakes, bogged with syrup. Jounouchi’s head throbbed against the rising sickishness of a hangover. He wrapped his knuckles against the tabletop– scuffed formica, its once cheery pink dimmed with wear and time. Bleached blush and anemic now– it reminded Jounouchi of the pallid, thin skin of a worm. Gross. His belly shuddered with queasiness. Why did this all feel so… skeezy? He scowled and checked his phone: four percent, five fifty-six in the morning, Saturday April 12th. Thank you for your application, Katsuya. We would like to conduct a preliminary assessment. Are you available tomorrow at six a.m.? He’d gotten the message late last night at Honda’s party, well into a mickey, a cute girl from Honda’s engineering class smiling against his throat, her soft hands creeping coy under the hem of his shirt, near his belt buckle. Sure, where at? It hadn’t proved hard to pass the time, until the mystery meeting: cocooned from the racket of the get together in Honda’s spare bedroom, the only thing aside their coupling in the muted dark a slice of light beneath the closed door, harsh as a brand. He’d had her mouth on her for half an hour before the raucous calmed and the light went out, and darkness swallowed the room. She was wet enough to take him now, and then they spent a few hours against each others flesh. Easy until the five a.m. alarm, and he peeled himself from her. Where was he off too, so early, she’d murmured from her sleep. 7112 Airport Drive. A diner before the exit for the International terminal. 

It was six now. Jounouchi's ill-placed impatience tended him: jitters, clenched jaw, he picked at a scabbed hangnail on his pointer finger. A headache steady in its slow, wounding bloom. Maybe he could go outside for a quick smoke… but then the door opened with a delicate chime, and in brisked an old man in a ritzy suit, jet-black. Dark browline sunglasses, lenses a strange matte that utterly hid his eyes. Clean shaven save a chevron mustache, neat atop his lips. They quirked in a smile for a moment– friendly, but something else too– and he strode straight for Jounouchi and sat across from him. 

“Katsuya, I hope I haven’t kept you long. Can I get you anything?” He raised his hand to signal the waitress, who looked over before heaving a sigh and trekking slowly towards them. 

Jounouchi’s brow furrowed a moment. What did he want? An answer to why the fuck I’m here. “Coffee’s fine, thanks.” 

“Any way you take your coffee?” 

The pilot stood and dumped a few crumpled yen on the counter before bidding the waitress goodbye with a tired wave, wheeling his carry-on behind him as he breezed out. Jounouchi thought back to the acrid sour of the man’s coffee. His stomach curdled. “Lots of sugar. And creamer.” The stranger cocked an eyebrow and then a sudden strange silence chasmed between them. Near its bottom seemed judgment. Jounouchi bristled. “I-Is that okay, or…?”  

The waitress had reached them now, bored with a dog-eared notepad. The stranger spoke: “One coffee, with cream and sugar for my friend here. And I’ll take warm water with lemon, and one boiled egg.” The waitress waited for a moment, and when it became obvious no other requests were forthcoming, she grimaced in scornful confusion. “That’s everything?” 

“Yes,” the man spoke, before adding a chilly “Thank you.” She shrugged and went on her way. His attention returned to Jonouchi. “Katsuya, thank you for making time so early in the day. I wanted to go over some rudimentary questions to progress your application–” 

“Sure,” Jounouchi blurted, and the man’s brows rose, again, unnervingly. He felt shame rushing to ruddy his face but continued. “That’s fine. I’ll answer whatever but it’s just… what’s your name?” 

The man laughed. “You’re right. Pardon my rudeness. My name is Isono.” Jounouchi’s hands suddenly felt clammy. He was definitely going to be sick. The waitress chose just then to return: his coffee, dun brown and filled to the brim, cream curdled apart and drifting in small, white clots across its surface. Isono’s water steamed slightly, and he brandished a knife– pewter unlustred with tarnish– in a swift TAP against his boiled egg, nestled in a porcelain eggcup. The shell cracked clean across on contact, and he plucked the wet, smooth flesh from its casing and fed it whole into his mouth. Jounouchi’s stomach roiled and for some reason, he took to his coffee as though it would help. 

“As I was saying, Katsuya, I wanted to ask you some questions to expedite your application. Let’s start with confirming some basic details. You’re eighteen?” Jounouchi nodded, bitter coffee flooding his mouth. The cream hadn’t cut the harsh taste and instead made the whole brew feel oily. It silked down his throat. “Can I see some identification please?” 

The fuck. “Are you some kinda fucking cop? Or–” 

“No, just thorough.” Isono smiled. “My employer was quite pleased with your submission. He asked that I be rigorous in my assessment and remove as many barriers as possible.” Jounouchi glared at Isono before fishing his wallet out of his pants and handing over his driver’s licence. The man glanced it over– maybe, it was hard to tell with his eyes obscured with sunglasses– and nodded, before taking out his phone to photograph it. “Hey–” Jounouchi started, hotly, but Isono pushed the tiny plastic with his tiny little picture back to him, and interrupted: “Thank you, Katsuya. We have very secure servers and your information will be deleted once your application is confirmed and the interview complete.” Jounouchi frowned, migraine drawn taught between his temples. He tensed his hand around his coffee mug, now half full. “I only have a few follow ups. Please answer as honestly as you can–”

“What the fuck is this for?” Jounouchi ground out, but Isono ignored him to continue his questioning.

“Do you own a microwave? How often do you use it?” Jounouchi was taken aback, lost suddenly in a memory, from a year ago: Honda, check this out, he’d said, slipping an old American DVD they’d gawked at in middle school– Girls Gone Wild: Sweet Eighteen– onto the grease-splattered turntable in his kitchen microwave, bottom side up, easing the door shut with minute timer. Dim tungsten lit the slowspinning disc and then SHARP BRIGHT CRACKLING, sparks arcing wildly around the iridescent surface, before bursting into a ring of fire. The room stank of burning plastic. Jou dude what the FUCK– Honda had yelled, and Jounouchi had laughed. Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on this old thing, there’s better porn out now– but Honda had shoved Jounouchi out of the way to extinguish the tiny spluttering flames. The microwave wouldn’t turn on afterwards, and it took nearly two months to rid the kitchenette of the horrible burning smell. 

“Uh… nah,” Jounouchi answered, staring into his coffee. More questions followed: How many generations of your family have had natural births with no medical intervention? Would you say you bruise easily? Have you ever had a nosebleed without provocation? Are you a naturally cold person or are you quick to sweat? What colour is your urine in the morning, usually? “Dude, look–” Jounouchi balked, but Isono wouldn’t entertain his squeamishness: “Just answer the question.” 

Jounouchi scowled. “I dunno, Isono, it looks like piss.” This failed to elicit anything other than silence from the man, his expression obscured by his large aviators. Who the fuck wears sunglasses inside?! “What?” Jounouchi continued, cross. “What colour is your fucking piss in the morning?” 

“Clear,” Isono answered calmly, without hesitation. “Would you be so kind as to share the colour?” 

Jounouchi’s head was throbbing. You know what? Fuck this weird ass fucking shit. He leaned back in his vinyl booth chair: the seat was cracked in some places, old dirt speckled foam peeping through the hard plastic. He smirked. “Clear. It’s clear.” An arched eyebrow appeared over Isono’s dark visors and the man turned ever so slightly– Jounouchi didn’t have to see the man’s eyes to know he was looking at his mug of coffee, down to a few grounds that swilled at the bottom of the cup. 

Just then, Isono’s phone rang. Jounouchi crossed his arms, and the man answered after the second trill: “Good morning, sir… yes, I am with Katsuya now. We’re in the final portion of the interview… I’m not sure, but I will ask and let you know… Yes, of course sir. Thank you… See you soon.” He hung up. 

Jounouchi’s irritability would not allow an interlude: “What’s that all about?” 

Isono reached into his pocket and delicately placed a black credit card on the table and signalled for the bill. “Can you accompany me now, to meet my employer? He’d like to conduct the next phase himself, in person.” 

He heard Honda’s voice in his head: Don’t go to a second location, dude! Honda had, of course, been talking about girls then, because what else did they talk about: this was his wise counsel on how to dodge the pushy ones, once the beer goggles had worn off. Jounouchi supposed Isono could count as a but-her-face, for now, and he scowled. “Listen, I didn’t sign up for all this shit–”

“You will be compensated for your time today: ¥1,500,000.” 

Jounouchi's headache gripped his mind like a vise. “…What?” 

“There will be some paperwork for you to sign, of course, about confidentiality, but we can make the transfer as early as this afternoon. Are you available? He’s eager to meet.” 

“Sure. I mean… sure.” Jounouchi could see himself, warped and far away, in the dark shine of Isono’s glasses. He looked quite small. 

“Excellent. I’ll let him know. And one last thing: if we told you that you were a perfect candidate, would you sign away any legal recourse, effective immediately?”

Jounouchi’s mouth was bitter and dry from the coffee. He screwed up his face. “…What?” It was the second time he’d asked, but the question sounded softer, even more incredulous, now. The waitress had arrived and made a face at the dark card on the table. 

“Never seen one like this before.” She turned it over in her hands. “No name or anything on it–” 

“It works,” Isono said, looking expectantly at her. She cleaved the plastic through reader at the side of the payment terminal, eyebrows lifting in surprise when a receipt spluttered out. “Well, would you look at that. Thanks for coming, boys.” 

“No, thank you.” Isono rose smoothly from the booth and turned to Jounouchi. “Katsuya, if you’ll follow me.”

[shiningfremi]

freminet when you’re sick/hurting

s/o comfort headcanons + drabble!

- freminet will buy you so much stuff and deliver it right to you. fluffy socks? check. your favorite snacks + beverages? check. medicine? check! it’s like a never ending care package.

- he takes extra care to accompany you and stay close, even if he risks catching your illness. he cannot stand not to come to your aid whenever possible. and when you fall asleep, he adjusts the covers for you and dims the lights, making sure you are nice and comfortable.

- if you have a low appetite, he’ll make extra sure that you are drinking enough water. even if you’re taking the tiniest of sips, he is happy that you are trying.

🐠🍦♡ ̆̈☀️

freminet offered you some lemon water, and informed you that it can help with congestion.

“t-thanks..” you groan, shivering under the covers after you took a little taste.

“is there anything else i can do for you?” he inquired, gently reaching over to put a hand on your shoulder.

“you’ve already done so much for me, fremi.” suddenly, you wince as a horrible ache burgeons in your stomach, forcing you to curl up in a ball.

“of course, now is a time when you need it most-” he then quickly noticed your struggles and scooted a bit closer in concern. “y/n?”

you couldn’t help but cry out in pain, a single tear running down your cheek. you’ve never been this sick in a long time, and you simply felt miserable.

“my stomache..” are the only words you managed to choke out.

“shh, shh, it’s alright, i’m here.” he assured you, his heart broke seeing you in this dire condition.

you continue to sob, trying to stifle your cries the best you could.

“breathe, just breathe, as deeply as you are able.” freminet instructed you, his attention never leaving you, not even for a split second.

you did as he told you to do, breathing in and out, interrupted by a few pitiful coughs.

“there, there.” he soothed, and watched on as your breathing grew steady and your eyes blinked dry. he pulled out his hankerchief from his pocket to gently blot your tears and wipe off your nose.

“see? all better.” he playfully squished your cheeks, causing you to let out a small giggle. it seemed as if he knew exactly what do to when you were feeling down.

“there’s my y/n.”

“i’m sorry you have to see me like this.” you tell him, your voice shaky.

“there is no need to apologize.. i want nothing more than to make sure you’re not alone.” freminet leaned over you and planted a loving kiss on your forehead despite how much you were sweating.

“please don’t hesitate to rely on me.”

his gestures were so sweet, that it made your eyes want to glass over once more. you gave him a small, exhausted grin, and burrowed your head into your soft pillow as he coaxed you to get some more sleep.

🌴🐬♡ ̆̈🍉

- this amazing boy would most definitely hold your hair back in your times of nausea. he didn’t give any care to what you looked like, as that was the last thing on his mind, he just wanted to nurse you back to health no matter what.

- he would dutifully inform you about what you were missing out on, and passed on kind messages from your coworkers and friends.

- freminet would give you back and shoulder massages, hoping to ease your distress and help to relax your muscles.

- he would take great care of the place you two shared during your hiatus, cleaning thoroughly, cooking simple sick-friendly meals, and disinfecting everything.

- when your condition improves, he reminds you over and over again not to overwork yourself and continues to check up on you by touching your forehead with the back of his hand and tucking you in. you are everything to him! ଘ(੭´꒳`)°* ੈ‧₊˚

[camille2305]

She's mine 🫂🥹

Part 4: The Last

Epilogue

After Shamila left, Steve continued to keep his promise and called her whenever he could...

They obviously lived on opposite sides of the house and couldn't see each other whenever they wanted...

The day came when the couple finally moved to Charlotte, much to the delight of Shamila, who was over the moon...

They were able to take time off to celebrate the girl's 14th birthday with her, which was her biggest surprise...

At first, she had a hard time talking about it with her classmates for fear of being bullied. But she ended up confiding in her childhood best friend, whom she'd known since kindergarten, and who was also delighted to meet them on this occasion...

Steve, for his part, was happy to discover his daughter's world. He discovered a teenager who was a very good student, loved the choir, and adored animals. She even confided in him that she wanted to become a veterinarian.

Steve was proud of her; he truly considered her the greatest achievement of his life...

He had since shared the news with his mother, who dreamed of meeting her new granddaughter, and Shamila was thrilled to "finally" have a loving grandmother...

Indeed, her mother had confided in the guys that she had moved to North Carolina to live with her beloved grandmother because her own parents, devout Catholics, had mobbed the door after announcing her pregnancy; she had never introduced them to Shamila...

Steve felt sad for her but reassured by his mother's reaction...

Shamila's first birthday was memorable...

He so regretted not having attended the previous ones, thinking he'd missed everything about her development: her birth, her first steps and words, her starting school...

All of this broke his heart, but Neal reminded him that despite everything, the best was yet to come and that new memories would be made...

Shamila's 15th birthday arrived, then her 16th...

And Steve was always there whenever he could...

He watched his daughter grow up visibly, evolving from a young girl to an increasingly confident young woman who had recently started university...

At that same time, Shamila's mother discovered some sad news...

She had already been plagued by illness for some time, but not being the type to give up, she would fight to stay alive and see her daughter graduate...

Shamila is absolutely upset by this news that she shared with her father who was as sorry as she was about the situation...

teve had promised Shamila he'd always be there for her, and she knew she could count on him...

University drew to a close, and 19-year-old Shamila graduated under the moved gaze of her parents...

Her mother, very weak, had insisted on attending the event physically despite the fact that she needed to rest as much as possible...

The young woman introduced them to her boyfriend, whom she'd been seeing for almost three months at that point...

The young man was delighted to meet her parents but also very impressed to meet Steve Perry, who greeted him with a friendly handshake...

After almost three years of fighting, Shamila's mother passed away in her daughter's arms. Steve and Neal were, of course, present, this time with the group to support her...

Steve stayed with Shamila in Charlotte, helping her arrange the details of her mother's funeral.

He got to know his daughter's boyfriend better and better, seeing him as so thoughtful and loving, which delighted him; he was a good guy for Shamila.

The following year, Shamila turned 20 and began veterinary studies.

That same year, she announced her engagement to Steve and Neal.

On the big day, Steve beamed with pride as he walked her down the aisle; his little girl was a woman now.

Neal, deeply moved, watched the scene with tears in his eyes.

Indeed, Neal adored Shamila, partly because she reminded him of his loving husband. On the other hand, he loved her own personality, both shy and confident, her humor and kindness.

He sincerely considered her his own daughter. She considered him her father too...

The year following the wedding marked a turning point in Steve's life...

Shamila and her husband received the happiest news...

S: NEEEEAAAAL!!!!

N: STEVE! Is everything okay!!!!???

S: Shamila is pregnant!

N: Nooooo!! Really?? Incredible Stevie!!!

S: I'm...

Going to be...

A grandfather!!! 🥹��😂

N: And this child will have the sexiest grandfather ever...🥹🥹😂😂🤭

The pregnancy went well, but Steve was particularly worried about Shamila. He didn't really know how to manage his emotions or how to take care of a baby at the same time.

Neal and Sham tried to reassure him, and Steve began researching all the childcare books he could find to prepare himself.

Shortly before the birth, Steve and Neal had traveled to the hospital a few days beforehand.

Labor began.

Shamila was in her living room with her husband, Steve, and Neal when her water broke.

Steve screamed in panic when he saw all the fluid covering the floor, obviously due to a lack of knowledge on the subject.

The contractions intensified, and it was time to go to the maternity ward.

Shamila's husband drove her there, promising to update the couple as soon as there was any change.

Hours passed, night had fallen, and Steve was unable to sleep, doing the 100 steps like a caged lion...

N: Honey? Please come and rest! You're exhausted...

S: I can't, it's stressing me out too much, Neal, to... to know what's going on...

She must be suffering...

I want to do something...

N: Stevie, I know you've read about it in books, but that's just how it is. Shamila is suffering for a good cause right now, and her husband is with her to support her, so you don't have to worry...

He'll call us as soon as the baby is here...

S: Sorry, love...

Suddenly, a bell rang around 5:00 a.m....

Steve, who had fallen asleep, woke up with a start...

S: Neal!!! The baby's born!!!

It's a boy!!!

N: Congratulations on your grandson, my love...❤️

S: OUR grandson Neal...🥹❤️

The next day, Neal and Steve arrived at the maternity ward...

Neal and their son-in-law insisted that Steve see the baby alone first...

He knocked on the bedroom door while swallowing...

Sh: Come in!

Steve entered slowly; he didn't want to make any noise...

He saw his daughter, lying in bed, with dark circles under her eyes, visibly exhausted from childbirth, and holding the sacred little bundle...

She was breastfeeding...

S: My god! My daughter has become a mom...🥹

Sh: Hello, Dad, come here...

Steve turned around first to give Shamila time to put her scrubs back on...

He burst into tears at the sight of the baby...

S: Aaaaw, Sham! How beautiful he is, you are truly incredible...🥹❤️

Sh: Thank you 🥹❤️

Do you want to take him?

Steve panicked. He was scared of that moment, having never really interacted with such small babies...

S: Sham! I... I'm scared I'll drop him...

Sh: Don't be scared, Dad, I was scared too, actually, but you'll manage...🤭

So Steve instinctively reached out his arms. He was surprised by the baby's lightness and couldn't contain his emotion...

S: Hey! Hello, little one! Welcome to this world. I'm your grandfather, and I promise to watch over you...

You're so lucky to have parents like yours, and your mom was so brave during your arrival, I'm sure of it...

Your grandmother is also watching over you from the stars...

I already love you so much, little treasure...

Sh: We named him Jesse, Dad, and his middle name is Stephen, we named it in your honor...😍

Steve was so proud when he announced the name...

He hadn't met Shamila when she was a baby as small as Jesse, but he didn't expect her to decide to name him after himself...

S: Jesse Stephen...🥹

Thank you, my dear, what a wonderful gift.

Sh: It was obvious to us, you know. You may not have known me until I was thirteen, but you've always been there since we met...

S: Sham, you are exceptional...🥹❤️

Sh: I love you so much, Dad...🥹❤️

Steve and Shamila looked at each other tenderly, then he looked at the baby...

He thought it was the most beautiful baby in the world, and he owed it to his dear daughter...

[likecanyoujustnot]

Cardan’s letters pov

Part 3: games

A/n: I wrote it pretty quickly. This is so much easier than the feysand one. Hm. Shouldn’t take me long to do the others

Part 2. Part 4

I was positively miserable. Another week had passed, making it 25 days she’d been gone for. I had never cared this much about time before now.

The court had noticed I wasn’t the same. Many rumours I’d been injured, or fallen ill. I supposed I was ill. Heartbreak or as close to it as I could get at the moment.

Never thought I’d feel something like this. Ever. Never thought I’d care so much about someone I’d yearn for their presence so much. To hear their voice, see their face and smile. Care so much that they could come so close to breaking my heart.

I’d come so close to just asking Taryn for help, but after all she’d done to Jude, I wasn’t inclined to speak to her.

But I knew who I would be.

“I know you’ve been seeing Jude.”

The roach looked up at me from where he sat looking at spy reports.

“What makes you say that?” The fact he didn’t deny it told me all I needed to know.

“You’re not the only one with sources.” It was a guess, but I knew him well enough to know he cared for Jude. He wasn’t likely to just ignore her.

“I am your sources.”

“That’s beside the point.” I sat at the small table across from him.

“Remind me again of the point since you already know I’ve seen her.”

Is she safe? Angry? Does she use her every breath to declare how much she hates me? I go for a less desperate question. “How is she?”

“She’s fine.” He went back to his report.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

He sighed and set down the pen. “She’s mentioned you maybe twice.”

My stomach dropped. Maybe she didn’t even see me as important enough to return to. “Is she angry?”

“As angry as someone who’s been exiled by one they trusted can be.”

“So very angry?”

“Not quite. She seems to be more… distant. Cold. She’s been using her time as a mercenary for the folk living in her area, getting paid just enough to help her sister, killing and dealing with their issues.”

She was queen now. Anything I owned now belonged to the both of us. And vice versa. She now had access to the entire royal coffers, all the gold and valuables Mab and my father collected.

Now hers.

“That news disturbs you.” He was very observant, I’d give him that.

I didn’t answer him for a while. Keeping quiet in thought.

“Does she want to come back?”

“I’m not sure, she hasn’t mentioned it.” His gaze hardened. “Besides, you exiled her, said that if she came back she’d be killed. Jude is many things, foolish is not one of them, she wouldn’t come back to a death trap.”

He didn’t know about the loophole, so I couldn’t have him relay the message.

“I spoke to Vivienne once while she was out.”

Vivi and I had been friendly. Her closeness to Rhyia caused us to interact on occasion.

“What’d she say?”

“Not much, she’s distrustful of the fae. Said Jude barely spoke to her, that she was jittery, would spend a couple minutes every day just staring at space, playing with the ring on her finger.”

The wedding ring. The one I’d used my lessons of slight hand to take as she’d worn it. Given back to her as we exchanged vows. The far didn’t do wedding rings. But I’d thought Jude would appreciate it.

She’d probably told Vivi we were married. I doubt either would’ve told the roach.

My heart ached. I’d been an idiot. Marry her and exile her in the space of a couple hours. What could go wrong?

Clearly everything.

I put my head in my hands and rested my elbows on the table. “I just want her back.”

“Maybe you should tell her that.”

“I can’t.” My voice cracked.

“Well then, not much I can do I’m afraid.”

I looked up at the roach. “Can you tell her?”

“No.”

I glared at him. “I am your king-”

He stared back at me with just as much will. “Yes, but you are also my friend, Cardan. And I will not fix your mistakes for you. I will not be your go between in this weird relationship you two have going on. You want her back you tell her that, you fight for her back.”

“I’m not a fighter.” Balekin had felt the need to remind me of that every time I failed.

“Not all fighting is done with a sword.”

The roach stood up and left.

I grabbed a piece of blank paper from where he had been working and grabbed the quill.

The words came much easier to me today that they had the past times I’d tried writing to her.

Jude,

You are in no mood for games. Very well. I am in no mood for them either.

Let me write it outright. You are pardoned. I revoke your banishment. I rescind my words. Come home.

Come home and shout at me. Come home and fight with me. Come home and break my heart, if you must.

Just come home.

Cardan

I stared at the words on the page. No room for misinterpretation. I told her she wouldn’t be killed, that she would be safe, that I wanted her to come home. To me.

I needed her to come home.

My wife,

My queen,

My Jude.

Tags:

@magicstrengthandcourage

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Gary Legum at Wonkette:

It has now been three weeks since Rümeysa Öztürk, a Turkish graduate student at Tufts University, was kidnapped off the street by America’s immigration Gestapo. Öztürk was told that Secretary of State Marco Rubio had revoked her student visa, and she was now going to be deported. Her supposed crime? Writing an op-ed in the Tufts student paper last year criticizing the school for not listening more to its students who were protesting the United States’ support of Israel’s actions in the Gaza Strip. Since then, reporters have kept trying to remind Rubio that there’s this whole constitutionally guaranteed right to free speech that even noncitizen visa holders in the United States have. Rubio’s response has been to darkly hint, without showing a lick of evidence — because there is no evidence, it’s all an excuse to take their bigot dicks out for a swing — that Öztürk has been supporting terrorists or some other nefarious activity. You’re not going to believe this, but Rubio is so full of shit that his shoes squish when he walks. This is not just us talking, it’s also the Washington Post. The paper reported on Monday the sequence of events that led up to the sight of six armed and masked dipshits handcuffing a foreign grad student on her way to break her Ramadan fast. According to the Post, the Department of Homeland Security recommended revoking Öztürk’s visa under the Immigration and Nationality Act. The State Department then looked into the case and produced an answering memo stating that the Trump administration had produced exactly zero evidence that Öztürk had made antisemitic statements (which wouldn’t have been grounds for deportation even if she had, see the point about the First Amendment above) or done anything “in support of Hamas,” as DHS claimed. Therefore, State concluded, Rubio did not have grounds for revoking her visa. Ah, but what if there was another authority under the INA that allowed Rubio to revoke the visa? An authority that the legislation describes as the “Fuck 'em, what are they gonna do, sue us” provision?

So Congress passed a law that says 1) you can be deported if you committed some ill-defined offense against America, and 2) you can be deported if you DIDN’T commit some ill-defined offense against America so long as the secretary of State is a weak-willed and galactically bigoted moron.

[...] How did Öztürk get on DHS’s radar, anyway? Do they have legions of eager white supremacists fresh off internships at The Daily Caller combing the nation’s college newspapers looking for anyone with a foreign-sounding name who might dare to suggest that America shouldn’t provide bombs to a country that we know will drop them on defenseless civilian populations? Actually, we wouldn’t put that past them. But in this case, Öztürk may have come to DHS’s attention through Canary Mission, a mysterious group that has been doxing foreign anti-Israel protesters in an obvious effort to get them deported, or at least scare them into shutting up.

[...] On Monday, the ACLU was in a Vermont courtroom representing Öztürk. After her abduction, she was almost immediately flown to a concentration camp — excuse us, “detention center” — in Louisiana to await deportation proceedings. The government had hustled to get her from Boston into a jurisdiction in the South, where the judges are a lot less friendly to immigrants. The ACLU argues that while the government has the right to revoke Öztürk’s visa, she was illegally arrested. The organization’s lawyers who are representing Öztürk argued she should be brought back to New England and released for the duration of the proceedings. Unfortunately, even getting her back up North will take awhile. A couple of days before the hearing, Öztürk released an affidavit describing her abduction and transport to Louisiana, and it sounds fucking insane. The government isn’t prepared for the huge influx of unfortunate people caught in the Trump administration’s ramped-up deportation regime, so it doesn’t have adequate space and supplies for them. 

The Trump Regime’s plans to deport Rümeysa Öztürk are a slap in the face to American values.

[seoksgrl]

happier than ever, 2. : knj namjoon x reader friends to strangers to lovers

tws: alcohol addiction, vomiting, grief, mention of death and terminal illness

m.list prev | next

Waking up is the same as it always is these days, head weighed down with the fogginess of the night before, the withdrawal kicking in after hours of unconsciousness. You call it that, nowadays, because what you experience doesn’t really constitute sleep anymore. You used to have dreams, wake up in the middle of the night needing to pee or simply waking from the sunlight beginning its slow descent across the scope of your room. 

Nowadays, you pass out and stay in the same position for hours on end, no dreaming and, usually, no waking up until the light in your room forces you to. You’ve had more than a few occasions where your body has been so sedated by the alcohol in your system that you haven’t even woken up to pee. Simply relieving yourself in your sleep just like you did when you were a three year old. It would humiliate you if you allowed yourself to dwell on anything in the last few years; now you have the luxury of blocking it all out. 

Dragging yourself out of bed, you fight the initial dizziness that comes with your hangover, though it’s always worse than anything you experienced when alcohol was just a treat on the weekends. Now, you drink not only to escape the hurricane of emotions that threaten to drown you when you think too long, but also to get rid of the mind-numbing, persistent symptoms of alcohol withdrawal. One foot in front of the other, you stumble to your old armoire, tugging open the door and ignoring the bundled up clothes that fall out, forgotten and unwashed. At the bottom is your stash, not that you really need to hide the glass bottles of clear liquor anymore. Now you’re all alone in the world, you don’t have the risk of anyone snatching away your vodka before you can remedy your headache with some good, old hair of the dog. 

The liquor burns as it glides down your throat, hitting the pit of your empty stomach before it blooms in warmth. After a few seconds, you almost start to feel numb again - perfection. 

Wiping the sleep and leftover makeup from your eyes, you finally glance around the room you have slept in since you were five years old. There’s a bolt of something akin to panic that rushes through you when you spot the space where your empty liquor bottles used to take residence on your bedside table, vacant. You, of course, don’t remember much of the night before, or really the last few weeks or months, but you can’t imagine you would do something so out of character as to use your drunken stupor to do some spring cleaning. 

It’s after the second swig of vodka that the smell drifts into the room, toast and eggs it seems like. It’s so familiar, so warm and sunny that you screw your eyes closed, swallowing a few more burning gulps of the liquor to shoo away this awful hallucination. It’s cruel, that the universe would do this to you, remind you of the lightness of your old life. But it doesn’t go away, the scent of food continues to waft from downstairs, along with the sounds of someone moving plates and cutlery around, and you almost freeze, wondering if you brought home a guy last night, an unexpected gentleman willing to cook you breakfast after a night of what you can only assume was lacklustre, drunken sex as you peer down at your outfit - a large, ratty t-shirt and underwear. 

You even managed to get changed last night? Nothing seems to be adding up. But your stomach is growling, and after a drink, you’re sure you’ll be able to suffer through a stilted conversation with your friendly one-night-stand before you unceremoniously kick him out. It wouldn’t be the first time.  

The old stairs creak as you pad down, barefoot and still pantless. The liquor bottle abandoned on your nightstand where you can go back to it later if you run out of the whiskey you keep in the kitchen. You’re feeling like an irish coffee might be the ideal accompaniment to this awkward breakfast. 

When you get to the bottom step, your stomach is growling, but your mind is beginning to cloud over with that familiar haze you’ve grown comfortable in, the vodka finally doing its job as your headache fades just a little. You shuffle quietly into the kitchen, eyes flitting up to see what kind of guy you dragged home with you last night before you stop in your tracks, your body icing over as the man in question glances up, eyes flicking to your legs for no less than a heartbeat before he’s looking right at you. 

“Oh, good,” Namjoon says, “you’re up. I got you some painkillers,”

The universe is clearly playing some kind of cruel joke on you, to conjure up this image of this man standing in your kitchen, cooking breakfast on a frying pan you can only assume he must have washed. God knows you haven’t cleaned in months. 

Kim Namjoon can’t possibly be standing in the kitchen of your childhood home right now, filling up the space with a body that is far thicker and more sculpted than you remember. He looks older, but in a good way, faint crinkles at the corner of his eyes as he squints over to you, quirking a brow as if he can't understand why you’re still standing there. 

“Wh - “

“Why are you here, Namjoon?” You wish your voice sounded a little stronger, slurriness coating your words accompanying the breathless in which you ask the question. You are supposed to be angry, you’ve pictured a moment similar to this thousands of times, and each time you tore into him, inspiring even an ounce of the hurt and pain you’ve endured over the last few years would be enough to satisfy you. You hate him, and you hate that you don’t hate him nearly as much as you want to. 

He dusts off his hands, wiping them on the back of his jeans, “I figured you might not remember,”

“Remember what?” You ask, a sharp spike of something spearing your stomach, making you hot all over. God, you didn’t sleep together did you?

“I brought you home last night, Y/N,” He says, voice low and steady, the exact opposite of how you’re feeling right now, swaying where you stand when his brows narrow and his lips part, “Are you still drunk?”

You can’t do this right now, you can’t have this conversation with him. Especially not him. 

Namjoon always had a knack for seeing right through your bullshit, though back then, that meant calling you out when you tried to lie about whether you were in a mood or not, or calling you a liar when you hid your face in the sleeves of your sweater and told him you were yawning and not watching the slasher movie through the gaps in your fingers. You absolutely cannot talk to him about the clusterfuck that your life has turned into, not when you glance down at his wrist, spotting the rolex that does all it needs to remind you of the different paths your lives have taken. 

He walks around the small kitchen island, his frame towering over you even as you try to appear unfazed. It’s impossible though, you’re swimming in that sweet, warm pool of numbness, and you are already uncoordinated, stumbling back a step when he reaches out to grab your elbow. His nostrils flare a little, a concerned notch forming between his brows. 

“Have you had a drink already?”

Tugging from his hold, you step away, thankful that the wall stops you from falling flat on your ass. You duck around him, moving to the sink where you rinse your hands for no reason under the cool water, perhaps to soothe your overheated skin. You’re angry, and sad, and fucking drunk already, and you cannot do this with him right now. 

“You should go. You don’t need to babysit me,”

Namjoon, you note with relief, doesn't follow you. He stays where he is, your positions in the kitchen swapped now as you wander over to the pan where the cooked eggs sit. Your mouth waters, but the second you’re reminded of Namjoon’s presence, your mouth fills with saliva as the nausea washes over you. 

“Are you alone here?” Namjoon asks, as if he already knows the answer but wants to hear you confirm it, “Where is your mom?”

A scoff bursts free from your lips as you brace yourself on the counter, your back to Namjoon because you can’t possibly look at him right now. He makes you feel too much, always has, and the alcohol flooding your blood only makes it all the more unbearable. 

“Dead,” You answer simply, relieved at the continued wave of numbness that swallows your chest. You haven't felt anything in years now, but your mother’s death a year ago certainly solidified the fucked up state of your life. Your post-break up binge drinking turned into constant drinking, and now looking back, you can’t remember the last time you went without. You feel sick all over again, already aware this is more than you can take. You’re not about to stand here reminiscing, “She died a year ago, some dumbass doctor didn’t find the tumour until it was too late. Now, it’s just me,” 

Just you. Utterly, suffocatingly alone. 

The nausea bubbles up your throat once more and you swallow it down, taking deep, shaky breaths to stave off the urge to vomit. The scent of the breakfast Namjoon made suddenly has your stomach rolling instead of growling, and the longer you sit in this deafening silence with him, the more you feel your control slipping. You need a drink, more vodka. Maybe you can find the whiskey somewhere in the mess of the kitchen, you just need - 

Throat clenching, you stagger to the now empty sink, emptying your guts of the pitiful amount of food lingering in your stomach. When was the last time you ate anything? You don’t know - it’s not like you eat often nowadays, preferring to drink until your stomach sloshes, full and bloated, forgotten as you skip into unconsciousness. 

Your bleary, watery gaze stares into the sink which is now filled with the contents of your stomach, your shoulders curling as you dry heave, bile burning your throat. The warmth of a hand rubbing your back is what you notice next, gasping against each empty gag. It feels too familiar, too good. It reminds you of your mother, and of Namjoon, and his warm, masculine scent drifts over you, overwhelming and a searingly painful reminder. His hands barely manage to smooth your unwashed hair from the nape of your neck before you push him away, wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Leave me alone,” Your voice is hoarse, tears you can no longer shed clogging your throat, and you swallow down the acrid taste in your mouth, glaring at your former best friend, “I want you to go. I don’t want you here,”

He stares at you, unblinking, eerily silent as if he doesn’t know who he is looking at right now. Well, that’s his issue, his fault, you think. He left, you didn’t. You stayed here, waiting, foolishly hoping that he might come back. Come home, to you. 

You learned the hard way from a young age that everyone leaves. Your father abandoning you and your mother before you were even born, it set the tone for your future. You’re just not the kind of person someone wants to stick around to watch, kind of like a car crash happening in slow motion. It's been that way forever, it feels like, and through it all, Namjoon had seemed like the only tether holding you above the waves, stopping you from going under. Your lighthouse in a storm.  

But then he let go, left to move onto better things. And seeing him now, seeing him be just as successful as you always knew he would be doesn’t make it hurt any less. 

Everyone leaves, it was foolish of you to believe he would be any different. That fact that he’s here now, thirteen years too late, staring at you with a bleak look of guilt proves your point. He made his choice back then, and you stopped waiting for him a long time ago.

“Y/N,” Is all he says, and the sound of your name in his voice, so much deeper, aged than when he left, it has a shiver running up your spine, “what happened?”

“I just told you. I’m an orphan now, and I can take care of myself,” 

Debatable, even to you as you try to block out the reality of your pitiful existence, but you aren’t about to fall into Namjoon just for him to turn and walk out the door again. Maybe he stayed overnight, but that doesn’t mean much where you’re concerned. Men have done the same after a drunken fuck, but they always leave in the cold light of day, when they wake up and realise where they are, when they see what a mess you are. And you know Namjoon will too.

He doesn’t argue, slipping his hand into his jean pocket and placing a small scrap of paper on the kitchen counter. You’re not going to give him the satisfaction of looking at it, even as you wonder, but he nods, stepping away as he keeps his eyes on you for a beat longer.

“I’m staying at Lunar Hotel, room four. You know where I am if you change your mind,”

“Don’t stick around on my account,” You say, watching as Namjoon winces at the venom in your words, “you can run back to Seoul for all I care,”

He doesn’t stick around for much longer, his jaw tight as he turns, doing exactly what you predicted and walking out the door. Watching his frame exit the house, closing the dusty glass door behind him, your eyes shift towards the threadbare couch big enough to sit two people at a push. Atop the cushions is a blanket and a couple of throw pillows. 

You shake your head, reaching into the nearest cupboard and breathing a sigh of relief when you find the half-drunk bottle of whiskey. Namjoon’s reappearance makes you want to drain the bottle, but you settle on a quick sip before making an irish coffee. When you’re done, your hands tremble a little, but you shake it off, eyes snagging on the slip of paper on the counter. 

Without Namjoon’s watchful gaze, you step towards it, scanning the quickly scrawled letters reading Primrose Rehab Centre. There’s a skip in your throat, your hand crumpling up the paper and throwing it at the wall where it falls to join two full rubbish bags. The threat of having your coping mechanism taken away has your heart beating fast, even as a voice in your head tempts you to wonder for a moment what life would be like if you weren’t so fucked up. 

The reminder that Namjoon wouldn’t have deigned to stick around has your lips lifting in a sneer, and you grab the whiskey bottle by the neck, forgoing your coffee in favour of something stronger. 

The burn of the liquor down your throat almost distracts you from the emptiness in your chest.

Namjoon can barely register his own name being called as he stares out the window at the road, only coming back to himself when a heavy hand rests on his shoulder.

“Hey, man, you good?” Jooheon asks, his face open, warm and welcoming. It seems aside from a few others, Jooheon is the only person actually happy to see him back in town. 

Namjoon forces a smile on his face, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. It doesn’t feel real. How can it after the morning he’s had, watching you stagger into the kitchen, reeking of booze with a glaze in your eye that reminds him of how you were last night. 

He thought you were having a bad night, the reunion and everything with Seokjin causing you to get a little drunk by the lake. When he managed to all but carry you into the home you grew up in, he could hardly believe what he was seeing, even in the dark. The house was dirty, a layer of dust on almost every surface, and he could barely breathe for the scent of stale booze and must. He knew as he settled you into bed, taking his place on the old sofa, that something was deeply wrong. He’d seen the bottles in your room, but perhaps there was still a part of him hoping for some explanation. One that didn’t take the ground from his feet and have his stomach plummeting when you confessed in that cold, empty voice that your mother died.

Namjoon remembers your mom, a sweet woman, fiercely protective of her daughter and endlessly supportive. Like his own mom, she raised you alone, and he couldn’t deny she did an amazing job. At least looking at the girl he left behind thirteen years ago - now, you’re lost. Empty, soulless eyes and the absence of the smile he always loved. 

It makes him feel ill, and he is solely responsible. If he had been here, if he had known - he clenched his fist against the porcelain handle of his coffee cup. 

Jooheon waits for his reply, and Namjoon clears his throat, “I went to see Y/N,”

Instantly Jooheon’s smile falters, his feet carrying him to the empty chair opposite Namjoon in the tiny eating area of the bed and breakfast. The decor is dated, a little worn, but Namjoon feels oddly at peace as he tries to come to terms with the reality of your situation. 

“She’s had it rough, the last couple years,” Jooheon says, and Namjoon nods, now well aware of how bad you’ve had it, “When Juwon got sick, we tried to rally round, but you remember how Y/N’s mom was. She was a fighter, never wanted to accept help off anyone,”

Almost a mirror image of you, it seems, Namjoon thinks, swallowing hard. He looks to his former classmate, eager for any and all information. 

“How long did it…”

He smiled sadly, “They found the cancer too late to really do anything. With Y/N losing the studio, as far as I’m aware they couldn’t cope with the hospital bills. Seokjin offered to help but Y/N refused,”

Namjoon can’t blame you. He’s sure if he was harbouring a broken heart, he wouldn’t accept help from the person who broke it either. He just wishes he’d known. But that’s his own damn fault, he reminds himself with a shake of his head.

He gets stuck on one piece of new info that Jooheon has given him.

“When did Y/N lose the studio? How did all this happen?” It seems like you had one tragedy after another, and all over again, the guilt eats at Namjoon like a virus. 

Jooheon’s jaw clenches, his head shaking softly as he speaks, “Y/N was planning to move to a bigger city, to open an art studio there. Hold classes and stuff. Seokjin didn’t wanna leave town and so after he proposed, they stayed here. But, Namjoon,” his classmate speaks low, as if he doesn’t want to be overheard, despite the lack of people in the B&B, “this town is desolate. Barely anyone passes through here nowadays, not like when we were kids. The council in this town don’t appreciate change, and so everyone’s businesses have suffered, including Y/N’s,”

Seokjin’s selfish ass, Namjoon thinks, his lip curling. He would buy you any studio you want, in any city, but his rational mind knows throwing money at the problem isn’t gonna fix it. He pauses, dwelling on the events of last night, the anxiety he had listening out for even a hint that you might be choking on your own vomit. The thought makes him shiver, the idea of you alone in that house, rotting away and drinking until you pass out. 

He can’t leave, even as his phone pings with the reminder to set off to the airport. He just can’t - he hasn’t even packed, almost like he knew the second he got back to the bed and breakfast that he wasn’t going anywhere. 

“Do you want me to check you out of your room?” Jooheon asks, but there’s a look in his eye that tells Namjoon he knows the answer he will give him.

“No,” He replies, “I’m gonna stick around for a while longer,”

please let me know if you wish to be added to the taglist!

[ask-sibverse]

Prompt: hiking date with Killer (As much fun as explicitly diabetic related situations are, it's nice to do some things where the main focus isn't diabetes. I do have another diabetes focused drabble planned, but for now, fluff! Mostly.) Set in the same version of things as this

TW: violent intrusive thoughts

(Like this? Want more? Send a prompt!)

Cgm, check. Pump set to activity mode (one of the author's favorite damn settings about the Omnipod), check. A boatload of granola bars and other low blood sugar snacks to shove in your inventory, check. Plenty of water? Got it.

"I think I'm ready," you said.

Killer had suddenly texted you that he's taking you on a hike, before immediately backtracking and asking if it was too much with your diabetes. You tried to resist the urge to smack him as you reminded him you swim regularly in the summer and did martial arts several times a week for years. You know how to balance diabetes and exercise.

So here you were now and hour later about to go on a date with Killer. Was it a date? He hadn't called it one. It could just be a friendly, platonic outing. You shouldn't make things weird.

But you were ready to go, either way. You walked out of your room to find Killer on the couch with your cat. Cats are tiny hunters and Killer is, well... Yeah. So it didn't really surprise you that he got along great with your cat. Said cat was currently purring in his lap.

"I'm ready to go."

"I'm trapped, go on without meeeee."

You stared at him. "I don't even know where we're supposed to be hiking."

"Oh yeah. But the caaaaat."

You snorted and scooped up your cat. He meowed in complaint but let you move him off the murder skeleton. "Lets get going, shall we?"

He nodded eagerly. "You ever been to Mount Ebbott?"

"No, I don't think I have."

"Its not too horrible a hike, and the view is great from the entrance to the Underground."

"Okay, let me get my car keys."

"Why bother? You've got someone with you who can teleport."

"I keep forgetting that."

Killer snorted and extended his hand. "Hang on tight."

Shortcuts were sometimes more disorienting than portals. Portals you at least were passing through something to get from point A to point B, shortcuts you were one place and then you blinked and were somewhere else. So to suddenly be in the woods at the base of Mt Ebbott took a moment for your mind to catch up with.

Killer started dragging you up the path as soon as you collected yourself. It was a beautiful, sunny day. Birds were singing, flowers were blooming, and it was just the two of you on the mountain.

"Is it usually this peaceful?" You asked. "I don't think anyone is up here."

"Depends on the AU, and the time of year," Killer said. "But yeah, no one but us here right now." He paused. It seemed like thoughts were running through his mind. "I could do anything to you, and no one would know."

"Killer."

"I wouldn't, I promise!"

"Killer."

You sighed. "What's going through your head?"

"... That no one would hear you scream. That I could chase you through the woods and kill you, watch my knives make you into a pincushion and no one would find out until it was too late. But I won't do that, promise!"

You put a hand on his shoulder. "Do we need to go back? It sounds like your mind is getting to you."

"No! Ill be fine, I want to show you the view from the top!"

"Alright, I trust you."

So you filled the silence to give him a distraction. Talking about your hobbies and cats, asking what he and the gang had been up to. It seemed to work, at least to distract him if it didn't fix things. You almost didn't notice the entrance to the Underground until you were about to fall in, Killer having to grab you by the collar of your jacket.

"Don't fall in. You're not a Frisk." he snorted. You stuck your tongue out before turning.

The view took your breath away. You could see all of Ebott City from here and the surrounding valley. You could imagine how incredible it must feel to see this for the first time after centuries kept underground.

"This is..."

"Incredible, yeah. I saw it a few times before my human really lost it."

You squeezed his hand gently. "I hope Chara doesn't reset here, I'd hate for everyone to lose this." Especially your friends

"Eh, who knows." He shrugged. "Don't have a high opinion of most of those brats. Or humans in general."

"What about me?"

"You're... Different. Special."

[andreaharewood]

[ … ] ❀ you’re not from around here , are you? i figured because you totally just missed { andrea harewood } walking by. don’t tell me you don’t know who { she } is? they kind of look like { ayo edebriri } and i could be wrong but i think that they might be { twenty six } years old right now. they’ve been living in palmview for the last { year }. and i don’t know if anyone has ever told them this before but they kind of remind me of { samantha montgomery } from { a cinderalla story }. if you stick around the town long enough you might catch them in action working at { ocean view pizza } as a { chef/waitress }. you see this town isn’t really that big of a place, some folks like to call them the { sweetheart } of palmview! they took a liking to the name too after a while, go figure. oh crap, they must have heard me yapping. they’re coming this way. i got to warn you though, rumor has it they can pretty { insecure } at times. i wouldn’t take it too seriously though, from the times i’ve spoken to them they seemed pretty { kind-hearted } to me. we see each other all the time since they live in that { 2 bed } apartment beside me over in { sunny shores }. i better leave you to it. it was nice meeting you! 

name: andrea harewood nickname(s): drea, andie, dee, harewood date of birth : january 18th, 1998 birthplace : manhattan, new york city, new york parents: sophie & darren harewood (both deceased), chloe anderson (step-mother) siblings : claudia (step), sabbi (step) height : 174cm / 5'7" ft orientation : bisexual + biromantic martial status : single children : none languages : english, french degree(s) : degrees in international literature, public affairs & journalism

background {WIP - will likely add more}

growing up, with her adoring parents - sophie and darren, drea had wished for nothing more than a sibling. she was a happy, sweet girl. she was quiet but friendly and had a few strong loyal friends.

when she was 11 years old, her mother fell ill and passed away quickly. it devasted her and her father but instead of mourning together, her father distanced himself and threw himself into work.

the summer before high school, her father had returned from a business trip with big news - he was engaged. drea had never met the woman and did her best not to think the worst of her and her father.

however, her fears were about to come true. her father, in incompetence or ignorance or pure stupidity, had gotten engaged to a woman ten years his junior after knowing her only 3 months. she, along with her two daughters, moved into drea's house right away. her dad claimed this was to merge their families but no merging occurred between the three teenagers.

to escape her step sister's torment, drea threw herself into school and work at her father's cafe. she spent all her evenings and weekends working, keeping her wages and tips as savings for university and moving out when she was able.

~~~~

resume

Harewood Cafe : waitress [ 2014 - 2017 ]

New York University (NYU) : internship / teaching assistant [ 2019 - 2020 ]

New York Times : intern [ 2020 - 2021 ]

Sylvia's : chef [ 2021 - 2023 ]

Ocean View Pizza : chef & waitress [ 2024 - current ]

[theawkwardvirgin]

Margaret Sanger: A Racist, Ableist Eugenicist

In honor of the March for Life taking place yesterday, here’s a friendly reminder that Margaret Sanger was a racist, ableist eugenicist.

In her article My Way to Peace, she outlined this 3-step plan to prevent “fifteen or twenty millions of our population” from tainting society:

Sterilizing anyone with mental or physical disabilities and putting them to work on segregated farms for the rest of their lives.

Putting poor, illiterate, drug-addicted, or sex-working individuals to work on state-run concentration farms, which they would only be allowed to leave if they reformed and accepted sterilization.

Institute mandatory birth-control training for women with serious illnesses like heart disease, to discourage them from having children.

In that same document, she specifies that she includes those “barred from entrance by the Immigration Laws of 1924” and their descendants among the undesirable groups that should be sterilized and segregated—said immigration laws barred Asians and imposed severe restrictions on the number of Africans and Arabs allowed to enter the country.

Her support for this plan actually resulted in 30 states passing laws allowing for forced sterilization: “At least 70,000 people in the United States were forcibly sterilized under the laws promoted by Sanger and her associates. Far more, especially women prisoners and women on welfare, were surreptitiously sterilized.”

She went on to say in A Better Race Through Birth Control that “women of subnormal mentality, however lacking they may be in vision and altruism, would prefer to avoid the pain and responsibilities of procreation, if the satisfaction of sex could be divorced from reproduction.”

In her article In Defense of Assassination, she said, “Exterminating warfare is also waged against the savage members of the human race wherever they oppose the establishment of conditions necessary for the development of the more highly organized types.”

In fact, Sanger’s eugenicist beliefs are so blatant that a Planned Parenthood center in NYC actually removed their founder’s name from their clinic because they didn’t want to be associated with her eugenicist policies—an ironic decision, as they continue to advocate for some of the methods of eugenics Sanger supported.

While Sanger’s ultimate mission of segregation and forced sterilization has failed, her eugenicist beliefs continue to succeed in more subtle ways. For instance, in NYC in 2013, more Black babies were aborted than born, at a rate of 67.3 per 1,000, a rate vastly higher than any other racial group. While that rate decreased to 32.6 in 2020, the disparity between races increased, with Black babies being aborted over 5 times more often than their white counterparts.

The fact that Margaret Sanger supported the forced sterilization and enslavement of POC, drug addicts, sex workers, and disabled individuals has been suppressed for decades, so as not to complicate the message that she is a champion of women’s rights. Ignoring these facts—ignoring her own words—allows these evils to continue uncontested. We cannot remain in ignorance. We cannot meaningfully separate Planned Parenthood’s current actions from their founder, especially as the racial disparities are only growing more extreme. Regardless of how you feel about abortion, it’s eugenicist roots are a vital piece of information to have when considering it.

Now that Roe v. Wade has been overturned, the March for Life has turned even more attention to mitigating the damage done by Margaret Sanger’s eugenicist beliefs. Specifically, to ensure that all pregnant women and their families have easier access to several kinds of support, so they can make a truly informed decision instead of believing that abortion is their only option.

With every woman, with every child.