#that's it and the rest is timezone crying hours :)

[jamminvroomvroom]

congrats on 5k queen! you’re writing is so brilliant beyond belief and you deserve all the love and support this site has to offer. can i request lando+angsty smut (the best combo)…prompts along the lines of “i don’t think im ever going to love anyone the way i love you”//“i don’t think i want to love anyone else”

how did it end?

ln x famous fem!reader

in which it ends, until…

i love this fic with my whole heart. thank u sm for this request, anon, and for being so absolutely for gorgeous and kind <3 kicking off the 5k celebration with a big, sad, sexy bang! lemme know what you think, hugs n kisses

songs to set the mood: how did it end? by taylor swift

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, angst angst angst, fluff, happy ending! exes to lovers, just. a lot going on. sad!lando, sad!everyone, so many feels, r is a big deal model, alcohol consumption, mentions of smoking

4.1k words

one gasp, and then…

“how did it end?” the woman strokes your arm, soothing, tentative.

you don’t know her all that well, she’s signed to the same agency as you, you see her in the halls sometimes and sit next to her in makeup chairs.

you stare blankly at her, registering. news travels fast apparently.

you smile, small, fake, tilting your head to the side. you mumble something about different schedules, timezones, right person, wrong time. she watches your face intently, with sympathy. you want to throttle her. she’s being kind and you despise her for it right now.

“i won’t tell anyone.” she affirms, her fingers still smoothing over the skin of your arm.

yes you will, you think. all of her friends, the rest of the building will know exactly what you’ve told her by the time you get to your meeting. you don’t begrudge her, though, that’s the nature of the industry.

“well, it was good to see you.” you nod, even go in for a quick hug, and then you speed away, beelining for the elevator. the ride is short, your managers office somewhere on the third floor and you shuffle down the corridor, ready to be informed of what your life will look like for the next three months.

fittings, shoots, paris trip.

mhm.

swimwear season, charlotte tilbury, meeting with the vogue journalist.

cool.

week off, few days in london, monaco grand prix.

no.

“what? no.” you splutter. out of habit, you reach for a necklace, frown when you realise it’s no longer there.

“what do you mean, no?” she narrows her eyes at you.

“i can’t go to the race. no.”

“girl, i love you, but did i ask?”

“you know i can’t-“

“you won’t have to see him.” she reasons.

“but what if i do? he’s obviously gonna be there, and the events before and after- no. no.”

“lando norris is not gonna be the end of you.”

you stifle a laugh, one that sounds more like a strangled cry.

what if he already was?

-

look who we ran into at the shops,

walking in circles like he was lost

lando stares at the shampoo.

specifically, the one you use. used. he can’t be too sure anymore, he supposes.

he’d popped out for a loaf of bread, about an hour ago. he didn’t want to acknowledge how long he’d been staring at the women’s toiletries section.

you seemed to live on, everywhere. lando could see you in his apartment, the passenger seat of his car, the back of the garage. even the fucking supermarket wasn’t safe. you were very much alive, moving on with life, and yet you haunted him like he’d killed you himself.

perhaps he had, in a way.

the basket grazes the outside of his leg.

that’s the shower gel he’d buy for you, the one you only used when you stayed with him in monaco.

there’s the tampons you asked him to buy, crying back at home on your- his bed.

oh, and there’s the shampoo that you made him buy, the one that you told him made his curls feel extra fluffy when he was between your legs-

“lando?” a voice calls, drawing lando out of the mist.

“oh, alex. hey.” lando croaks. he hasn’t noticed the lump in his throat until now. he clears his throat, running a hand through his hair.

“what you doing, mate?” alex asks, eyebrows furrowed. he scans lando’s face, puffy eyes, watery.

“shopping.”

“for women’s shampoo?”

“no, no, just… looking.” lando stutters.

“when was the last time you slept?” alex’s voice is laced with concern, apprehensive. he doesn’t know what to say to his heartbroken friend.

lando smiles weakly.

“i’ve been sleeping.”

alex sighs.

“okay, when was the last time you slept properly, then?”

lando’s shoulders visibly sag.

“about a month ago.”

-

we hereby conduct this post-mortem

“we can’t do this anymore.”

the words fall from your lips in a whisper, but they reach him like you’ve screamed them at him. he sits opposite you, in the arm chair, so far away, only a metre or so.

“i know.” lando breathes shakily.

“i don’t want this but…”

“yeah.”

it’s been such a good year. you’re in love. it’s not enough. there’s too much distance, too many outsider opinions, too much longing for someone who’s on the other side of the world.

he’ll be in london. you’ll be in brazil.

he’ll be in australia. you’ll be in amsterdam.

it’s too much.

“i love you, though.” you remind him meekly.

“don’t know how to not love you.” he sniffles.

your heart shatters, the pieces flying over the room, spilling across the floor. they mix with the splinters of his, painting the room red. all you feel is blue.

you cry in his arms when he takes you to bed, his own tears spilling over your collar bone when he buries his head in your neck, licks over the marks he’s left there. to remember me by, he’d muttered dryly.

when you’re both finished, he lays there for a moment, still on top of you. damp with sweat and tears, the taste of one another still lingering on your tongues.

“how is it possible that i miss you already?” he pants, lips grazing just below your ear.

“i get it, lan. i’ve been missing you for a while.”

you’re gone when he wakes up.

and so, a touch that was my birthright became foreign

-

come one, come all

it’s happening again

the empathetic hunger descends

there are about six cameras pointed at you when he asks the dreaded question.

you’re in new york, sat on a talk show hosts sofa, lit by stage lights and his inquisitive eyes. two hundred people sit in the audience, on the edge of their seats waiting for you to spill your secrets.

“so, what happened there, with lando?”

you plaster on the fakest smile to date, crossing your legs anxiously.

“we’re both just so busy, you know? he’s doing amazing things in f1 and i’m all over the place with work.”

“we love both of you over here, it was sad to hear.” he sympathises, adjusting his tie and leaning back in his chair. his fingers drum over the wood of his desk, waiting for more.

vultures. everyone is a vulture.

“and we still have a lot of love for each other. he’s a wonderful person.”

there are tears in your eyes and bile rising rapidly in your throat when you shake hands with the crew, the host, and retreat to your dressing room. you stumble into the en-suite and throw up. then, you fall onto the sofa and cry. you fix your makeup at godspeed and reply to the text from your team, inviting you to drinks at some rooftop bar, promising to meet them there. you punctuate the text with one too many exclamation marks, feigning excitement.

“we still have a lot of love for each other.”

translation: i can’t understand: how did it end?

-

lando watches your interview. of course he does. he watches everything that you do, watches the way you set the world on fire.

he can’t help himself where you’re concerned, like an addict craving the next hit. you look so pretty on tv, glowing. you look fine.

god, why do you look fine?

he hates himself for hating just how fine you look. he is not fine.

“he’s a wonderful person.”

your words ring in his ears. they anger him, because if he’s oh-so-wonderful, why aren’t you here? why isn’t he there with you, waiting backstage? why can’t you just hate him? why can’t he just hate you? maybe you will, if he shows you just how not wonderful he can be.

he gets drunk that night. forces max to hit the clubs with him. sticks his tongue down a pliant woman’s throat. doesn’t ask her name. let’s her invite him back to her place. it has to be her place, he can’t fuck someone else in your bed, the one you used to share. he leaves minutes after he’s pulled out. he’s sure she’s lovely, too good for him and his bitter fucking heart. he feels utterly disgusting.

lando goes home, scrubs his skin red, and then does it again. he doesn’t go to sleep, watches from his balcony as the sun begins to rise over the sea. he hikes to the highest point he can reach in monaco, where it’s quiet and there’s no one to judge him, or worse, sympathise with him.

he stands at the edge of the cliff. screams once, twice. he sits on a rock, and lets himself cry.

the deflation of our dreaming

leaving me bereft and reeling

my beloved ghost and me

sitting in a tree

d-y-i-n-g

-

your stylist is plying you with options.

you can wear the denim with the cream OR you could do the red and white? or we can go full glam! or! or! or! we could-

you drown her out. you don’t give a fuck. not a single one.

what you wear to the monaco grand prix is quite literally the least of the your problems. your biggest problem, of course, is that you have to go to the fucking thing.

visibility is important, get people talking! the words of your manager ring in your ears until you have a dull migraine brewing behind your ears.

you leave the fitting not entirely sure what you’re wearing, but your stylist will be sending the clothes over so you can pack.

when you land in all too familiar nice, there are cameras. when you get to the hotel in monaco, you and lando are already trending on twitter. well, at least he knows you’re coming. when you’re getting your makeup done before your first event, you get a text.

i’ll try and keep my distance.

try.

try is such an interesting word. the fact that he has to try to stay away makes your belly flutter with embarrassing, self loathing butterflies. don’t try too hard, you want to respond. you don’t.

should’ve told you i’d be here you shoot back.

you think i didn’t already know?

of course he knew. he’d probably asked god knows how many brands to invite you. you try and feign an illness but your team drag you kicking and screaming to the event.

-

there are no two ways about it: you’re drunk, on a tuesday night, somewhere in the principality. a few cocktails with a jewellery brand turned into a night on the town, bar hopping with people you hardly knew and barely recognised.

you’re shaking your ass in jimmy’z, pretending to have fun when you see him.

lando stands at the bar, watching you, jaw tensed, eyes solemn. you exit the club faster that his car down a back straight, stumbling into the smoking area. you bum a cigarette from a guy who tries really hard to convince you that he’s the son of a british lord, and sink into the corner, ignoring the people recording you.

depressed model shame smokes outside monaco club because she is fucking pathetic, the headlines will read.

“thought you quit that shit.” his voice washes over your body like you’ve been set on fire, smooth tone, ambiguous accent making you ache.

“i did but then i got forced to come to monaco, so.” you shrug.

“forced?”

“‘m here for work.” you sigh.

“i guess i am too.” he mumbles. you raise an eyebrow.

“you live here, lan.” you tease. lan rolls off of your tongue too sweetly.

“doesn’t feel like it anymore.”

how can it, without you? he wants to scream at you. he can’t, you don’t deserve it.

“how are you?”

you want to touch him.

“shit.”

he needs a taste.

“yeah.”

you put your cigarette out. it tastes like shit, half smoked.

you stand there, stare at each other.

take me home, you want to beg.

come home, he clenches his fists, trying not to grab you and remind you how you’ll always be his, right here, up against the side of the club.

“good luck, if i don’t see you.” you whisper. you linger, praying that he’ll beg you to stay so that you can crumble into his arms, without having to make the first move.

lando ponders his options. his head and his heart wage a war.

logic wins, unfortunately.

“thank you.”

you take that as your queue to get the fuck out of there, and disappear into the night.

-

it’s raining on sunday. the dreary weather seems to perfectly sum up what has been the worst week of your life.

you’ve seen your ex boyfriend more times than you can count, ended up with about four hangovers as a result, and with a pounding head, you have to sit in the paddock club and wait for the sound of engines to split your head in half. it was your own doing, so you’d suck it up, recognising that you were a disgustingly privileged bitch, and there are people who would sell their kidneys to do what you’re complaining about.

you never complain, not usually. but your heart hurts and your body hearts and your mind hurts and it’s just not fair. lando is gorgeous, and you miss him so badly, and your shoes are digging in. who the fuck thinks it’s a good idea to wear heels to an f1 race?

you see him before the race, mouth good luck from afar. he winks. it’s something you used to do before every race. old habits die screaming.

the rain falls harder, the track slick. you say a prayer and take your seat.

“norris has this in the bag, he’s bloody good in the wet.” you hear some old guy say behind you. you are cursed with the knowledge of just how good in the wet he is, and you end up flushed.

he wins. his second one in three races. you pray that no one notices the way you weep. everyone notices.

you make a mistake and rush for the podium, your pass giving you access. he graces the top step and you sob, grinning like a fool, soaked through with rain. the anthem plays, the champagne pops. he finds your eyes in the crowd. your hair falls, stringy and curled, mascara smudged. you are the most breathtaking sight. he stands still, washed with an onslaught of champagne, watching you like he’s scared to take his eyes off of you. his boyish grin and hopeful eyes render you weak - you’re there for him, after all - and he can’t help but bask in that little fact.

dangerous territory. you break, and disappear.

-

say it once again with feeling…

the photographers barely get a second to snap a picture of the top three, because lando is gone. he takes the stairs two at a time, descending from the podium and throwing his pirelli cap and a shaky apology at his pr rep. the adrenaline spike makes his blood rush; he needs to find you and stop you and tell you that he will never be able to stop loving you.

the exit is the natural assumption, and he nearly slips a thousand times as he sprints through the paddock. the ground is wet, but he figures that if his car made it, so can he. the gates are in sight, and so are you, your clothes sticking to your shivering frame.

he calls your name, thunderously travelling towards you, his voice hitting your ears like a sonic boom. you freeze, turn slowly until your facing him. the rain splashes around you, not letting up.

you’re within his reach, and he pulls you in, hugging you tight. you melt into him, clinging like he’s a life force. he inhales you, your scent that he’s missed so horrifically. you crumble, and so does he, pieced back together as one.

“i can’t do this, i can’t.” he kisses the words into the cold skin of your neck.

“no, neither can i.” you choke wetly with emotion.

“miss you too much. it’s too hard, it’s stupid, it’s-“

“wrong. it’s wrong. ‘m sorry.” your breath fans his face, breathing life into him, life that he’d lost four months ago.

he grabs your shoulders, lowering so that his eyes are level with yours. his curls fall over his eyes, sodden from the rain.

“i don’t think, no, i know: i’m never gonna love anyone the way i love you.” lando speaks slow, convincing. your chest is tight.

“i don’t want to love anyone else.” you croak, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe.

“come back to me.” he mutters, pleading.

“don’t think i ever left.” you breathe, hushed.

your lips slot over his easily, it’s like breathing. the kiss is messy, helpless, and he engulfs you whole, his body wrapping around yours like a blanket. you latch onto his race-suit, drawing him in, and then you both seem to remember where you are.

lando norris caught kissing ex like horny teenager in monaco paddock!

you pull away with breathless chuckle. the air is fresh, and you feel alive. he steals another peck.

“wait for me at home. i’ll be quick.” his hand finds you ass, just for a second and you scold him playfully.

home.

yeah, home.

“don’t make me wait.” you grin.

his brain short circuits.

“do you still have your key?” he splutters, refocusing.

you scoff. “never took it off the chain.”

-

you pace the apartment, taking in the space. it hasn’t changed, but it’s messier, a visual representation of lando since you left. the pit of your belly swirls with anxiety, anticipation. he’ll be back soon, and he’ll kiss you, make love to you, remind you that you’re home and that it’d be stupid to leave again.

you’re still damp from the rain, shedding layers until you’re left in your vest and jeans, ridiculous heels kicked off by the door, your jacket airing over the back of a chair.

he hasn’t taken down the pictures of you together. he hasn’t moved your ugly collection of magnets from the fridge. he hasn’t changed the blinds that you chose, but he didn’t really like. your candles sit on the bookshelf half burned, the teddy he’d won you at a fair sits neatly on the sofa. the L pendant and it’s chain is strewn over the coffee table, right where you left it the morning after it ended. your breathing is heavy.

the front door opens behind you.

you don’t move, your eyes still fixed on the silver chain, overwhelmed by how empty your neck feels all of the sudden. he comes up behind you, his head resting on your shoulder, arms finding home around your waist. you often used to find yourselves in this exact position; while you brushed your teeth, made coffee. the room is deathly silent, breathing and the distant buzz of post race festivities the only thing you can hear. lando follows your gaze.

“kept it. knew that one day, you’d come back for it.”

“i came back for you.”

“and that necklace will stay with you when i can’t be there.”

you nod. he kisses your neck.

“missed you so bad.” you gasp. he licks your skin, bites down softly.

you spin in his arms, his hands pawing at your hips and everything blurs when he kisses you.

-

shaky fingers work over zippers, buttons, clasps, and then you’re both bare. you sink into the mattress that you missed so much, his body moulded with yours when you both tumble into the sheets. this is messy and frantic, utterly lovestruck. the lightning strike of his touch has you keening, sweating beneath him already.

“missed you. missed this.”

“do something, lan.” you cry, quiet against his shoulder.

“missed my perfect girl.” he grunts, lips working your chest while his fingers leave a trail of goosebumps over your inner thigh.

“please.” you sigh when his fingers dip between your folds, sliding over your wet flesh. his lip catches between his teeth, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of you.

he thumbs at your clit, stroking over you in slow, firm swipes, and then he’s sinking a digit into you, slow and steady. your toes curl, tears pricking your eyes at the intrusion, but you don’t have much of a chance to adjust, a second finger joining the first. he fucks you full, the stretch of just two fingers making you whine, one hand threading into the sheets while the other slams over your mouth. you want to hide, the pleasure rendering you a mess across the pale grey linen.

“no, let me look at you.” lando rasps, spare hand tugging at your wrist. you whine, writhing when he curls his fingers. “why are you hiding?”

you can’t hold back the choked cry that sounds from the back of your throat, his palm bumping your clit as he grinds his fingers deep.

“gone shy on me, baby? where’s my good girl gone?” lando coos, moving so that he’s leaning over you. the angle change sends your legs flying, kicking out at the sweet torture. “‘s because you haven’t been fucked right in so long, hm? can’t remember how to behave?” he’s smirking down at you, scanning the changing lines of your face.

“need it, need-“ you stutter, the words dying on your tongue.

“words, pretty girl, words.” lando encourages, false sympathy dripping from his tongue.

“need to cum, want you to make me…” you trail off.

“was that so hard?” he tuts, and everything speeds up.

the sound of him working you so sweetly makes you shake, your thighs clenching tight around his hand. the wet squelch hits your ears and you blush, cheeks coloured deep with embarrassment, awe, desperation.

your mouth drops open, screaming silently when it hits, your thighs slick. you drip down his wrist, his hand covered in your release.

“there’s my girl.” lando sighs, diving down to kiss you hard.

you can feel the damp press of his fingers as they dig into your thighs and you squirm beneath him, finding your way into his mouth.

“fuck me.” you slur, teeth knocking with his. he swallows you whole, groaning into your mouth.

“not so shy now, hm? been dreaming of hearing you beg for it.” lando shudders, shifting between your legs.

you can feel the press of him, thick against your cunt and you wiggle your hips, pushing to meet him halfway. the stretch burns deliciously, and you grab at his shoulders, dragging him in.

“fuck, baby.” he breathes, sinking into you slowly. “feel like heaven.” disbelief coats his voice, like he can’t reconcile that this is real; you’re back here, his, in the bed you were always supposed to share.

“it’s so good. feel so good for me, lan.” you whisper, lacing your fingers through his hair.

“love you so much.” he kisses you like he means it, rocking into you with purpose.

“can’t believe i lived without this.”

“can’t believe you’re all mine.”

the release builds, every thrust reminding you of what you could have lost for good. there was no lack of love, in fact you were starting to wonder if you had loved each other too much before.

“never losing you again. can’t live without you. my beautiful girl.”

your tummy grows tight, and he finds your clit when he feels you clamp down on him. he pulls you through the pleasure, guides you to your orgasm and you blindly follow him. you’d follow him anywhere, you decide.

you tell him you love him when you let go, spilling all around him, warm. he’s panting, kisses your forehead gently. he rolls off of you, and you feel the slow drip instantly, but you curl into his side and he wraps around you.

home.

“promise me something.” he whispers. you feel the way he shakily inhales.

“hm?”

“don’t leave again. you belong here, too. with me.”

your eyes are watery.

“i’m staying. ‘m yours.”

“about that…”

lando springs from the bed, naked, disappearing from the room. you watch, confused, cold all of the sudden.

you can hear his footsteps padding through the hallway, and then he’s back, his figure in the hallway. he runs, jumps, lands gracelessly next to you. endeared, you laugh softly.

“sit up.”

you do, leaning up to sit next to him. his fingers skim your shoulder, pushing your hair out of the way. cool metal dances over your skin.

“back where it belongs.” lando smiles at you, eyes wide and stunning.

you toy with the L. something heals in your chest, right around where your heart is.

“the sweetest boy.” you shake your head in disbelief, grin up at him like a fool.

“bath?”

“you know me so well, noz.”

come one, come all

it’s happening again

-

oh, my heart. there is something deeply wrong with me

-

taglist

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[leonw4nter]

Hi hi, may I request a F1 racer Leon and photographer reader fic where reader somehow garners his attention in a sea full of people trying to get his autograph?? (Re4 Leon or Re2 Leon will do!)

Close To You

Racer!RE2!Leon x GN!Reader

You two lay in silence on your bestfriend Leon’s bed, staring up at the dark ceiling as you both listen to the soft whir of the ceiling fan overhead. He’s leaving in a few hours, right when the first few rays of pink illuminate the otherwise dark sky; in just a day, he’d be in a completely different timezone from you. He promises to call but you don’t expect him to stick to it a hundred percent; college will be a busier time in both your lives after all and with his aspirations, you don’t expect him to handle too many things all at once. It’s 2:20 AM and both of you should be fast asleep, him in his bed and you on your air mattress that Leon insisted on helping to inflate, but you both can’t find it in you to spend the last few hours sleeping.

“Why aren't you sleeping?” Leon asks in a hushed whisper. His head rests on his arm, his mop of ashy-blond hair sticking out in small strands due to the amount of times he ran his fingers through his tresses.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” You respond back with a slightly aggressive whisper, head tilted to face him for a moment. “You’re going to be travelling for five-and-a-half hours. Staying up is going to bite you in the ass later.”

“I can’t sleep,” he responds back. “I’m nervous and already homesick.”

“C’mon, you got this! Nothing like a new change of scene for Leon Kennedy, right? It’s going to be awesome, I swear.” You reassure him with a smile, though your heart drops to your feet again and the feeling of missing him creeps up on you but he hasn’t even left yet.

“I mean… It’s gonna be an experience being in a new place and all but… I’m going to miss you,” he softly confides. He turns to lay down on his side, a hand tucked under his cheek as he looks at you through thin strands of his hair obstructing his view. “I don’t think we’ve ever done anything without each other. It’s gonna take a lot to adjust to this new setting.”

He sounds genuinely anxious, his voice lacking the usual confident quality it almost always carried. As sad as this whole predicament is making you, you’re forcing yourself to look less defeated than you feel; you can do the crying later for when he can’t see you anymore.

“I know, it’s… definitely going to be hard for the first few months but we’ll get around this eventually.” You reassure him with a small grin. “It’s not going to be the same without you, though. I’ll really miss you so don’t forget to at least text me, okay? When you’re free, of course.”

“I’ll miss you too and yes, I promise.” He sighs, shoulders slumping with his hushed exhale. He stares at you quietly through the dark, trying to map out your features despite the darkness of the room.

It turns into a game of staring and who will be the first to interrupt that has settled over you two like a blanket but it wasn’t the kind of staring that was just an empty, zoned-out stare; it was the kind where you two were committing every single detail of each other’s features to memory, to get the most vivid mental image you both can. You find it hard to swallow down that this face is going to be on your laptop screen, composed of pixels that won’t do his beauty any justice. He finds it difficult to grapple with the fact that he can’t brush the hair out of your face anymore or wipe away a speck of food at the corner of your mouth with his thumb. Turns out, this isn’t just a staring contest– it’s a contest on who can hold off from giving in to the desires of their hearts.

“You’re going to have a lot of your firsts without me,” you speak up. “First love, first parties, first kiss…”

“So, Leon, have you ever been kissed before?”

You’re taken aback by your own boldness, shocked at this question. Of course he has; in the third grade, Patty Briggs gave him a valentine and kissed him on the cheek before skipping off to her friends. You’re not sure if Leon remembers but you do and that’s because you were fuming that another girl has taken his first kiss away from you.

“No,” he responds. His voice is steady but you know that his cheeks and the tips of his ears are probably warm.

“Yes you did,” you counter before telling him about Patty and her valentine.

“I wonder how it–kissing– felt. If it feels slimy and icky or if it’s soft and plush.”

“Do you want to find out with me? How kissing feels?”

And that’s how you and him shared a first kiss on his saggy mattress, in his cold and dark room a few hours before he had to leave for the airport. Leon got his answer: it felt perfect, addictive. He wanted to keep kissing, to relive the spark of your lips pressing delicately. He even got the courage to bring a hand up to your cheek and bring your face closer, making the kiss feel deeper. He very well knew that he was running out of air but he didn’t want to break away, just lost in the velvety warmth of your lips, though slightly chapped.

Even when he was hours away from you, now onboard a plane, all the lovey-dovey songs he had on his portable music player were reminiscent of you and your magical kiss. You, on the other hand, were alternating between tears and giddy giggles. You managed to look put together and strong when you were seeing Leon get into the cab, though glassy-eyed by this time, but tears raced down the slope of your cheek fast as soon as the cab’s engine roared to life as the distance between you and him quickly grew from an inch to full-on kilometers. It’ll be hard to sleep with the lack of each other’s warmths on both your beds.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

Life was odd without the other, it didn’t feel entirely complete– bright moments would have been brighter if Leon was by your side, sadder moments would be less sad if Leon had you. You two promised to text and call as much as your conflicting and busy schedules could allow you both but soon the distance felt even more palpable, the five-hour time difference that would place you in his past too real and soon, you grew distant but you were not mad with him and he was not mad at you: you were both busy with your endeavors and life is a ball that keeps rolling, no matter how rough the terrain could get. No matter what, Leon still thought of you before sleeping, images of you flashing as he closed his lids; he thoughts about how you’d look now– if you cut your hair or styled it differently, if you got new piercings, or if you’d still smile at him with so much warmth. As if his fingers have a mind of their own, they travel upwards as the pads of his fingertips gently pat his puffy bottom lip as he thinks about the kiss you both shared before he left at the break of dawn’s first rays of light. He tries to fight back a smile, pushing down the giggle that threatens to rise from his chest and tries to contain it there until it dissolves into nothing. It doesn’t dissolve into nothing and the fizzy excitement that the mere thought of you conjures just doubles in amount; he has to do something about this and so he turns to his side, arms reaching underneath the pillow beneath his head, and brings it to his face as he laughs and giggles. He kicks his feet, occasionally poking out from his duvet. He realizes how stupid he must look now: a grown man giggling and shaking about in his bed when he’s supposed to be asleep at this time in the night but he doesn’t care, let a man explode into a fit of glitter and blue raspberry candies when he thinks about his best friend– wait, best friends don’t kiss on the lips. But you’re not exactly boyfriend-girlfriend either, you’d never said anything about it and neither did he but he’s positive that you like him back and so does he. Upon the realization, his giggles melt into a groan as he thumps on the pillow with a fist.

Like him, life has been fast-paced and seemingly unwilling to slow down for you. You had requirements to submit and organizations to attend to; things were busy for you but it kept thoughts of missing Leon too much at bay. You busied yourself with textbooks and leadership roles, a part-time job at a movie theater, being a photography studio’s assistant, and studies. You catch your thoughts slipping back to Leon– what is he doing with his life now? Has he got a girlfriend? How’s racing turning out for him? Has he been eating well? Does he still wear his retainer? You can only hold off for so long until all those feelings come to shock you in the middle of an otherwise lovely day. You wished that you both weren’t so busy or you both cared slightly less about whatever you were doing and talked for hours and hours again, maybe even watch a movie online, and discuss the cinematics of the film in full detail, maybe even share interpretation. You see his eyes on a clear blue sky, his hair in feather reed grass panicles, his voice in rock songs playing in music stores, and wrinkled blue t-shirts. You arrive home from university, dropping your backpack to the foot of the bed before flopping down to your bed. You lay silently, limbs spread out in a starfish position, and groan to let even a little bit of the stress and exhaustion leave your body. You move to sit up but your leg hits something, sending it cluttering to the ground.

“Fuck,” you hissed as you bent to pick the thing up. It felt light and rectangular and it clinked lightly when you moved it around. Switching on your bedside lamp, you noticed that it’s one of the cassette tapes Leon had given to you before. You look at it, a finger tracing on your name written in black marker with Leon’s angular penmanship.

“Oh, Leon,” you quietly mumble to yourself as you look around for your earphones. “Do you still listen to Queen? You still better.”

You find your earphones and slide the jack into the port, placing the buds on your ears and plopping back in bed once more as you face the ceiling. You click the play button, waiting for a song’s first melodies to come through. You expect an intro of drums and electric guitar but it’s a gentle piano that greets you instead and instantly you recognize it: ‘(Close To You) They Long To Be’ by the Carpenters. You and Leon had ‘your song’, a collection of songs that are strongly associated with each other and your friendship; most of them were songs like “Don’t Stop Me Now”, “Little Lies”, and “Total Eclipse of the Heart” but there were softer, calmer ones with that song being one of them. During camping trips with your family, you’d be sitting in the rear passenger seats sharing an earbud and singing along to the songs, most of the time going off-key but you were both happy regardless. You find yourself singing along alone, closing your eyes as you don't resist letting a smile tip the corners of your lips upwards.

“I hope you’re doing well,” you wistfully tell to no one. “I miss you.”

After several more songs, you fall asleep with the tape resting on your abdomen as ‘Eyes Without A Face’ by Billy Idol plays.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

After taking up several jobs and earning enough money to book a two-way flight, you pack your bags and head to the airport for a flight to Iowa for your semestral break. After having seen news of an all-too-familiar face slowly making a name for himself in the world of motorsports, you hunted down any bit of information you can get on when, where, and how much it cost to see him race. You thought about visiting him, catching up again like the good ‘ol times so hearing about Leon in this way just solidified your decision. Besides, it would be great to snap a different scenery for a change and it would look good on your portfolio. Energized by the cheap airport coffee, you go through the bag checks and take off your shoes as you wait for the officers to finish their inspection. After several minutes of inspection and waiting at the holding area for your flight, sketching the interior of the airport to pass the time, your flight is finally called and you get up to head to boarding. You finally get to your seat, right next to the window where you can get a perfect view of the clouds below. Unable to sleep last night, you went on a deepdive for the mechanisms of how an airplane flies. It was fascinating, to say the least, but it did make you slightly anxious; the thought of all the air in the Earth blipping out into nothing and the plane falling down to the ground scared you, making you shudder, but you pushed those scary thoughts away and replaced them with Leon. Did he grow any taller? Is he still that same dorky boy you knew? Would he still be down to be friends with you?

Leon did one last check on his car, a dark blue Panoz Esperante GTR-1 with white accents and subtle orange details before driving back to his hotel and getting some sleep.

“C’mon, Leon, she’s in perfect condition.” Marvin says, one of the engineers he consults with in order to maintain the condition of his car. “I checked her over and over and her diagnostics are all good but I’ll get up an hour early to do one last check up before the race.”

Leon nods, giving him a gentle pat to the back before greeting him good night.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

You tried to hold back your screaming, you really did, but when Leon crossed the black and white checkered finish line after several exhilarating laps you just couldn’t help but beam for him. You shot up and screamed at the top of your lungs, cupping your hands around your mouth as you chanted his name when he got out of his car and waved to the spectators. Now, you’re part of the crowd trying to get his autograph. You have your notebook and best pen in hand, trying to navigate the sea of people all flocking to him but you can’t blame them: he’s just naturally charismatic, something about his boyish awkwardness that’s endearing. You finally manage to squeeze yourself to the front, excitedly calling his name as you pointed your camera at him, adjusting the settings to make him the focal point– the focus as the world around him is a blur of colors.

“Leon!”

He’s in the middle of signing a teenage boy’s cap, making small chit chat with him as well. The photos are shaky, blurred, and sometimes obstructed by other people but you didn’t mind; you didn’t have to send these kinds of photos in, it’ll be kept near and dear to your heart though it’s imperfect and far from aesthetically pleasing. Your heart sort of squeezes at the sight, observing how his smile looks a little tired and feigned, overstimulated by the crowd hollering and pushing themselves at him but he still manages to be so nice and understanding. You decide to back off and wait until he finally sees you, not wanting to contribute to the added pressure of the moment. You laugh when he laughs, seeing some dads ask him for a photo and crack some corny dad jokes; you smile when you see him giving high-fives and fist bumps with little kids who were more than buzzing with energy to talk to him. Eventually, the sea of people around him thinned and you took the opportunity to try and talk to him again. You adjust your top and pat down your hair, doing your best to look fresh for when you get to see him for the first time in a long time. He’s just about to turn around and you skip ahead, patting the back of his shoulder. Woah, he’s a lot taller– his shoulders became broader now.

“Can I get a quick photo of you, Leon?” His body took a screenshot, freezing for a moment. He stares past the camera and into your eyes, taking in the sight of you all smiley and even more heavenly. You swear that his body took a screenshot, freezing for a moment. He lacks words and makes up for a hug, placing the notebook and pen down to the ground and wrapping you in a tight hug.

“Buddy,” you softly say as you reciprocate the embrace. “I missed you too.”

You swear that you heard a small sniffle come from Leon, patting his back as he stays still and keeps his head in the crook of your neck. After quite some time he pulls off, placing his hands on your shoulders and looking deep into your eyes. He breathily says your name, a hand climbing up to cup your cheeks.

“How… How’ve you been?” he asks in a shaky voice. “Woah, you look– you’re even more pretty now. Um, awesome– you look great! You– you’re… um— I-”

He stutters, cheeks burning. His hands leave their perched positions and his right hand travels to rub at the back of his neck. You giggle at this, smiling at him. He’s still awkward and dorky as ever.

“You look great too,” you compliment. “I love your arms, they’re a little bigger compared to the last time I saw you.”

“Yeah… I’ve- uh… been working out, yeah. Part of the… uh– job.”

“Yeah? Or have you been working out for a girlfriend?”

“Me? Girlfriend? Oh, uh– no. I don’t… have one. It’s just been– well, nevermind.”

“Hm? Go on, just been…?”

“I’ll tell you over coffee! How’s that sound?” he says a little louder, clearly eager to tell you more of his life since he’s moved. “If you want. Only if you want to, of course! No pressure.”

“I’d love to, Leon. We can have as much coffee as we want for quite some time– I’m on my break from school.”

“Great! I mean– me too. We can go now, if you want! I’ll just– I’ll just clean up a bit and check with my team and we can go! Sounds great!”

“Sounds great, looking forward to it.”

You lean in close to him, a hand fisted around the collar of his fire retardant suit and drag him forward to be eye level with you. You press a kiss to his cheek, letting your lips linger a little longer before pulling away.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

He takes you to a quaint little café, offering to pay for both your drinks and pastries as you dine over a conversation between two friends catching up.

“So, yeah. It’s a little hard to juggle the police academy and racing right now but there's nothing I can’t do, right?”

“I thought about you sometimes, especially when I listened to our jam. I seriously thought about all the times we had to do a tense back and forth for borrowing calculators because I forgot.”

“I take it that you have a boyfriend?”

“No! I mean– no, I don’t. I’m free, single even. No dates or anything… so I’m up for more coffee dates.”

Leon smirks, reaches to you and wipes a flake of a pastry from the corner of your mouth.

“So, this is a coffee date for you?”

It’s your turn to be flustered and all flushed, setting down the scones you were happily enjoying with clotted cream.

“No! I mean– yes! Well, more like a reunion snack between two… um… best friends who haven’t seen each other in years!”

He reclines in his seat, arms crossed over his chest as an amused smile is on his face. He looks playful now, a lot less awkward than he was on the drive there.

“Two best friends don’t just kiss each other on the lips,” he retorts. “Would you like me to court you then?”

“Court… me?”

“Well yes,” he carefully broaches the topic. “I’ve been thinking about you over the years we were apart. I haven’t had any girlfriends, I can’t find it in me to be attracted to someone who isn’t you. I’d like to give us a try but only if you’ll let me, of course.”

You stare at him, cheeks slightly puffed out with your fingers frozen in grabby fingers from having previously intended to reach out for another pastry but his words just rendered you still in your seat.

“Um! Well, I’d… I’d love that!” You tell him. “Please, please do. I’ve been thinking about you too– no boyfriends for me, not a boyfriend who isn't you.”

He smiles, excited. He’s already coming up with ideas on how to woo you– he’ll do those birds’ attraction dances and flail his arms around if it means convincing you that he’s worth your time.

NOTE - first off, thank you to the anon who sent this!! I know you waited a long time so I hope this lived up to your expectations <3 !! next thing, fic drops will be a lot less frequent since i'm getting quite busy with things but dw since i'm getting close to completing all the requests in my inbox :) updates about how i'm doing umm... i've found out that I quite like collecting stickers, like random stickers. i found this out when i bought some stickers from business students selling them for a project. Anyway, that's it and thank you for reading my ficsss!!!!!!! I <333333333 UUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[canisalbus]

Hey, I don't have a lot to say, I'm pretty new to your account and art and stuff (I found you on twitter!) But I just wanted to say that your art makes me feel so comfortable. I've not been having the best few months, and every day it feels like it gets harder and harder. But I spent an entire hour scrolling through your twitter and it brought such a calm peace over me that It made me want to cry. I know I'm a stranger and it may be odd but genuinely thank you for drawing. So, so much.

I'm sorry to hear you've been going through difficult time! Life does that sometimes, and in my experience the most reasonable response is try to remember that things will eventually start to get better again and you've survived all the harships you've encountered in your life this far.

I'm glad you found my art comforting and it managed to ease your mind, even just momentarily. I don't know what timezone you're on but I hope you get some rest and that next week will be a little easier for you!

[literallydamienrhone]

This took me almost a month and I actually fucking hate it but for those who wanted the Treasure turning fic, it's your lucky day!!

Tag List: @darlin-collins @brainrotcharacters @aimedis @therealbr1gh7ey3s @spuffyfit and I think that's all

Warnings: Physical Violence, Car Accident, Unconsensual Turning, Mentions of previous arguments, suicidal implications, depictions of dissociation, probably some mischaracterization, and I will admit my writing here feels a little lazy so I apologise, also I didn't proof read because I'm tired.

Happy New Years/New Years Eve!! Depending on Timezone

"I'm not the only coward in this room"

Those words burned into their tender heart as they reminisce just moments before now. Their mind flooding with every blink of their eyes, their fists clenching as they glared at the laundry pile Porter had earlier ridiculed. They glared for what felt like hours until they felt a moisture slide down their cheeks. They couldn't possibly be crying. Their ears rang as the tears fell, and their body moved on it's own. Shoving through the door and wandering aimlessly and thoughtlessly.

*What am I doing?* Their thoughts finally coherent, the dissociation finally worn off. The feelings finally broken through their barricade. They continue to wander, to make any desperate attempt at escaping their thoughts. Their *feelings*.

Hours had passed, though it felt like weeks to them. Aimlessly trudging through damp, dark forest terrains, recklessly thudding into trees, bruising their arms and sides.

Their clothing now dirtied, their eyes sunken and red from the endless streams of tears, their nose stuffed with the agony of the earlier argument, their legs weak from the abuse they had given themselves to escape the abuse of their mind.

"If you think for one second that what we have here isn’t both of us running away, then you need to turn that appraising gaze inward for a bit."

There they were again. Those words burning and bruising their being as they question, everything.

Were they just an escape to him?

Did he ever truly care for anything *but* his escape?

Why them?

Their vision blurred as the tears stung their cheeks again, now stumbling out of the forst and onto a sidewalk.

"Look at that person over there, they look a mess!" A drunken voice cackled from across the street, followed by a group of friends laughing. Their gaze fixed onto the ground as their agony and despair turned to anger and a rage that would soon be unbridled.

Before common sense could stop them, they lunged off of the sidewalk and into the traffic, avoiding doom narrowly as they approached the group.

Seconds later, the voice's face was full of Treasure's fist. They pounded and pounded, wailing as all the emotion they carried finally poured itself out.

The moments blurred together, their arms were taken by another member of the group, one that unfortunately, looked a lot like Porter. The hair, the build, they screamed Porter.

"LET ME GO" They scolded in protest, flailing their limbs before the leader finally threw their punch. The Porter-lookalike, let them go just before the hit was landed. The impact threw their limp, weak body into oncoming traffic a car hitting them mid-fall.

Blood. It was all they could feel, all they could hear, all they could see. Barely conscious, in the middle of the street Treasure attempts to sit up, failing miserably.

Just as miserably as they failed at helping the one they loved.

Their body numbed as their thoughts continued to belittle them before unconsciousness finally overtook them. Their blood flooding the street as the driver leapt out of the car with urgency, Lovely. They rushed to Treasure's side, panic overflowing their senses.

Treasure would never be able to come back from this. Their bones snapped like twigs scattered across a park, bleeding out to what could've been death.

Lovely frantically rested their fingers on Treasure's neck, checking their pulse. Listening for their breathing. It was shallow, quiet, tortured and agonized.

***They aren't going to survive this.***

Lovely's head rushed as what little composure they could've kept cracked under the pressure. The adrenaline taking the reigns on their body, they bit their wrist before feeding their blood to the pitiful, withered, unconscious Treasure. Picking up Treasure's wrist and beginning to sip.

Blood for blood.

A new 'life' over a death that Treasure yearned for.

A death Lovely had almost granted them.

*Timeskip*

Ears ringing, heart pounding, body numbing like a corpse. Hushed voices came from behind the door as Treasure's exhaustingly heavy eyelids lifted themselves to reveal their unfamiliar surroundings. Their mind became frantic while their body was all too exhausted and broken to do anything but look around with anxious eyes. Taking in the exquisitely decorated room around them, it ever so slightly resembled the room Porter took them to, the night of their first dalliance.

Where am I?

Is this some sort of afterlife?

*Am I finally free?*

Questions arose within their mind as the doorknob turned, the long creak of the door opening ringing in Treasure's ears as Lovely entered. Their hands trembling with a guilt only a Maker would know.

"Are you alright?" Lovely chirped out, still shaken up themselves. They approached Treasure's bedside, resting their gaze on the pathetic creature.

"Wh..Who are you?" They sighed out, mind still rushing with questions their body wasn't ready to articulate.

"Lovely, Lovely Solaire. I'm so sorry I..." They trailed off, guilt dripping from their voice, their silvery crimson eyes avoiding Treasure's as they clasped their hands in a purely pathetic attempt of self soothing. "You.. were in an accident, and you weren't going to make it"

"Weren't?" Treasure's hoarse cracked voice interjected, "I'm not.." realization began set in. Making itself comfortable and torturing Treasure's mind almost immediately.

Death hadn't claimed them.

*Solaire*, this person was a member of Porter's house.

*Why can't I ever escape him?*

Their breath hitched as their mind began to rush again

*An accident?*

Their exhales became shakier as their lips began to tremble as they looked over at Lovely. Taking note of their eyes and paled skin, before looking down at their own hands.

Paled, dry, *dead*.

"What have you done?"

Lovely exhaled, trembling "I'm so sorry, I..I panicked and I lost control, it was the only thing I could think to do, and I know I shouldn't have, and I am eternally in apologetic debt to you, I'm so sorry" They sputtered, and stumbled over their words, sincerity dripping from their apologies as Treasure blankly stared down at their hands. Their senses blurring as their breaths became quicker, the thoughts became louder.

***This had to be a nightmare, right? They were going to wake up any second, in Porter's arms. Right?***

"You're lying. You have to be." Treasure muttered, their mind refusing to accept their new pathetically purposeless, eternal, reality.

"I'm so sorry...I'm telling the truth, this is all real and I'm so incredibly sorry"

The lump in Treasure's throat grew denser as realization had completed its task in making Treasure's mind its playground.

A strong tensioned silence filled the room, as Treasure began hearing what was once unhearable.

"..What does this mean for me?" A strange, unnatural, chilling calm had settled over them, still staring at their hands.

"I don't..I don't know. There's this house-"

"The Solaire house"

"Yes, the, Solaire house..they aren't, *ideal* but you'll need stability after something like this"

"Yeah. I get it."

Timeskip!!

Days passed like hours, the turning transition was rough, but Porter's absence was rougher. They'd never admit it after what he'd said but, they missed him more than any part of their humanity.

"Hey..you okay?"

Lovely's voice snapped Treasure out of their spiral, dragging back to their absolute shitshow of a reality. No matter how helpful their maker tried to be.

"You got everything?"

Treasure nodded, zipping up their last bag, full of their laundry.

"Whatever your equivalent conundrum would be, like..I don't know..should you actually do your laundry tonight or just push the pile farther over on the bed?"

***"Again?"***

Treasure hugged their arms into their chest, sitting on the floor of their old home looking around at its emptiness.

"Lovely"

"Yes?"

"Will I matter here?"

"What do you mean?"

"I've spent my whole life mattering the least, being told that, my problems are mere and trivial. Will that change here?"

"I can't promise that you'll be treated the way you should be, not by everyone in the house."

"So no."

"You didn't let me finish"

"And you didn't let me die."

"I..Treasure I'm sorry I-"

"Forget it. Please. Let's just get this over with."

Treasure's pained snarky response punctuated the conversation as they stood, picking up their bags and carrying them outside. The moon gleaming down on their paled skin as they released the bags from their hands.

"What now?"

"William has sent assistance to help you take your stuff to your new-"

With a woosh Lovely was cut off by a fellow vampire arriving to the scene in a car. Without another word they loaded the car and off they went.

The short minutes dragged on in Treasure's mind as they made their way, before they knew it, they had arrived.

Stepping out of the car, they gazed upon what looked like a palace out of a fantasy book.

"Cmon, I've gotta introduce you to William..ugh."

Treasure arched their brow silently following behind Lovely, striding into the castle, a light clicking of their heels upon the velvety floor as they made their way atop the staircase. Lovely knocked, almost immediately warranting William's silky voice in response.

"Come in"

Lovely inhaled shakily, pressing the door open and stepping inside, Treasure trailing behind.

A tensioned silence flooded the room after the door shut.

"Treasure..?"

Porter stood, once facing William now looking at his jewel. Eyes widening at their altered appearance he studied them, "Treasure what happened-"

"Why so concerned Porter? Oh..i see, do I finally have more than laundry to worry about now? Am I extraordinary enough to care about you now?"

William cleared his throat, the room filled with an awkwardness only a poet has the words to describe.

"Lovely, I believe this..conversation is best had another day." He says with a rare gentleness, glancing between Porter and Treasure

"Right." Lovely nods, signaling Treasure to turn and walk back out. As Treasure lifted their leg to walk out, a swift hand snatched their wrist. Porter.

"Treasure, please I'm sorry-"

Treasure yanked their hand from him, turning on their heel as the door shut behind them, now in the hallway.

"You're not fucking sorry"

"Treasure please believe me there is nothing I regret more than the way I left you that night"

"Good."

"What..?"

"You heard me. You've got super hearing don't you? Fucking use it. You said you wanted us to get to know each other. You promised a vulnerability that you then cut me down and hurt me for wanting. I guess you were right, Porter...

I don't and never will understand you."

[amnesiaskulls]

hehe

tell me about your favorite part of your rewrite:)

ouwggh uhhhh

Ok so you never specified if it had to be angst or not and i live for angst so 😁😁😁

basically my fav angsty part is just all of garrance seasons 4.5-6. Things are finally starting to go normal again and they can finally just be together ( in mine, they didnt get together until season 3 because gar was gone s2 and he was also after aph in s1 (kinda) so they didnt get together until 3 when things died down and they talked to each other), because with s4 garroth was away getting traumatized and laurance was doing whatever with the house to himself (he made a lot of jokes about finally getting some peace and quiet, funny how that works) so during aphs year they mostly just got to be garroth and laurance and do what they could to help aph and for each other.

then garroth and zane tell laurance about the starlight plans, and he understands why he isnt going with, because he wasnt with the lodge gang when aaron got into the “accident” (he “gets hit by a car” or something in mine! It makes a lot more sense!) and he knows that still some of the block will still stay behind, like travis, dante, katelyn, and kawaii-chan. Then a couple days after they all leave on a “camping trip” (the cover up), travis tells laurance and dante that him and katelyn are going on vacation to starlight (no one told them because none of their housemates were involved, laurance got to know so that he would know they would be gone for a while) and laurance just assumes they were apart of the original party and thinks nothing of it, and all of the people left on the block just thing kc went with on the “camping trip”

they leave, leaving dante and laurance on the block by themselves (and the sk’s, but laurance is not about to go over there to just hang out) so they hang out with each other for a while, laurance stays in contact with garroth and they call every night before laurance goes to bed (timezones), and text a lot during the day about updates and just whatever, garroth texts him one day that for some reason travis and katelyn were there and laurance is just like “oh i thought you knew about that” and garroth is dumbfounded

then one day, right before they were set to move to starlight wonderland, garroth had been texting him about being ecstatic for a big dinner and was in the middle of texting him when he just stopped responding. Laurance thought nothing of it, they probably just got to the place and needed to be seated or were eating, and went about his day. Then later, when he was about to go to bed, he decided to call garroth, part of the routine that they had established was to call before laurance went to bed. He calls but no response, thinks “well thats weird, usually he picks up immediately” and tries again, still to no avail.

he’s a bit worried but just assumes that he was tired after the party and took a nap. Then a couple minutes later, he gets a call from garroth. he answers and listens for a second to let garroth speak first, but the voice on the other end isnt garroth, it’s zianna, and she sounds like she just got finished crying. She asks “who is this?” (Garroth did not in fact put laurance in his phone as laurance, but something else stupid like orphan idk) and laurance responds with his name and asks her whats wrong and is garroth ok? She just starts to apologize to him saying that shes sorry for crying and sorry for not telling him sooner, while laurance is gripping the covers of his bed waiting for her to actually tell him what happened.

she tells him that garroth got into a major accident and has a very slim chance of living, all while starting to cry again. Laurance is in shock for a sec and just asks her if shes kidding even though she very obviously isnt. He goes quiet for a moment while his brain goes a million miles an hour trying to comprehend what shes saying. He starts to tear up and asks if he can talk to garroth, but zianna tells him that he’s resting. She tells him sorry and that she has to go, and that she’ll keep him updated, and hangs up. Hes left crying in his bed, trying to piece everything together with the very vague info zianna gave him.

he cant stand being alone in that moment, so he goes to dantes house for comfort and to tell him what happened, even though its about 11:30 atp, and dante goes to bed around 10. He rings the doorbell and after a bit, a very sleepy dante answers the door to face a very disheveled laurance, who has been crying for the past 20 minutes unable to calm down. Dante doesnt ask and just lets him in and gives him a big hug (they are bros). After sitting him on the couch with a cup of milk and some blankets and tissues he asks what happened, and laurance tells him everything he knows.

dante is crushed, and they sit and cry and hug until they both fall asleep. Laurance somehow still wakes up earlier then dante o’ clock and makes the both of them some shitty toast with butter (not peanut butter, dantes allergic) and turns on something to watch while he wakes up dante. They eat in comfy silence and just have a chill and cry sort of a day.

ok yea thats all i have for you right now and i didnr even get to season 6 😁😁😁

tune in next time for another AGHUUUGGHH

[pixelatedquarter]

Day 31 of Tourdust:

Most of the tumblr trenches are sleeping peacefully, but a small contingent kept guard. Truth be told we were not expecting to have any news from the front, after failed attempts at tapping onto a stream despite our best efforts.

But just when all 5 of us had resigned to huddle in front of setlistfm, we found a stream from a new source, indeed the streaming website had a stream for the shows!

I think we didn't get to truly grasp the volumes of sweat on Patrick's shirt and the volume of his now well rested voice when they reminded us that you can never get too comfortable with tourdust. Sure there were no pianos for Medley & Magic and officially no Magic 8 Ball, but that did not stop them from hitting us with a double 8 ball nonetheless.

Much as we were the critics questioning if Thriller would ever happen this tour, we really, really should know better than to question anything can happen on tourdust, they WILL manage to make it fit. Maybe they'll even manage to make their visit to tokyo disneyland thematically relevant to the rest of their tour, and play Immortals.

Now we sit by the fire, the few of us who liveblogged this through timezones far from the US or really just messy sleeping schedules, and wait for the rest of foblr who wasn't jolted awake by the attack to wake up to our slip back into the folie à tourdust, knowing that in spite of it all, it was once again Saturday.

PS: Perhaps we could do with cry/smile plushies to cuddle as we wait, even if their crafting only makes sense in timeframes of more than an hours and two more weeks

[zoieru]

g'night bestitos ~ am skipping dinner (dONT SHOUT AT ME I NEVER DO IT I just had 4 hours sleep last night and literally cannot keep my eyes open I need rest. Don't call me naughty or bad or I will cry.) I'm much more into the good girl angleeeANYWAY ~

have a good timezone cuties or else suffer my wrath : )

[firespirited]

It has been brought to my attention that people can't know me unless I let you in. You're not mind-readers or actively remembering every detail. So let's get vulnerable *awkward thumbs up*

Here are some answers to not frequently asked questions:

You can use my real name, it works for me, Saffy's a chosen name for online (and offline if people struggle with pronunciation). I like both.

Don't worry about french timezones. I sleep 14 hours a day, awake about 12, resting for about half of that. I do have to go AFK regularly to do household stuff and rest, but if i'm online it's ok to assume i'm around =)

I can't drive. Haven't learned. Finally open to the idea though.

I don't have a DNI and don't talk about squicks and stressors because Tumblr has good curation options that i use extensively: So if I don't engage with a post, it could be that it contains a specific word. Things I haven't been able to filter but can set off a spiral are gun ownership 'for protection' (science says nope). Disability and labour (specifically the idea we have to be productive and also the fact that many disabled folks are maimed by attempting work). Breath play (extremely dangerous), sloppily defined 'kink' and ill-defined long term relationships. The word glioblastoma makes me cry. Tween pregnancy, death from childbirth, covid, long covid and various aspects of rape culture get greylisted at more difficult times.

I'm ace but have no issue with erotica and nudes or most sex scenes. Doesn't do much for me, doesn't disgust me most of the time. However, I can't stand products of the porn industry: zero interest in watching the adventures of a near disembodied penis in a woman who's clearly performing. You can be sex positive, support sex work and still see the industry as detrimental. Stunt and porn performers deserve so much better.

I'm currently more financially stable than ever. It's also not much at all. Enough to choose + buy my own food and clothes. Enough to have savings for a dog's vet expenses and someone to give her 15-minute walks. It's precarious and at the whims of having a really good doctor (she's retiring soon) but it's been nice to not be scared all the time. Lily the dog is my most precious luxury and worth it.

I went a decade only seeing a GP for emergency antibiotics after medical trauma. I had to put on makeup, drink lots of sugar to stay sat upright during the visit and pretend to be weller than I was to not get put in a psych ward because he didn't "believe" in autoimmune illnesses in the young, despite being cleared by a psychiatrist and a weekly psychotherapy session for 3 months. Getting healthcare and getting it paid for has been a mixture of very good luck and a long-term uphill battle (huge amounts of online research).

I'm probably not autistic (the online science tests point towards ADHD, you could probably armchair dx that from a few posts!) but use the term 'on the spectrum' because I've been perceived as autistic since childhood, especially when I'm happy or comfortable. Can't figure out if how I identify internally matters more than how I'm seen. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I'm often assumed to be a lesbian. eh.

I can be easily gaslit so long as it's a very slow boil. But if pushed to think about it, a core self that I've built in the past few years emerges suddenly to give me the rational overview. The clarity of that view is brutal. just brutal. Makes me question everything about myself for a while. I feel like someone trying to walk next to a car blaring 'oonst oonst' music trying to not match the beat in steps but falling into it anyway.

I'm allergic to cats but not exclusively a 'dog person'. Papaye slept just outside the door in a dog transport cage after Christmas while upstairs neighbour was busy. I just think cats are neat, they seem fine with me.

I can't explain why the main hobby ended up being dolls, it just clicks: they're bite sized and candy coloured and cute, there are so many crafting and art options for doll collectors, always loved repair. I feel very lucky to have found such a lovely community and i'm constantly getting into new crafts, new stories and making new acquaintances because it's a place where dolls get to be just one facet for connection.

I'm going to be 41 in april, my fave flower is daffodils, my fave plant is moss, all colours are nice: pastel rainbows and shades of green from lime to teal make me happiest.

'manifesting' is my current bugbear, it's stupid, it's harmful, it's just world theory repackaged, did I mention it's stupid?

I don't like onions and garlic, not unless they're super in the background. I respect the allium lovers and can (and do) put up with the smell daily but really dislike the taste. Same with coffee except that smells amazing.

Emoticons and emojis have made typing more like real language to me, I speak with my hands and accentuate words and even emote at the screen while i'm writing. I don't find it childish, not even gifs or memes, just an extension of language.

I've changed my mind about David Fincher in the past 5 years: brilliant director yes, not great at human stories after all.

If you feel like sharing your own, let this be your prompt. 💜

[thesmpisonfire]

I don't think you're being "too latino" but I do think you're being insensitive and not looking at the entire situation here, because the French fans and CCs and the rest of the European QSMP fans aren't mad because THIS event is late. People are upset because big events have consistently been at or past midnight, and despite saying it would change, it hasn't. It's been months of people and CCs asking for events at a more reasonable hour (even 10/11PM would be acceptable) and it doesn't happen. It's not normal for every event to be at 1AM for a part of the creators/fan base.

I know, but even to US its later than normal as well. The admins usually go 3 hours earlier than that and last event was already adapting to the french ccs, starting around 1 pst. If its this late theres a reason, im just annoyed that so many ppl are shitting on the admins who ate already trying their best. And I for once saw the asian fanbase cheer for a timezone bc they can FINALLY catch an event live

(The 'too latino' part is bc i get easily angered by any european crying when things aren't their way, sorry for that it has been bottling up for weeks. Yes its a me problem)

[merasiph]

[runs up to you and holds a microphone terrifyingly close to your face] HELLLO HI YES HEY HOWDY HELLO COULD YOU SPARE SOME THOUGHTS ON THE STREAM TONIGHT BECAUSE IM SCROLLING THROUGH YOUR REBLOGS AND YOUR TAGS ARE SO INCREDIBLY BASED

HOWDY i know you from one of my sideblogs and you are very cool very based too. i’m not gonna lie this was the first charlie stream i’ve ever caught live simply because of timezones and MAN the experience is so different with a live chat, knowing i’m losing my shit along with everyone else.

i’m sure it’s been said but charlie’s just. the perfect target for the code. he’s already kinda isolated and is only just getting used to growing close to others again. wasn’t around for the gegg arc but i assume charlie still has yet to feel accepted for himself and not as gegg, so there’s that too. and on a meta level, he’s missed a lot of stuff esp to do with the federation and all (me too tho), so he definitely doesn’t know what he’s getting into with all the code stuff even if he was around for code chayanne and tallulah. and. like. his willingness to do absolutely anything to get flippa back, to just be around her is gonna play likely a huge role in not only isolating him from others but maybe also turning him against them, or at least getting charlie to be willing to do harm to other qsmpers. the code has something up its little ones-and-zeroes sleeves and i do not like it one bit.

also apart from the lore progression itself, charlie’s acting was SO good. like i did know prior that he can cry on demand but it doesn’t make the impact any less. i’m quite sure he was crying towards the end of the stream and. man. me when emotions. he also built up the suspense really well, like when the lights first started going off and all i got genuinely scared. his character’s cluelessness really played up the audience’s fear of the unknown i do think.

and just. oughg. slimey goopy guy feelings. it was a really good stream and quite a solid one to be my first ever live charlie stream, but it did leave me very much distraught and desolate. my heart is in pieces, crying sobbing etc. seeing the chat live was wonderful though, and the rest of the stream was really sweet. i hope charlie has the best birthday after putting on an insane performance for all of us at an even insaner hour.

[imagine-hetalia-countries]

random hcs. completely random

(GW2) Everyone who has a charr, their charr is part of the same warband. They're the Star warband, so Francis' charr is Olympe Starburst. Ivan's main- Vaska Starbore- is the legionnaire.

(Supernatural AU) Kiku and Yao can and will pin their s/o down. Yao will groom you. He will lick your hair and use his nose to preen you. Meanwhile Kiku will just coil around you and rest his head on your lap.

(Supernatural AU) Please please please scratch Alfred's back for him. Right there between his wings. He'll love you forever. He can't reach it.

Matt and Allen have a very long-running "Heeey, bear" joke from that one guy on Alone. They also have "Agh- I'm getting stung."

If you're a friend and he's not doing it as a country, Kiku doesn't care if you pay him back for stuff. Just pay it forward. There's very few people he actually holds money over if it was done personally.

Alfred once shot a spider. With a gun. The stairs to that house still have a bullet lodged in them.

Ludwig has his phone's clock app set to tell him what time it is for all his allies. If you don't live with him, your timezone is in there too. He will berate you for texting at 3 am.

Matt never calls anyone unless it's super important. So if Matt calls instead of texts, you better answer. Especially if it's really late in his timezone. If it's like 11-5 for him and he's calling, it's an emergency.

There's this really really old Spanish lullaby that Antonio used to sing for Lovino when he had nightmares. Lovino will sometimes hum it while he's cleaning or cooking. He will never admit that it's from Antonio.

(Monster AU) All the vampires hate drinking from you. Ivan will literally refuse unless he's starving, and even then he will not bite you. You will have to soak a rag and he'll drink it from that.

Sometimes if Alfred is startled, Spanish will just come out of him. Matthew is like this with French. It will just come out when they're startled.

Allen listens to musicals.

Yao will cry if you give him a plushie. Every single time. It doesn't matter if this is the first time or the fiftieth time. He will cry.

Lovino is pretty good at estimating numbers. He doesn't take the time to do the math, but he can get pretty close just estimating.

Allen is still really good at cooking food over a fire. He used to do it a lot more often, and with him being vegan there isn't much incentive to do it anymore, but if you get him to, he can make a mean stew. A whole pot will be gone in less than an hour, it's that good.

Meanwhile, Matt still does. He can and will just roast something over a fire all day. He uses minimal spices, the smoke and the fire do most of the work flavoring the meat. Plus the natural flavor in it.

Ivan and Viktor both naturally run very very hot. They're both incredibly hot blooded, so if they're somewhere that ISN'T covered in snow, they're drenched in sweat dying. If you get Ivan down to like... Arizona in the summer, he is going to need the AC on full blast right in his face.

Kiku loves watching videos of tiny blacksmithing. Bonus if it's straight up ASMR style with no added sound effects for goofiness.

But on the other hand, most other kinds of ASMR squick him out. Eating sounds make him want to hit something.

Matthias plays campfire sounds if he can't sleep. It's a double edged sword though, he gets super sleepy around campfires now.

(Soulbound) One of Yao's incarnates was just a farmer. He never did anything grander with his life. He just farmed rice. And Yao loved him. He still has a recipe he makes sometimes that man taught him. He eventually died from age, Yao got to be with him when he died.

Gilbert has tried to be able to read Kanji but he just can't wrap his head around it. Kiku has tried to teach him but it just won't stick in his brain. He can read romanji just fine.

Feliciano hates sleeping alone so he'll often call Caro and Enzo up into bed with him if he doesn't have someone else.

Flavio likes having soft music playing when he sleeps.

(GW2) Alfred's charr is the second in command of Star warband. In the lore that Alfred definitely just wrote himself, he's the one who named the warband. His charr is answers to any pronouns, though he mostly uses feminine for them. Their name is Liberty Saberstar, they're his elementalist.

(GW2) Ludwig already has a warband name chosen, he just hasn't gotten around to making a charr yet. He's going to have the warband's ranger who's birds are all trained as messengers. Starling. You know, like the bird.

(Supernatural AU) I know I haven't actually posted it yet, but Matt is a werebear he and absolutely SLEEPS in winter. Do not wake him up, he will be grumpy.

Alfred and Kiku have watch parties for anime they're both into. If they don't watch the new episode together they will explode waiting for the other to watch it so they can DISCUSS.

[gex-uwu]

I was texting with someone I met on discord.

And I might have fallen a little bit in love with them, but I had a mental breakdown and told them that they made me feel some kind of miserable, and now they won't let it go and they want us to separate or take time away from each other. For my own well being. It makes me very sad. And I don't know what I expected to happen in our future but we were doing so many things together like rp, chatting, talking about videogames and art, doing sexual stuff together. It was all so fun, but I fucked it all up by making a big deal out of me not wanting to get out of bed because all I wanted was to talk to them. There's a 7 hour timezone difference between us. And trying to stay up until 3 am, to do lewd things with them made it really hard for me to keep a sleep schedule. It felt like my life was revolving around being with them and talking with them doing stuff with them. It was so dumb because when I told them that, they started working about me and making sure that I was doing okay was their top priority. And they were talking about cutting ties and kept saying that that would be best. But me being the rat that I am, I managed to kinda talk them out of it. And I said to them that I would stop bothering them for the rest of the day and not talk to them until the evening where I would say goobnight before going to bed. I managed to forget about that promise and talk about pizza randomly, with no response. I now drew them a picture of myself as a shark and sent, saying goobnight and apologizing for talking about pizza and breaking the promise. I feat they don't want to even think about me currently that's why I'm so bothersome by me messaging them because I know they will see it. And if they do they will be reminded of me and how rough the last two days have been. And they've got enough to worry about already. I also admitted that I'm in love with them and I forgot what they responded, or if they ignored it. I can't remember... Also btw this is a completely different person that the one I had the dream about. The one I had the dream about, I know irl, and he has not seen any lewd parts of my body. Nor does he even know I'm trans or on estrogen and hormone blockers. And I love both of them and I fucked up my relationship with them both yesterday. One after the other. I love being mentally ill and horrible at making and maintaining friendships. And one last thing. I have a fear of knives because I often think about stabbing them in my eyes or slitting my throat with them. And yesterday when I was crying and texting, relationship ruining things to my, then discord wife. I walked out of my bed to grab something and as I was walking back to my bed I remembered the knife in the kitchen, and I felt drawn to it like a moth to a flame. I managed to resist as always but this feeling of being attracted to knives like a magnet is getting stronger and stronger.

^the drawing I made for ex-discord wife

[elizabeaufort]

Elizabeth was surprised upon noticing Vivienne's agility with toddlers. And how she picks up Lilou in her arms naturally. Lilou looked at the 'stranger' with baby blue eyes with a small stain of heterochromia in her left eye, just like her twin brother, who was in her mother's arms. The heterochromia they inherited from their father. Her daughter's face was reddish from crying, but now she was getting calmer, whimpering and she looked at Liz to make sure her mother wasn't going anywhere. Ever since their mother was kidnapped and she was found… They got a tad glued on her. Liz picked up from her purse the pacifier and handed it to Lilou, and she put on her mouth sucking with eyes and nose swollen from crying, albeit she wasn't crying anymore.

Beau, on the other hand, was slowly calming down with his pacifier in his mouth too, but still whimpering now and then, his face buried in Liz's neck, while he fidgeted with her necklace, with the initials of their names. ❛ I agree. But I normally I brought them to the park, to burst their energies in here before heading home. I mean, not in this park… This is the first time we arrived in this area. Their schedule today was a bit messed up. I think it's the jetlag. ❜ After all, she was in another country with a different timezone not so long ago with them. Even she got jetlagged. At this hour in France, the twins were already in bed asleep. ❛ It's not normal for them to cry that much unless they are sleepy or sick. ❜ And her guess is sleepy. She rested her hand on her son's forehead to check his temperature but it seemed normal. He was a tad warm, probably because he snuggled against her. And the elder blonde looked at her daughter, snuggling in Vivienne's arm, sucking her pacifier, and her head on the shoulder of the other's woman.

The easier option would have been to continue on her way. Within a few moments, she likely would have been out of earshot anyways of the crying children while continuing her jog. And yet she still couldn't just turn a blind eye to someone clearly in need of help while the others around them only heeded the woman with disdain. So quick to judge, so quick to ignore or offer any assistance. While Vivienne was not one to fully let down that shield she wore completely, she knew firsthand how far a little help could go. She had seen plenty of mothers, her own included, weary from the child care and exhaustion so deeply set in their gaze, probably only have paying attention to the rest of the world around them.

It wasn't until she was given the permission of the other that Vivienne acted. Leaning down to scoop up the second twin and pulling the girl into her arms before straightening back up. One arm supporting the child with a mild bounce and rocking movement, the other on the girl's, Lilou's, back to hold her still. While she was no mother, it was still an instinctive act from years of being around children even since she was a child. "Crying on such a beautiful day, isn't that such a waste of time in the sun?" Her voice was softer towards the child, a teasing scold. Across a hardened face was a ghost of a smile as she continued the subtle rocking motions.

Maybe she should question why the woman was so quick to trust her, an utter stranger who hardly appeared so friendly. But that could wait. Her eyes moved back to her, Elizabeth, when she introduced herself. A small nod of acknowledgement, "Vivienne." Her tone had quickly shifted back to its harsher and blunt nature. "Sometimes, it's best to let them cry it out. But in public, it isn't so easy without everyone with nothing better to do whispering about it."

[lokislytherin]

love me only til the spring

pairing: lore!vox akuma + eldritch!kindred

summary: after being banished from heaven, new demon vox akuma wanders the earth for many years.  but this time, he has a companion - the kindred.

word count: 2147

a/n: written for #kinfiction challenge! i hope you enjoy! crossposted on ao3 RIGHT HERE if there are any formatting issues!

to kindred: looks like we’re an eldritch amalgamation of souls now guys

to vox if he ever finds this: i’m sorry for making your tragic backstory even more tragic

fic title from 'lilac' by IU, and graphics made by me!

t/w for blood, almost character death and angst.

“Vox.” The archangel’s voice booms across the heavenly hall. The archangel carried a form indescribable to the mortal eye, full of might and faith in their God. “Do you know what you have done?”

The angel lying chained on the ground spits at the archangel’s feet. Even bound with red ropes to sap him of his strength, he stays defiant, faithful in his beliefs. From across the room, Vox’s blood brother Hako cannot bear to look. “Our God is omni-benevolent. They told us to always be kind, did they not? By their words, I have done no wrong.”

“Our kind cannot directly disrupt mortal lives,” the archangel bites out. “That is our one rule, and you have broken it.”

“The entire village was going to die! All three hundred thousand people!” Vox argues hotly. “They were innocents! They had done nothing wrong!”

“Rules are rules for a reason, Vox. You should have let them die. They were fated to. You have only delayed the inevitable. Now the delicate balance of life is out of order.”

Vox growls low in his throat. The red ropes tighten, heavenly fire burning over his skin. His restrained wings shudder. “Fuck fate.” The angels and archangels gathered at the trial of Vox gasp. “If this is the life we angels are forced to lead, I refuse to be a part of it any longer. God is a fraud,” he sneers. “Benevolent? Omnipresent? Omnipotent? I call bullshit! Which one of us has ever seen God?” The whispers continue to rise, yet nobody responds. Hako takes a step back, as if he was ashamed. “None of us!”

“Silence!” The archangel roars. “How dare you speak of our God in this fashion? By the heavenly decree, you are hereby punished for your sins. I, Head Archangel, strip you of your wings and exile you from Heaven.” The archangel sneers right back. “Even if he crawls back to us, begging for God to take him back, he will never be allowed to return. Hako, you come with me. I hope you are more willing to behave than that brother of yours.”

Vox bares his teeth in a demonic snarl. The red ropes continue to tighten. He fights back as the archangels force him to his knees, shoving his face against the floor. He refuses to scream even when a seraph blade burns against his skin, leaving deep, jagged wounds across his bare shoulder blades as his wings are cut off at the root. Golden ichor stains the feathers of his pristine white wings, pooling on the marble floor. It drips and drips until the ground is covered in the crimson red of mortal blood, of demon blood instead.

Only then do the angels deem it time to haul Vox to the Heaven’s gates, and toss him out.

The fall from grace could have taken seconds. Months. Decades. Centuries. Vox will never know. All he knows is the pain of having his wings stripped away from him. He doesn’t regret it.

When he finally hits the ground, it is when his bloody wounds have turned into scars. At some point, the blue-streaked white hair Vox had as an angel had deepened into inky black streaked with blood red. He looks nothing like the angel he used to be, but he’s glad. Good riddance! He’ll never have to deal with them all again. He’d miss Hako, and maybe that funny fox spirit guardian Nina, but other than the two of them, he really had no reason to stay.

A sound from beside him shakes him out of his musings. He tenses, but as of now he’s too weak to fight back.  … Hm.  The creature perched beside him is less of a creature, but more of a writhing black mass of souls.  It blinks down at him with a million eyes, and he blinks right back.  One soul reaches out and pokes his cheek as if to ask if he's alright.

Vox sighs, gazing up at the heavens.  It all seems so far away now.  "No," he mutters, "I'm not alright."

The creature makes a noise with its many mouths, patting him sympathetically.  Vox sighs deeply.  What does he do from here? Nobody speaks of what angels do after they fall.  "Say," he murmurs to the creature, "do you have a place to go?"

The creature wiggles.  Apparently, that means 'yes'.  The creature supports Vox as he hobbles his way across the countryside.  Even if his wounds have scabbed over and formed scars, the pain still remains.  The loss of his wings ache like phantom limbs.  

The creature leads Vox to a village at the peak of Honshu, resting on the tip of its Northern peninsula.  It’s the same village Vox had tried to save before his banishment.  The buildings still carry burn scars, remnants of the forest fire that had swept across the mountain and killed so many.  The once-bustling village is now reduced to a measly few hundred.  They are poor, and survive only on their own crops and hunted animals, but alive.  These are the descendants of the people Vox had saved.

"Did you live here?" He asks the creature. "Were you..." All the people who died?

Yes.  

"I'm sorry."

Don't be.

The creature seems to want him to help, so Vox takes a step in.  

It takes days for the villagers to learn to trust the former-angel who charms them with his charisma, warmth and fighting prowess.  They give him a roof over his head, and in return, he protects them from harm.

Vox protects them for years and years, and the village expands to take in other immigrants from displaced clans.  The people call him Akuma-sama for his terrifying skills with his katana, name him leader.  With him, the lost and despondent find a home.  They find health and prosperity and hope in the place people have begun to call 'Akuma Castle', and Vox asks for nothing more than their loyalty.

This extends to the soul-creature who follows him around faithfully.  He starts to call them Kindred, because they are kindred spirits now, are they not? They are no longer a fallen angel and hundreds of thousands of souls on the run from Heaven's eternal reign.  They are friends now, even if Vox does not always understand them.

The year is 1614 when the war raging across Japan finally reaches Akuma Castle.

Vox tries his best to quell the fears of his people.  Mothers hide their children, breathing a sigh of relief when the Kindred tears themselves apart to keep an eye on them all.  At the end of every day, the Kindred reports to Vox.  It eases the former angel's worries to know that his people are safe and sound.  The men learn to defend and to defeat, taught by none other than Vox himself.  They learn fast, and they appreciate it when Vox praises them for it.

It's not enough.  Once again, Vox's best efforts are not enough.

One by one, the Tokugawa Shinobi slaughter the men Vox had come to call friends.  The archers on the castle walls fall first, toppling from their perches like helpless birds.  The infantry are next to fall, the enemy soldiers wading through like their lives mean nothing.  The stench of bloody death wafts through the air.

Vox sees Tokugawa Ieyasu, their leader, laughing at him on the neighboring mountain.  Mocking him.  Pathetic, he hears Tokugawa call out.  Five hundred and twenty-two men, dead.  Five hundred and twenty-two friends, never to be seen alive again.

Vox sees red.

Roaring out a battle cry, the last line of defense unsheathes his katana, and takes on the Tokugawa Shinobi on his own.  He must not fall.  The sacrifices of his people cannot be in vain.  The Kindred is working hard on the sidelines, sneaking the women and the children away from the battlefield, through the woods to safety.  

The metallic clang of clashing swords echo through the sky as Vox Akuma-sama slices the enemy soldiers to ribbons.  Even though he is no longer an angel, his strength is still superhuman.  

What a pity his stamina isn't enough.

Vox is strong, but for every fallen soldier, two more rise.  He wipes the sweat off his forehead, and his bloodstained hands leave bright red war-paint in their wake.  Eventually, he finds himself cornered on the cliff's edge.  He's gravely injured.  He's growing tired.  Growing weak.

The funniest thing is, his downfall isn't even a soldier's fatal blow.

It's the rock crumbling under his foot that sends him falling, falling, falling once again.  It hurts worse than falling from Heaven.

Briefly, he wonders what Hako would think if he saw Vox now.

Deja vu strikes when he hears the rustling of bushes besides him.  The Kindred appears, and-

Freezes.

Vox lifts a weak hand.  The Kindred nuzzles into his touch, faithful as always.  He can feel the distress rolling off the creature in waves.  "Don't worry about me," he rasps.  A smile cracks his bloodstained lips.  "This isn't the end of Vox Akuma."

"We'll meet again," he promises even as the beating heart in his chest slows and his vision grows blurry.  "I swear to God."

The Kindred can only watch helplessly as the demonic fire of Vox Akuma begins to fade, the sound of his breathing slowing down to a complete stop.  The Kindred doesn't know what exactly will happen to them or to Vox Akuma from here.  All they know is that the angel-turned-demon who had taken them under his wing is severely injured, incapable of showing them the kindness and strength he had all those times in the past.

"Hey."

The Kindred turns around, protectively covering the still body of their demon.  Standing behind them is an angel with glowing white hair and pristine white wings.  The Kindred growls, all of their eyes narrowed, a million sharp teeth bared.

The angel rolls their eyes.  "Vox isn't dead, you know.  He's stronger than that.  I should know, he's my dumbass brother.  If he hasn't talked about me before, I'm Hako."

The Kindred looks down at Vox's still body.  He looks rather dead to them.

"He's just really, really weak, but he'll wake up in a bit.  You, on the other hand, are not meant to be alive." The Kindred hisses.  "It's time for you to move on.  All of you."

The angel sighs.  "You'll see him again, if that's what you're worried about.  Maybe you'll be in another form, but he'll still be around.  Reincarnation is a thing, and you haven't done anything that warrants not being reincarnated.  Besides running from us, that is."

The Kindred wavers.  Three hundred thousand souls, torn between whether to stay or to go.

"Come on," goads the angel.  "Make your choice."

With one last longing look at the helpless Vox Akuma, the Kindred turns away.  They'll meet again, won't they? Vox promised.  He swore to God.

Please, the Kindred thinks.  Three hundred thousand souls, in total agreement.  Please let him be safe.

The angel whisks them away.

OMAKE

Four hundred years pass by.

Vox Akuma has regained much of his strength, but he's still weak compared to what he once was. He'd spent four hundred years alone, wandering, adapting, trying to find out what had happened to the Kindred creature he'd befriended all those years ago. His endless journey had led him from Japan to England during World War Two, and after the war, he'd settled down in England.

By the twenty-first century, things had calmed down. Tokugawa Ieyasu was long dead, being a mortal with a limited lifespan. It was syphilis, or maybe it was cancer. The only thing Vox knew was that he wished he could've dealt Tokugawa the killing blow.

In hopes of tracking down the Kindred somehow, he joined the mortal company Nijisanji. Apparently, he could use this app called YouTube to show himself playing video games and reading poems live, while people would watch, and some would pay money. It still confused him a little, but he'd gotten past the applications, and people seemed to like him enough. Nina from his days in Heaven was there too, which made things infinitely better.

That led him to today.

The date is 20 December, 2021. He's making his debut with four other streamers in a group called Luxiem. With a click of a button, his debut video begins.

He sees the viewer count rise and rise. Could they be remnants of the Kindred, reincarnated into a new world? Maybe they are, maybe they aren’t. Maybe he will never know. But maybe they could fill the gap in his heart the Kindred of the past left behind.

"The year is 1614," he reads. "At the close of Japan's Sengoku Period, the country is torn asunder by bloody violence and broken bones."

His audience - the newly named Kindred - watch and listen, entranced.

[casvist]

hello my lovely peaches , *puts my clown wig on bcs i’m shy* i’m back at it again, being a greedy bitch and bringing you my second  and super fake muse, yeva.  remember that part where the darkling’s fake ass pretended to be all nice and wholesome. well, yeva is faker than that. she probably has severe back pain from single handedly carrying all her lies on her back. anyway, i could slander her more but i will probably do that later. if you want to plot please LIKE this post or IM me/message me on discord and i’ll bring some clown shoes and ask for some plotting ( but in.... greedy )

PINTEREST  . PROFILE .    BIO (tba) .  VIKTORIYA.     discor*d     six of hoes🔪#7888

[ yeva zudina ], an [ twenty-eight ] year old grisha in the little palace. she is a [ tidemaker ] and are known in the little palace as the [ mountebank ]. they are known to be [ adaptable ] and [ devious ] and vaguely resemble [ davika hoorne ]. 

( okay my soc ass had to make her grow up in ketterdam i’m sorry )

- before yeva knew that she was a tidemaker, she was what one might call an “ordinary” girl in ketterdam. ( as far as anyone can be ordinary in ketterdam )

- as many people living there, she didn’t really have the best time of her life there. her father, well, he was just a name causing an uncomfortable silence whenever one would mutter it. her mother, she tried her best to survive in that hellhole. although, yeva knew how much her did for her, the only person she really could get close to was her step-sibling. ( a wc i’ll elaborate more on when i’m finally requesting that wc). though not bound by blood, they meant the world to yeva and little yeva felt as if she had to protect her from whatever was lurking in ketterdam’s (shady) alleyways.

- despite of her noble intentions, realistically she wasn’t strong. and how so? no one taught her how to protect herself and she was still a child. however, yeva didn’t want to wait around for nothing. instead, she decided to take matters into her own hands and looking back this idea was really stupid, but she wholeheartedly believed that messign with some other kids would be a brilliant way to improve her combat skills ( all my muses have to be stupid at some point i’m sorry, theyre all dumb)

- of course this plan failed terribly ( and instead she was the one getting her ass beaten  ).  luckily someone witnessed that (comedic) unfortunate scene and helped yeva out. and this somehow became the turning point of her life. yeva, completely awe-struck with the stranger, wanted to know more about him. truth to be told, he didn’t do much and his presence alone somehow scared the kids away ( poor kids almost got into a fight with a grown-ass man) but yeva didn’t really care. turned out he was a drüskelle (retired though (as much as one can), thus he didn’t really have to rely on any grisha “magic”, something yeva really admired.

- long story short, he not only became a mentor to yeva ( who successfully convinced him to show her some “cool” drüskelle tricks) but also a father-figure. yeva really trusted him and his beliefs also became hers. which we might say weren’t exactly grisha friendly. at first she didn’t get why he hated grisha so much, to her they didn’t seem too bad but as time passed his words left a mark.

- however, what actually made her end up despising grisha was a certain incident. as much as this day affected yeva, everything happened within a second. a short moment of exchanged laughter, cruelly disrupted by two grisha. tidemakers ( a cruel twist of irony ) . looking back at it now, yeva figured that these two grisha had a long and unresolved grudge against him ( which wasn’t too surprising with him being a drüskelle) and had their eye on him ever since. 

- to put it briefly, yeva was forced to witness the death of someone whom she considered a father to her. yet, fate couldn’t be more cruel on her and it was also the moment her abilities were triggered , and , of course, she turned out to be a grisha as well. make it worse. a tidemaker.

- skipping over all the formalities (bcs this is getting too long) and luck not really being on her side she was brought to the little palace. her mother wasn’t too surprised and knowing that yeva wouldn’t have a future here at ketterdam, she thought that ravka was far more appealing.

- yeva wasn’t happy of course. not only was she forced to be with the people who she despised she herself was one. at first, she refused to do anything at all, she didn’t mind if she were to be punished for her stuborness. no one knew why she was behaving this way, they just shrugged it off as her being a spoiled brat refusing to be useful. yeva, however, didn’t continue to be like this forever and what happened next surpirsed everyone. suddenly, she was eager to train and improved quickly. all they saw was a hardworking grisha but what they didn’t know was that yeva’s intentions weren’t noble. 

- instead of wasting her time at pitying and hating herself, she realized that she was at the perfect place to learn everything about her ‘enemies’. 

- basically, she has that grand plan of trying to destroy things from within, being the wolf in sheep’s clothing (cutting this short bcs this is getting long again). 

personality

- honestly, as i’ve mentioned before she’s fake. and not in that way where she’ll just pretend to smile and go on with her day, she really goes out her way in acting as if she was the sweetest and kindest girl out there. however, everthing she does serves some purpose. she helps you with some training ? she gives you some advice on a personal matter ? she compliments you on your smile ? lets say she doesn’t do it out of kindness. not when you’re a grisha. of course, she isn’t perfect at keeping this act up all the time.  and if one pays a little more attention to her actions, they can see her facade crumbling. still, where vika is all about being straight-forward and accidentally hurting one’s feeling without meaning it, yeva is all about sugar-coating when she needs to but also deliberately using one’s weakness against them.

traits ( adding some bcs i want to redeem her a little bit but i also don’t respect her so..) 

[+] adaptable, decisive, loyal , observant 

[-] ruthless, doesn’t think through consequences, blindly faithful, intrusive

headcanons

- tba ( but i just had to add that yeva prbly wouldn’t hesitate to push someone from the ship when they’d travel through the shadow fold.)

- every time she must do more than simply tolerating grisha, like saying that they’re great she probably loses one year of her life

- trying to keep her reputation yeva is known to give exceptionally good advice

- as much as she despises that “grisha magic” she believes in things like card reading, fortune telling and is quite faithful to the saints (regardless of being grisha or not)

connections

someone who sees through her (shit) facade and unlike everyone else who perceives yeva as that sweet angel, they find her suspicious and doesn’t trust her.

a grisha who is the complete opposite of what yeva think they are and might as well be someone yeva tolerates and might add that 0.1% of character development 

listen an unrequited love bcs i’m laughing at the idea that someone might fall for her super fake persona and the more time they spend with her they start to realize that it is just an act.

someone who turns for advice to yeva bcs of her reputation

*sneakily puts my step sibling connection here so if u r intreested hmu ;) but i’ll also request it later but rn i’m too lazy*

HONESTLY EVERYTHING i love angsty and dramatic shit, but i’m super open for other ideas bcs my two braincells need that wonderful input and inspo so gimme all the connections PLS !!! *types this in thirsty for all ur wonderful muses*

[goodboyriddler]

I’m sorry that I’m sending this so early but 7pm EST is kinda late in my timezone so I was hoping maybe I could send something earlier?!!? Currently thinking about Edward riding the readers leg whilst he begs for release…that would be pretty hot me thinks. Ignore this if you’re not accepting early requests!! Ty i hope you have the best day 😁❤️

thank you for participating! don't worry I know timezones are wack, and I can't resist sub Eddie, hope you enjoy this little piece whenever you see it!!

"Please, I've been good- I'll do anything." His voice breaks in the last sentence as he looks up at you, through clear glasses from his place kneeling on the floor.

You pat his soft brown hair with one hand while the other taps a pen to your lips. Shifting a little in your place on the chair you're sitting.

"What's an 8-letter word for waiting?" You ignore his question, your eyes only firmly in the crossword puzzle in front of you.

"P-please-."

"I asked you a question, Eddie." You grip his hair as a warning.

His Adam's apple moves as he scrambles in his mind for a coherent answer it will satisfy you. You're so beautiful watching him.

"Patience." And this time he can't help to close his eyes and answer. "T-the word is patience."

"It is! There you go, aren't you a clever one." You scribble down in your paper. Then he keens, pushing himself against your palm when you give him a small pat in the head. "Good boy."

Edward whines, melting in your hand, his hips resuming his little sloppy thrusts into your leg. He has pleased you, and that makes him so happy he could cry.

He's been hard for what he thinks it's been hours. First rubbing himself against his own palm, the pillow, and then you had given him permission to do it in your leg.

It had felt so good, his hard cock getting friction. And he knows he should be grateful for what you're giving to him, anything at all letting him touch you. The front of his boxers is soaked from his precum. Every time he is close you had stopped him, and he had begged, but you haven't let him cum.

He quickens his pace, the side of his face resting in your lap, his glasses going askew, as he grips your leg with both hands, moaning as he chases that familiar feeling in his stomach for what he thinks it's the tenth time.

You aren't looking at him, still your eyes in your crossword, and he moans. He's not good enough for your attention.

"Please-" Edward sobs earnestly, feeling tears run down his red cheeks. He kisses your thigh, buries his face there, worships you. "I want to cum, please, please, let me come? Please? I'm a good boy, I've been good for you."

He pants, his glasses fogging, as he grips your leg harder. Whines, trying to catch your attention.

You put your pen down.

"Mhm, aren't you pretty like this?" You finally, finally look at him.

Your other hand goes to his face and he opens his mouth instinctively, but you laugh shaking your head at him. Your fingers go to wipe out his tears off his cheeks and you think he looks so beautiful with his dishevel hair and teary green eyes.

"Please." Edward whispers to you, seemingly the only word he knows now.

You smile at him. You're feeling merciful tonight.

"You can cum."

"T-thank you, thank you so much." His pace quickens as he tries to let his gratitude show. He wants to cry by how nice you are letting him cum.  You feel him fuck himself harder into your leg as he whimpers. "You're so good to me, thank you so much."

It doesn't take him much to let one final sloppy thrust as he cums in his boxers with a high whine as he looks at you. You feel him stain in your leg.

"There you go, that's it." You praise as you run your hand through his hair and he goes limp in your legs. "Was that good?"

He sleepily nods, smiling at you, kissing your thighs.

"See? Patient boys get rewarded."